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diff --git a/old/53411-0.txt b/old/53411-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 31fc15d..0000000 --- a/old/53411-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,19942 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Eve, by Sabine Baring-Gould - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Eve - A Novel - -Author: Sabine Baring-Gould - -Release Date: October 30, 2016 [EBook #53411] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVE *** - - - - -Produced by Giovanni Fini, David Edwards and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - -—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected. - -—Bold text has been rendered as =bold text=. - -—Superscript letters have been rendered as a^b and a^{bc}. - - - - - EVE - - A Novel - - BY THE - - REV. S. BARING GOULD - - AUTHOR OF - ‘JOHN HERRING’ ‘MEHALAH’ ‘RED SPIDER’ - ETC. - -[Illustration: LOGO] - - London - - CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY - - 1891 - - - - - PRINTED BY - SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE - LONDON - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. MORWELL 1 - - II. THE LITTLE MOTHER 9 - - III. THE WHISH-HUNT 16 - - IV. EVE’S RING 22 - - V. THE LIMPING HORSE 31 - - VI. A BUNDLE OF CLOTHES 35 - - VII. A NIGHT-WATCH 44 - - VIII. BAB 51 - - IX. THE POCKET-BOOK 57 - - X. BARBARA’S PETITION 65 - - XI. GRANTED! 71 - - XII. CALLED AWAY 80 - - XIII. MR. BABB AT HOME 86 - - XIV. A SINE QUÂ NON 93 - - XV. AT THE QUAY 100 - - XVI. WATT 107 - - XVII. FORGET-ME-NOT! 113 - - XVIII. DISCOVERIES 121 - - XIX. BARBARA’S RING 127 - - XX. PERPLEXITY 132 - - XXI. THE SCYTHE OF TIME 138 - - XXII. THE RED STREAK 146 - - XXIII. A BUNCH OF ROSES 152 - - XXIV. WHERE THEY WITHERED 159 - - XXV. LEAH AND RACHEL 165 - - XXVI. AN IMP OF DARKNESS 172 - - XXVII. POOR MARTIN 179 - - XXVIII. FATHER AND SON 186 - - XXIX. HUSH-MONEY 193 - - XXX. BETRAYAL 199 - - XXXI. CALLED TO ACCOUNT 205 - - XXXII. WANDERING LIGHTS 212 - - XXXIII. THE OWLS 219 - - XXXIV. THE DOVES 226 - - XXXV. THE ALARM BELL 232 - - XXXVI. CONFESSIONS 239 - - XXXVII. THE PIPE OF PEACE 246 - - XXXVIII. TAKEN! 251 - - XXXIX. GONE! 258 - - XL. ANOTHER SACRIFICE 265 - - XLI. ANOTHER MISTAKE 271 - - XLII. ENGAGED 277 - - XLIII. IN A MINE 283 - - XLIV. TUCKERS 290 - - XLV. DUCK AND GREEN PEAS 296 - - XLVI. ‘PRECIOSA’ 302 - - XLVII. NOAH’S ARK 308 - - XLVIII. IN PART 316 - - XLIX. THE OLD GUN 322 - - L. BY THE FIRE 328 - - LI. A SHOT 334 - - LII. THE WHOLE 340 - - LIII. BY LANTERN-LIGHT 347 - - LIV. ANOTHER LOAD 354 - - LV. WHAT EVERY FOOL KNOWS 357 - - - - - EVE. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -MORWELL. - - -THE river Tamar can be ascended by steamers as far as Morwell, one -of the most picturesque points on that most beautiful river. There -also, at a place called ‘New Quay,’ barges discharge their burdens of -coal, bricks, &c., which thence are conveyed by carts throughout the -neighbourhood. A new road, admirable as one of those of Napoleon’s -construction in France, gives access to this quay—a road constructed at -the outlay of a Duke of Bedford, to whom belongs all the land that was -once owned by the Abbey of Tavistock. This skilfully engineered road -descends by zigzags from the elevated moorland on the Devon side of the -Tamar, through dense woods of oak and fir, under crags of weathered -rock wreathed with heather. From the summit of the moor this road runs -due north, past mine shafts and ‘ramps,’ or rubble heaps thrown out -of the mines, and meets other roads uniting from various points under -the volcanic peak of Brent Tor, that rises in solitary dignity out of -the vast moor to the height of twelve hundred feet, and is crowned by -perhaps the tiniest church in England. - -Seventy or eighty years ago no such roads existed. The vast upland was -all heather and gorse, with tracks across it. An old quay had existed -on the river, and the ruins remained of the buildings about it erected -by the abbots of Tavistock; but quay and warehouses had fallen into -decay, and no barges came so far up the river. - -The crags on the Devon side of the Tamar rise many hundred feet in -sheer precipices, broken by gulfs filled with oak coppice, heather, and -dogwood. - -In a hollow of the down, half a mile from the oak woods and crags, with -an ancient yew and Spanish chestnut before it, stood, and stands still, -Morwell House, the hunting-lodge of the abbots of Tavistock, built -where a moor-well—a spring of clear water—gushed from amidst the golden -gorse brakes, and after a short course ran down the steep side of the -hill, and danced into the Tamar. - -Seventy or eighty years ago this house was in a better and worse -condition than at present: worse, in that it was sorely dilapidated; -better, in that it had not suffered tasteless modern handling to -convert it into a farm with labourers’ cottages. Even forty years ago -the old banquetting hall and the abbot’s parlour were intact. Now -all has been restored out of recognition, except the gatehouse that -opens into the quadrangle. In the interior of this old hall, on the -twenty-fourth of June, just eighty years ago, sat the tenant: a tall, -gaunt man with dark hair. He was engaged cleaning his gun, and the -atmosphere was foul with the odour exhaled by the piece that had been -recently discharged, and was now being purified. The man was intent on -his work, but neither the exertion he used, nor the warmth of a June -afternoon, accounted for the drops that beaded his brow and dripped -from his face. - -Once—suddenly—he placed the muzzle of his gun against his right side -under the rib, and with his foot touched the lock. A quiver ran over -his face, and his dim eyes were raised to the ceiling. Then there came -from near his feet a feeble sound of a babe giving token with its lips -that it was dreaming of food. The man sighed, and looked down at a -cradle that was before him. He placed the gun between his knees, and -remained for a moment gazing at the child’s crib, lost in a dream, -with the evening sun shining through the large window and illumining -his face. It was a long face with light blue eyes, in which lurked -anguish mixed with cat-like treachery. The mouth was tremulous, and -betrayed weakness. - -Presently, recovering himself from his abstraction, he laid the gun -across the cradle, from right to left, and it rested there as a bar -sinister on a shield, black and ominous. His head sank in his thin -shaking hands, and he bowed over the cradle. His tears or sweat, or -tears and sweat combined, dropped as a salt rain upon the sleeping -child, that gave so slight token of its presence. - -All at once the door opened, and a man stood in the yellow light, like -a mediæval saint against a golden ground. He stood there a minute -looking in, his eyes too dazzled to distinguish what was within, but he -called in a hard, sharp tone, ‘Eve! where is Eve?’ - -The man at the cradle started up, showing at the time how tall he was. -He stood up as one bewildered, with his hands outspread, and looked -blankly at the new comer. - -The latter, whose eyes were becoming accustomed to the obscurity, after -a moment’s pause repeated his question, ‘Eve! where is Eve?’ - -The tall man opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. - -‘Are you Ignatius Jordan?’ - -‘I am,’ he answered with an effort. - -‘And I am Ezekiel Babb. I am come for my daughter.’ - -Ignatius Jordan staggered back against the wall, and leaned against it -with arms extended and with open palms. The window through which the -sun streamed was ancient; it consisted of two lights with a transom, -and the sun sent the shadow of mullion and transom as a black cross -against the further wall. Ignatius stood unconsciously spreading his -arms against this shadow like a ghastly Christ on his cross. The -stranger noticed the likeness, and said in his harsh tones, ‘Ignatius -Jordan, thou hast crucified thyself.’ Then again, as he took a seat -unasked, ‘Eve! where is Eve?’ - -The gentleman addressed answered with an effort, ‘She is no longer -here. She is gone.’ - -‘What!’ exclaimed Babb; ‘no longer here? She was here last week. Where -is she now?’ - -‘She is gone,’ said Jordan in a low tone. - -‘Gone!—her child is here. When will she return?’ - -‘Return!’—with a sigh—’never.’ - -‘Cursed be the blood that flows in her veins!’ shouted the new comer. -‘Restless, effervescing, fevered, fantastic! It is none of it mine, -it is all her mother’s.’ He sprang to his feet and paced the room -furiously, with knitted brows and clenched fists. Jordan followed him -with his eye. The man was some way past the middle of life. He was -strongly and compactly built. He wore a long dark coat and waistcoat, -breeches, and blue worsted stockings. His hair was grey; his protruding -eyebrows met over the nose. They were black, and gave a sinister -expression to his face. His profile was strongly accentuated, hawklike, -greedy, cruel. - -‘I see it all,’ he said, partly to himself; ‘that cursed foreign blood -would not suffer her to find rest even here, where there is prosperity. -What is prosperity to her? What is comfort? Bah! all her lust is after -tinsel and tawdry.’ He raised his arm and clenched fist. ‘A life -accursed of God! Of old our forefathers, under the righteous Cromwell, -rose up and swept all profanity out of the land, the jesters, and the -carol singers, and theatrical performers, and pipers and tumblers. But -they returned again to torment the elect. What saith the Scripture? -Make no marriage with the heathen, else shall ye be unclean, ye and -your children.’ - -He reseated himself. ‘Ignatius Jordan,’ he said, ‘I was mad and wicked -when I took her mother to wife; and a mad and wicked thing you did -when you took the daughter. As I saw you just now—as I see you at -present—standing with spread arms against the black shadow cross from -the window, I thought it was a figure of what you chose for your lot -when you took my Eve. I crucified myself when I married her mother, and -now the iron enters your side.’ He paused; he was pointing at Ignatius -with out-thrust finger, and the shadow seemed to enter Ignatius against -the wall. ‘The blood that begins to flow will not cease to run till it -has all run out.’ - -Again he paused. The arms of Jordan fell. - -‘So she has left you,’ muttered the stranger, ‘she has gone back to the -world, to its pomps and vanities, its lusts, its lies, its laughter. -Gone back to the players and dancers.’ - -Jordan nodded; he could not speak. - -‘Dead to every call of duty,’ Babb continued with a scowl on his brow, -‘dead to everything but the cravings of a cankered heart; dead to the -love of lawful gain; alive to wantonness, and music, and glitter. Sit -down, and I will tell you the story of my folly, and you shall tell me -the tale of yours.’ He looked imperiously at Jordan, who sank into his -chair beside the cradle. - -‘I will light my pipe.’ Ezekiel Babb struck a light with flint and -steel. ‘We have made a like experience, I with the mother, you with the -daughter. Why are you downcast? Rejoice if she has set you free. The -mother never did that for me. Did you marry her?’ - -The pale man opened his mouth, and spread out, then clasped, his hands -nervously, but said nothing. - -‘I am not deaf that I should be addressed in signs,’ said Babb. ‘Did -you marry my daughter?’ - -‘No.’ - -‘The face of heaven was turned on you,’ said Babb discontentedly, ‘and -not on me. I committed myself, and could not break off the yoke. I -married.’ - -The child in the cradle began to stir. Jordan rocked it with his foot. - -‘I will tell you all,’ the visitor continued. ‘I was a young man when -I first saw Eve—not your Eve, but her mother. I had gone into Totnes, -and I stood by the cloth market at the gate to the church. It was the -great fair-day. There were performers in the open space before the -market. I had seen nothing like it before. What was performed I do not -recall. I saw only her. I thought her richly, beautifully dressed. Her -beauty shone forth above all. She had hair like chestnut, and brown -eyes, a clear, thin skin, and was formed delicately as no girl of this -country and stock. I knew she was of foreign blood. A carpet was laid -in the market-place, and she danced on it to music. It was like a flame -flickering, not a girl dancing. She looked at me out of her large -eyes, and I loved her. It was witchcraft, the work of the devil. The -fire went out of her eyes and burnt to my marrow; it ran in my veins. -That was witchcraft, but I did not think it then. There should have -been a heap of wood raised and fired, and she cast into the flames. -But our lot is fallen in evil days. The word of the Lord is no longer -precious, and the Lord has said, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to -live.” That was witchcraft. How else was it that I gave no thought to -Tamsine Bovey, of Buncombe, till it was too late, though Buncombe joins -my land, and so Buncombe was lost to me for ever? Quiet that child if -you want to hear more. Hah! Your Eve has deserted you and her babe, but -mine had not the good heart to leave me.’ - -The child in the cradle whimpered. The pale man lifted it out, got milk -and fed it, with trembling hand, but tenderly, and it dozed off in his -arms. - -‘A girl?’ asked Babb. Jordan nodded. - -‘Another Eve—a third Eve?’ Jordan nodded again. ‘Another generation of -furious, fiery blood to work confusion, to breed desolation. When will -the earth open her mouth and swallow it up, that it defile no more the -habitations of Israel?’ - -Jordan drew the child to his heart, and pressed it so passionately that -it woke and cried. - -‘Still the child or I will leave the house,’ said Ezekiel Babb. ‘You -would do well to throw a wet cloth over its mouth, and let it smother -itself before it work woe on you and others. When it is quiet, I will -proceed.’ He paused. When the cries ceased he went on: ‘I watched Eve -as she danced. I could not leave the spot. Then a rope was fastened -and stretched on high, and she was to walk that. A false step would -have dashed her to the ground. I could not bear it. When her foot was -on the ladder, I uttered a great cry and ran forward; I caught her, I -would not let her go. I was young then.’ He remained silent, smoking, -and looking frowningly before him. ‘I was not a converted man then. -Afterwards, when the word of God was precious to me, and I saw that -I might have had Tamsine Bovey, and Buncombe, then I was sorry and -ashamed. But it was too late. The eyes of the unrighteous are sealed. I -was a fool. I married that dancing girl.’ - -He was silent again, and looked moodily at his pipe. - -‘I have let the fire die out,’ he said, and rekindled as before. ‘I -cannot deny that she was a good wife. But what availed it me to have -a woman in the house who could dance like a feather, and could not -make scald cream? What use to me a woman who brought the voice of a -nightingale with her into the house, but no money? She knew nothing of -the work of a household. She had bones like those of a pigeon, there -was no strength in them. I had to hire women to do her work, and she -was thriftless and thoughtless, so the money went out when it should -have come in. Then she bore me a daughter, and the witchery was not off -me, so I called her Eve—that is your Eve, and after that she gave me -sons, and then’—angrily—’then, when loo late, she died. Why did she not -die half a year before Tamsine Bovey married Joseph Warmington? If she -had, I might still have got Buncombe—now it is gone, gone for ever.’ - -He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and put it into his pocket. - -‘Eve was her mother’s darling; she was brought up like a heathen to -love play and pleasure, not work and duty. The child sucked in her -mother’s nature with her mother’s milk. When the mother died, Eve—your -Eve—was a grown girl, and I suppose home became unendurable to her. One -day some play actors passed through the place on their way from Exeter, -and gave a performance in our village. I found that my daughter, -against my command, went to see it. When she came home, I took her into -the room where is my great Bible, and I beat her. Then she ran away, -and I saw no more of her; whether she went after the play actors or not -I never inquired.’ - -‘Did you not go in pursuit?’ - -‘Why should I? She would have run away again. Time passed, and the -other day I chanced to come across a large party of strollers, when I -was in Plymouth on business. Then I learned from the manager about my -child, and so, for the first time, heard where she was. Now tell me how -she came here.’ - -Ignatius Jordan raised himself in his chair, and swept back the hair -that had fallen over his bowed face and hands. - -‘It is passed and over,’ he said. - -‘Let me hear all. I must know all,’ said Babb. ‘She is my daughter. -Thanks be, that we are not called to task for the guilt of our -children. The soul that sinneth it shall surely die. She had light and -truth set before her on one side as surely as she had darkness and lies -on the other, Ebal and Gerizim, and she went after Ebal. It was in her -blood. She drew it of her mother. One vessel is for honour—such am -I; another for dishonour—such are all the Eves from the first to the -last, that in your arms. Vessels of wrath, ordained to be broken. Ah! -you may cherish that little creature in your arms. You may strain it -to your heart, you may wrap it round with love, but it is in vain that -you seek to save it, to shelter it. It is wayward, wanton, wicked clay; -ordained from eternity to be broken. I stood between the first Eve and -the shattering that should have come to her. That is the cause of all -my woes. Where is the second Eve? Broken in soul, broken maybe in body. -There lies the third, ordained to be broken.’ He folded his arms, was -silent a while, and then said: ‘Tell me your tale. How came my daughter -to your house?’ - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE LITTLE MOTHER. - - -‘LAST Christmas twelvemonth,’ said Ignatius Jordan slowly, ‘I was on -the moor—Morwell Down it is called. Night was falling. The place—where -the road comes along over the down, from Beer Alston and Beer Ferris. -I dare say you came along it, you took boat from Plymouth to Beer -Ferris, and thence the way runs—the packmen travel it—to the north to -Launceston. It was stormy weather, and the snow drove hard; the wind -was so high that a man might hardly face it. I heard cries for help. I -found a party of players who were on their way to Launceston, and were -caught by the storm and darkness on the moor. They had a sick girl with -them——’ His voice broke down. - -‘Eve?’ asked Ezekiel Babb. - -Jordan nodded. After a pause he recovered himself and went on. ‘She -could walk no further, and the party was distressed, not knowing -whither to go or what to do. I invited them to come here. The house is -large enough to hold a score of people. Next day I set them on their -way forward, as they were pressed to be at Launceston for the Christmas -holidays. But the girl was too ill to proceed, and I offered to let -her remain here till she recovered. After a week had passed the actors -sent here from Lannceston to learn how she was, and whether she could -rejoin them, as they were going forward to Bodmin, but she was not -sufficiently recovered. Then a month later, they sent again, but though -she was better I would not let her go. After that we heard no more -of the players. So she remained at Morwell, and I loved her, and she -became my wife.’ - -‘You said that you did not marry her.’ - -‘No, not exactly. This is a place quite out of the world, a lost, -unseen spot. I am a Catholic, and no priest comes this way. There is -the ancient chapel here where the Abbot of Tavistock had mass in the -old time. It is bare, but the altar remains, and though no priest ever -comes here, the altar is a Catholic altar. Eve and I went into the old -chapel and took hands before the altar, and I gave her a ring, and we -swore to be true to each other’—his voice shook, and then a sob broke -from his breast. ‘We had no priest’s blessing on us, that is true. -But Eve would never tell me what her name was, or whence she came. If -we had gone to Tavistock or Brent Tor to be married by a Protestant -minister, she would have been forced to tell her name and parentage, -and that, she said, nothing would induce her to do. It mattered not, -we thought. We lived here out of the world, and to me the vow was -as sacred when made here as if confirmed before a minister of the -established religion. We swore to be all in all to each other.’ - -He clasped his hands on his knees, and went on with bent head: ‘But -the play-actors returned and were in Tavistock last week, and one of -them came up here to see her, not openly, but in secret. She told me -nothing, and he did not allow me to see him. She met him alone several -times. This place is solitary and sad, and Eve of a lively nature. She -tired of being here. She wearied of me.’ - -Babb laughed bitterly. ‘And now she is flown away with a play-actor. -As she deserted her father, she deserts her husband and child, and the -house that housed her. See you,’ he put out his hand and grasped the -cradle: ‘Here lies vanity of vanities, the pomps of the flesh, the -lust of the eye, and the pride of life, nestled in that crib, that -self-same strain of leaping, headlong, wayward blood, that never will -rest till poured out of the veins and rolled down into the ocean, and -lost—lost—lost!’ - -Jordan sprang from his seat with a gasp and a stifled cry, and fell -back against the wall. - -Babb stooped over the cradle and plucked out the child. He held it in -the sunlight streaming through the window, and looked hard at it. Then -he danced it up and down with a scoffing laugh. - -‘See, see!’ he cried; ‘see how the creature rejoices and throws forth -its arms. Look at the shadow on the wall, as of a Salamander swaying in -a flood of fire. Ha! Eve—blood! wanton blood! I will crucify thee too!’ -He raised the babe aloft against the black cross made by the shadow of -the mullion and transom, as the child had thrown up its tiny arms. - -‘See,’ he exclaimed, ‘the child hangs also!’ - -Ignatius Jordan seized the babe, snatched it away from the rude grasp -of Babb, clasped it passionately to his breast, and covered it with -kisses. Then he gently replaced it, crowing and smiling, in its cradle, -and rocked it with his foot. - -‘You fool!’ said Babb; ‘you love the strange blood in spite of its -fickleness and falseness. I will tell you something further. When -I heard from the players that Eve was here, at Morwell, I did not -come on at once, because I had business that called me home. But a -fortnight after I came over Dartmoor to Tavistock. I did not come, as -you supposed, up the river to Beer Ferris and along the road over your -down; no, I live at Buckfastleigh by Ashburton, right away to the east -across Dartmoor. I came thence as far as Tavistock, and there I found -the players once more, who had come up from Plymouth to make sport for -the foolish and ungodly in Tavistock. They told me that they had heard -you lived with my Eve, and had not married her, so I did not visit -you, but waited about till I could speak with her alone, and I sent a -message to her by one of the players that I was wanting a word with -her. She came to me at the place I had appointed once—ay! and twice—and -she feigned to grieve that she had left me, and acted her part well as -if she loved me—her father. I urged her to leave you and come back to -her duty and her God and to me, but she would promise nothing. Then I -gave her a last chance. I told her I would meet her finally on that -rocky platform that rises as a precipice above the river, last night, -and there she should give me her answer.’ - -Ignatius Jordan’s agitation became greater, his lips turned livid, his -eyes were wide and staring as though with horror, and he put up his -hands as if warding off a threatened blow. - -‘You—you met her on the Raven Rock?’ - -‘I met her there twice, and I was to have met her there again last -night, when she was to have given me her final answer, what she would -do—stay here, and be lost eternally, or come back with me to Salvation. -But I was detained, and I could not keep the engagement, so I sent one -of the player-men to inform her that I would come to-day instead. So I -came on to-day, as appointed, and she was not there, not on the Raven -Rock, as you call it, and I have arrived here,—but I am too late.’ - -Jordan clasped his hands over his eyes and moaned. The babe began to -wail. - -‘Still the yowl of that child!’ exclaimed Babb. ‘I tell you this as a -last instance of her perfidy.’ He raised his voice above the cry of the -child. ‘What think you was the reason she alleged why she would not -return with me at once—why did she ask time to make up her mind? She -told me that you were a Catholic, she told me of the empty, worthless -vow before an old popish altar in a deserted chapel, and I knew her -soul would be lost if she remained with you; you would drag her into -idolatry. And I urged her, as she hoped to escape hell fire, to flee -Morwell and not cast a look behind, desert you and the babe and all -for the Zoar of Buckfastleigh. But she was a dissembler. She loved -neither me nor you nor her child. She loved only idleness and levity, -and the butterfly career of a player, and some old sweetheart among the -play company. She has gone off with him. Now I wipe my hands of her -altogether.’ - -Jordan swayed himself, sitting as one stunned, with an elbow on each -knee and his head in the hollow of his hands. - -‘Can you not still the brat?’ cried Ezekiel Babb, ‘now that the mother -is gone, who will be the mother to it?’ - -‘I—I—I!’ the cry of an eager voice. Babb looked round, and saw a -little girl of six, with grey eyes and dark hair, a quaint, premature -woman, in an old, long, stiff frock. Her little arms were extended; -‘Baby-sister!’ she called, ‘don’t cry!’ She ran forward, and, kneeling -by the cradle, began to caress and play with the infant. - -‘Who is this?’ asked Ezekiel. - -‘My Barbara,’ answered Ignatius in a low tone; ‘I was married before, -and my wife died, leaving me this little one.’ - -The child, stooping over the cradle, lifted the babe carefully out. The -infant crowed and made no resistance, for the arms that held it, though -young, were strong. Then Barbara seated herself on a stool, and laid -the infant on her lap, and chirped and snapped her fingers and laughed -to it, and snuggled her face into the neck of the babe. The latter -quivered with excitement, the tiny arms were held up, the little hands -clutched in the child’s long hair and tore at it, and the feet kicked -with delight. ‘Father! father!’ cried Barbara, ‘see little Eve; she is -dancing and singing.’ - -‘Dancing and singing!’ echoed Ezekiel Babb, ‘that is all she ever -will do. She comes dancing and singing into the world, and she will -go dancing and singing out of it—and then—then,’ he brushed his hand -through the air, as though drawing back a veil. The girl-nurse looked -at the threatening old man with alarm. - -‘Keep the creature quiet,’ he said impatiently; ‘I cannot sit here and -see the ugly, evil sight. Dancing and singing! she begins like her -mother, and her mother’s mother. Take her away, the sight of her stirs -my bile.’ - -At a sign from the father Barbara rose, and carried the child out of -the room, talking to it fondly, and a joyous chirp from the little one -was the last sound that reached Babb’s ears as the door shut behind -them. - -‘Naught but evil has the foreign blood, the tossing fever-blood, -brought me. First it came without a dower, and that was like original -sin. Then it prevented me from marrying Tamsine Bovey and getting -Buncombe. That was like sin of malice. Now Tamsine is dead and her -husband, Joseph Warmington, wants to sell. I did not want Tamsine, but -I wanted Buncombe; at one time I could not see how Buncombe was to be -had without Tamsine. Now the property is to be sold, and it joins on -to mine as if it belonged to it. What Heaven has joined together let -not man put asunder. It was wicked witchcraft stood in the way of my -getting my rightful own.’ - -‘How could it be your rightful own?’ asked Ignatius; ‘was Tamsine Bovey -your kinswoman?’ - -‘No, she was not, but she ought to have been my wife, and so Buncombe -have come to me. I seem as if I could see into the book of the Lord’s -ordinance that so it was written. There’s some wonderful good soil in -Buncombe. But the Devil allured me with his Eve, and I was bewitched -by her beautiful eyes and little hands and feet. Cursed be the day -that shut me out of Buncombe. Cursed be the strange blood that ran as -a dividing river between Owlacombe and Buncombe, and cut asunder what -Providence ordained to be one. I tell you,’ he went on fiercely, ‘that -so long as all that land remains another’s and not mine, so long shall -I feel only gall, and no pity nor love, for Eve, and all who have -issued from her—for all who inherit her name and blood. I curse——’ his -voice rose to a roar, and his grey hair bristled like the fell of a -wolf, ‘I curse them all with——’ - -The pale man, Jordan, rushed at him and thrust his hand over his mouth. - -‘Curse not,’ he said vehemently; then in a subdued tone, ‘Listen to -reason, and you will feel pity and love for my little one who inherits -the name and blood of your Eve. I have laid by money: I am in no -want. It shall be the portion of my little Eve, and I will lend it -you for seventeen years. This day, the 24th of June, seventeen years -hence, you shall repay me the whole sum without interest. I am not a -Jew to lend on usury. I shall want the money then for my Eve, as her -dower. _She_’—he held up his head for a moment—‘_she_ shall not be -portionless. In the meantime take and use the money, and when you walk -over the fields you have purchased with it,—bless the name.’ - -A flush came in the sallow face of Ezekiel Babb. He rose to his feet -and held out his hand. - -‘You will lend me the money, two thousand pounds?’ - -‘I will lend you fifteen hundred.’ - -‘I will swear to repay the sum in seventeen years. You shall have a -mortgage.’ - -‘On this day.’ - -‘This 24th day of June, so help me God.’ - -A ray of orange light, smiting through the window, was falling high up -the wall. The hands of the men met in the beam, and the reflection was -cast on their faces,—on the dark hard face of Ezekiel, on the white -quivering face of Ignatius. - -‘And you bless,’ said the latter, ‘you bless the name of Eve, and the -blood that follows it.’ - -‘I bless. Peace be to the restless blood.’ - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE WHISH-HUNT. - - -ON a wild and blustering evening, seventeen years after the events -related in the two preceding chapters, two girls were out, in spite -of the fierce wind and gathering darkness, in a little gig that -accommodated only two, the body perched on very large and elastic -springs. At every jolt of the wheels the body bounced and swayed in a -manner likely to trouble a bad sailor. But the girls were used to the -motion of the vehicle, and to the badness of the road. They drove a -very sober cob, who went at his leisure, picking his way, seeing ruts -in spite of the darkness. - -The moor stretched in unbroken desolation far away on all sides but -one, where it dropped to the gorge of the Tamar, but the presence -of this dividing valley could only be guessed, not perceived by the -crescent moon. The distant Cornish moorland range of Hingston and the -dome of Kit Hill seemed to belong to the tract over which the girls -were driving. These girls were Barbara and Eve Jordan. They had been -out on a visit to some neighbours, if those can be called neighbours -who lived at a distance of five miles, and were divided from Morwell by -a range of desolate moor. They had spent the day with their friends, -and were returning home later than they had intended. - -‘I do not know what father would say to our being abroad so late, and -in the dark, unattended,’ said Eve, ‘were he at home. It is well he is -away.’ - -‘He would rebuke me, not you,’ said Barbara. - -‘Of course he would; you are the elder, and responsible.’ - -‘But I yielded to your persuasion.’ - -‘Yes, I like to enjoy myself when I may. It is vastly dull at Morwell, -Tell me, Bab, did I look well in my figured dress?’ - -‘Charming, darling; you always are that.’ - -‘You are a sweet sister,’ said Eve, and she put her arm round Barbara, -who was driving. - -Mr. Jordan, their father, was tenant of the Duke of Bedford. The -Jordans were the oldest tenants on the estate which had come to the -Russells on the sequestration of the abbey. The Jordans had been -tenants under the abbot, and they remained on after the change of -religion and owners, without abandoning their religion or losing -their position. The Jordans were not accounted squires, but were -reckoned as gentry. They held Morwell on long leases of ninety-nine -years, regularly renewed when the leases lapsed. They regarded Morwell -House almost as their freehold; it was bound up with all their family -traditions and associations. - -As a vast tract of country round belonged to the duke, it was void -of landed gentry residing on their estates, and the only families of -education and birth in the district were those of the parsons, but the -difference in religion formed a barrier against intimacy with these. -Mr. Jordan, moreover, was living under a cloud. It was well-known -throughout the country that he had not been married to Eve’s mother, -and this had caused a cessation of visits to Morwell. Moreover, since -the disappearance of Eve’s mother, Mr. Jordan had become morose, -reserved, and so peculiar in his manner, that it was doubted whether he -were in his right mind. - -Like many a small country squire, he farmed the estate himself. At -one time he had been accounted an active farmer, and was credited -with having made a great deal of money, but for the last seventeen -years he had neglected agriculture a good deal, to devote himself to -mineralogical researches. He was convinced that the rocks were full of -veins of metal—silver, lead, and copper, and he occupied himself in -searching for the metals in the wood, and on the moor, sinking pits, -breaking stones, washing and melting what he found. He believed that he -would come on some vein of almost pure silver or copper, which would -make his fortune. Bitten with this craze, he neglected his farm, which -would have gone to ruin had not his eldest daughter, Barbara, taken the -management into her own hands. - -Mr. Jordan was quite right in believing that he lived on rocks rich -with metal: the whole land is now honeycombed with shafts and adits: -but he made the mistake in thinking that he could gather a fortune out -of the rocks unassisted, armed only with his own hammer, drawing only -out of his own purse. His knowledge of chemistry and mineralogy was not -merely elementary, but incorrect; he read old books of science mixed up -with the fantastic alchemical notions of the middle ages, believed in -the sympathies of the planets with metals, and in the virtues of the -divining rod. - -‘Does a blue or a rose ribbon suit my hair best, Bab?’ asked Eve. ‘You -see my hair is chestnut, and I doubt me if pink suits the colour so -well as forget-me-not.’ - -‘Every ribbon of every hue agrees with Eve,’ said Barbara. - -‘You are a darling.’ The younger girl made an attempt to kiss her -sister, in return for the compliment. - -‘Be careful,’ said Barbara, ‘you will upset the gig.’ - -‘But I love you so much when you are kind.’ - -‘Am not I always kind to you, dear?’ - -‘O yes, but sometimes much kinder than at others.’ - -‘That is, when I flatter you.’ - -‘O if you call it flattery——’ said Eve, pouting. - -‘No—it is plain truth, my dearest.’ - -‘Bab,’ broke forth the younger suddenly, ‘do you not think Bradstone a -charming house? It is not so dull as ours.’ - -‘And the Cloberrys—you like them?’ - -‘Yes, dear, very much.’ - -‘Do you believe that story about Oliver Cloberry, the page?’ - -‘What story?’ - -‘That which Grace Cloberry told me.’ - -‘I was not with you in the lanes when you were talking together. I do -not know it.’ - -‘Then I will tell you. Listen, Bab, and shiver.’ - -‘I am shivering in the cold wind already.’ - -‘Shiver more shiveringly still. I am going to curdle your blood.’ - -‘Go on with the story, but do not squeeze up against me so close, or I -shall be pushed out of the gig.’ - -‘But, Bab, I am frightened to tell the tale.’ - -‘Then do not tell it.’ - -‘I want to frighten you.’ - -‘You are very considerate.’ - -‘We share all things, Bab, even our terrors. I am a loving sister. Once -I gave you the measles. I was too selfish to keep it all to myself. -Are you ready? Grace told me that Oliver Cloberry, the eldest son, was -page boy to John Copplestone, of Warleigh, in Queen Elizabeth’s reign, -you know—wicked Queen Bess, who put so many Catholics to death. Squire -Copplestone was his godfather, but he did not like the boy, though he -was his godchild and page. The reason was this: he was much attached to -Joan Hill, who refused him and married Squire Cloberry, of Bradstone, -instead. The lady tried to keep friendly with her old admirer, and -asked him to stand godfather to her first boy, and then take him as his -page; but Copplestone was a man who long bore a grudge, and the boy -grew up the image of his father, and so—Copplestone hated him. One day, -when Copplestone was going out hunting, he called for his stirrup cup, -and young Cloberry ran and brought it to him. But as the squire raised -the wine to his lips he saw a spider in it; and in a rage he dashed the -cup and the contents in the face of the boy. He hit Oliver Cloberry -on the brow, and when the boy staggered to his feet, he muttered -something. Copplestone heard him, and called to him to speak out, if he -were not a coward. Then the lad exclaimed, “Mother did well to throw -you over for my father.” Some who stood by laughed, and Copplestone -flared up; the boy, afraid at what he had said, turned to go, then -Copplestone threw his hunting dagger at him, and it struck him in the -back, entered his heart, and he fell dead. Do you believe this story, -Bab?’ - -‘There is some truth in it, I know. Prince, in his “Worthies,” says -that Copplestone only escaped losing his head for the murder by the -surrender of thirteen manors.’ - -‘That is not all,’ Eve continued; ‘now comes the creepy part of the -story. Grace Cloberry told me that every stormy night the Whish Hounds -run over the downs, breathing fire, pursuing Copplestone, from Warleigh -to Bradstone, and that the murdered boy is mounted behind Copplestone, -and stabs him in the back all along the way. Do you believe this?’ - -‘Most assuredly not.’ - -‘Why should you not, Bab? Don’t you think that a man like Copplestone -would be unable to rest in his grave? Would not that be a terrible -purgatory for him to be hunted night after night? Grace told me that -old Squire Cloberry rides and blows his horn to egg-on the Whish -Hounds, and Copplestone has a black horse, and he strikes spurs into -its sides when the boy stabs him in the back, and screams with pain. -When the Judgment Day comes, then only will his rides be over. I am -sure I believe it all, Bab. It is so horrible.’ - -‘It is altogether false, a foolish superstition.’ - -‘Look there, do you see, Bab, we are at the white stone with the cross -cut in it that my father put up where he first saw my mother. Is it not -strange that no one knows whence my mother came? You remember her just -a little. Whither did my mother go?’ - -‘I do not know, Eve.’ - -‘There, again, Bab. You who sneer and toss your chin when I speak of -anything out of the ordinary, must admit this to be passing wonderful. -My mother came, no one knows whence; she went, no one knows whither. -After that, is it hard to believe in the Whish Hounds, and Black -Copplestone?’ - -‘The things are not to be compared.’ - -‘Your mother was buried at Buckland, and I have seen her grave. You -know that her body is there, and that her soul is in heaven. But as for -mine, I do not even know whether she had a human soul.’ - -‘Eve! What do you mean?’ - -‘I have read and heard tell of such things. She may have been a -wood-spirit, an elf-maid. Whoever she was, whatever she was, my father -loved her. He loves her still. I can see that. He seems to me to have -her ever in his thoughts.’ - -‘Yes,’ said Barbara sadly, ‘he never visits my mother’s grave; I alone -care for the flowers there.’ - -‘I can look into his heart,’ said Eve. ‘He loves me so dearly because -he loved my mother dearer still.’ - -Barbara made no remark to this. - -Then Eve, in her changeful mood, went back to the former topic of -conversation. - -‘Think, think, Bab! of Black Copplestone riding nightly over these -wastes on his black mare, with her tail streaming behind, and the -little page standing on the crupper, stabbing, stabbing, stabbing; and -the Whish Hounds behind, giving tongue, and Squire Cloberry in the rear -urging them on with his horn. O Bab! I am sure father believes in this, -I should die of fear were Copplestone hunted by dogs to pass this way. -Hold! Hark!’ she almost screamed. - -The wind was behind them; they heard a call, then the tramp of horses’ -feet. - -Barbara even was for the moment startled, and drew the gig aside, off -the road upon the common. A black cloud had rolled over the sickle of -the moon, and obscured its feeble light. Eve could neither move nor -speak. She quaked at Barbara’s side like an aspen. - -In another moment dark figures of men and horses were visible, -advancing at full gallop along the road. The dull cob the sisters were -driving plunged, backed, and was filled with panic. Then the moon shone -out, and a faint, ghastly light fell on the road, and they could see -the black figures sweeping along. There were two horses, one some way -ahead of the other, and two riders, the first with slouched hat. But -what was that crouched on the crupper, clinging to the first rider? - -As he swept past, Eve distinguished the imp-like form of a boy. That -wholly unnerved her. She uttered a piercing shriek, and clasped her -hands over her eyes. - -The first horse had passed, the second was abreast of the girls when -that cry rang out. The horse plunged, and in a moment horse and rider -crashed down, and appeared to dissolve into the ground. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -EVE’S RING. - - -SOME moments elapsed before Barbara recovered her surprise, then she -spoke a word of encouragement to Eve, who was in an ecstasy of terror, -and tried to disengage herself from her arms, and master the frightened -horse sufficiently to allow her to descend. A thorn tree tortured -by the winds stood solitary at a little distance, at a mound which -indicated the presence of a former embankment. Barbara brought the cob -and gig to it, there descended, and fastened the horse to the tree. -Then she helped her sister out of the vehicle. - -‘Do not be alarmed, Eve. There is nothing here supernatural to dismay -you, only a pair of farmers who have been drinking, and one has tumbled -off his horse. We must see that he has not broken his neck.’ But Eve -clung to her in frantic terror, and would not allow her to disengage -herself. In the meantime, by the sickle moon, now sailing clear of the -clouds, they could see that the first rider had reined in his horse and -turned. - -‘Jasper!’ he called, ‘what is the matter?’ - -No answer came. He rode back to the spot where the second horse had -fallen, and dismounted. - -‘What has happened?’ screamed the boy. ‘I must get down also.’ - -The man who had dismounted pointed to the white stone and said, ‘Hold -the horse and stay there till you are wanted. I must see what cursed -mischance has befallen Jasper.’ - -Eve was somewhat reassured at the sound of human voices, and she -allowed Barbara to release herself, and advance into the road. - -‘Who are you?’ asked the horseman. - -‘Only a girl. Can I help? Is the man hurt?’ - -‘Hurt, of course. He hasn’t fallen into a feather bed, or—by good -luck—into a furze brake.’ - -The horse that had fallen struggled to rise. - -‘Out of the way,’ said the man, ‘I must see that the brute does not -trample on him.’ He helped the horse to his feet; the animal was much -shaken and trembled. - -‘Hold the bridle, girl.’ Barbara obeyed. Then the man went to his -fallen comrade and spoke to him, but received no answer. He raised his -arms, and tried if any bones were broken, then he put his hand to the -heart. ‘Give the boy the bridle, and come here, you girl. Help me to -loosen his neck-cloth. Is there water near?’ - -‘None; we are at the highest point of the moor.’ - -‘Damn it! There is water everywhere in over-abundance in this country, -except where it is wanted.’ - -‘He is alive,’ said Barbara, kneeling and raising the head of the -prostrate, insensible man. ‘He is stunned, but he breathes.’ - -‘Jasper!’ shouted the man who was unhurt, ‘for God’s sake, wake up. You -know I can’t remain here all night.’ - -No response. - -‘This is desperate. I must press forward. Fatalities always occur when -most inconvenient. I was born to ill-luck. No help, no refuge near.’ - -‘I am by as help; my home not far distant,’ said Barbara, ‘for a -refuge.’ - -‘O yes—_you_! What sort of help is that? Your house! I can’t diverge -five miles out of my road for that.’ - -‘We live not half an hour from this point.’ - -‘O yes—half an hour multiplied by ten. You women don’t know how to -calculate distances, or give a decent direction.’ - -‘The blood is flowing from his head,’ said Barbara: ‘it is cut. He has -fallen on a stone.’ - -‘What the devil is to be done? I cannot stay.’ - -‘Sir,’ said Barbara, ‘of course you stay by your comrade. Do you think -to leave him half dead at night to the custody of two girls, strangers, -on a moor?’ - -‘You don’t understand,’ answered the man; ‘I cannot and I will not -stay.’ He put his hand to his head. ‘How far to your home?’ - -‘I have told you, half-an-hour.’ - -‘Honour bright—no more?’ - -‘I said, half-an-hour.’ - -‘Good God, Watt! always a fool?’ He turned sharply towards the lad who -was seated on the stone. The boy had unslung a violin from his back, -taken it from its case, had placed it under his chin, and drawn the bow -across the strings. - -‘Have done, Watt! Let go the horses, have you? What a fate it is for a -man to be cumbered with helpless, useless companions.’ - -‘Jasper’s horse is lame,’ answered the boy, ‘so I have tied the two -together, the sound and the cripple, and neither can get away.’ - -‘Like me with Jasper. Damnation—but I must go! I dare not stay.’ - -The boy swung his bow in the moonlight, and above the raging of the -wind rang out the squeal of the instrument. Eve looked at him, scared. -He seemed some goblin perched on the stone, trying with his magic -fiddle to work a spell on all who heard its tones. The boy satisfied -himself that his violin was in order, and then put it once more in its -case, and cast it over his back. - -‘How is Jasper?’ he shouted; but the man gave him no answer. - -‘Half-an-hour! Half an eternity to me,’ growled the man. ‘However, one -is doomed to sacrifice self for others. I will take him to your house -and leave him there. Who live at your house? Are there many men there?’ - -‘There is only old Christopher Davy at the lodge, but he is ill with -rheumatics. My father is away.’ Barbara regretted having said this the -moment the words escaped her. - -The stranger looked about him uneasily, then up at the moon. ‘I can’t -spare more than half-an-hour.’ - -Then Barbara said undauntedly, ‘No man, under any circumstances, can -desert a fellow in distress, leaving him, perhaps, to die. You must -lift him into our gig, and we will convey him to Morwell. Then go your -way if you will. My sister and I will take charge of him, and do our -best for him till you can return.’ - -‘Return!’ muttered the man scornfully. ‘Christian cast his burden -before the cross. He didn’t return to pick it up again.’ - -Barbara waxed wroth. - -‘If the accident had happened to you, would your friend have excused -himself and deserted you?’ - -‘Oh!’ exclaimed the man carelessly, ‘of course _he_ would not.’ - -‘Yet you are eager to leave him.’ - -‘You do not understand. The cases are widely different.’ He went to the -horses. ‘Halloo!’ he exclaimed as he now noticed Eve. ‘Another girl -springing out of the turf! Am I among pixies? Turn your face more to -the light. On my oath, and I am a judge, you are a beauty!’ Then he -tried the horse that had fallen; it halted. ‘The brute is fit for dogs’ -meat only,’ he said. ‘Let the fox-hounds eat him. Is that your gig? We -can never lift my brother——’ - -‘Is he your brother?’ - -‘We can never pull him up into that conveyance. No, we must get him -astride my horse; you hold him on one side, I on the other, and so we -shall get on. Come here, Watt, and lend a hand; you help also, Beauty, -and see what you can do.’ - -With difficulty the insensible man was raised into the saddle. He -seemed to gather some slight consciousness when mounted, for he -muttered something about pushing on. - -‘You go round on the further side of the horse,’ said the man -imperiously to Barbara. ‘You seem strong in the arm, possibly stronger -than I am. Beauty! lead the horse.’ - -‘The boy can do that,’ said Barbara. - -‘He don’t know the way,’ answered the man. ‘Let him come on with your -old rattletrap. Upon my word, if Beauty were to throw a bridle over my -head, I would be content to follow her through the world.’ - -Thus they went on; the violence, of the gale had somewhat abated, but -it produced a roar among the heather and gorse of the moor like that -of the sea. Eve, as commanded, went before, holding the bridle. Her -movements were easy, her form was graceful. She tripped lightly along -with elastic step, unlike the firm tread of her sister. But then Eve -was only leading, and Barbara was sustaining. - -For some distance no one spoke. It was not easy to speak so as to be -heard, without raising the voice; and now the way led towards the oaks -and beeches and pines about Morwell, and the roar among the branches -was fiercer, louder than that among the bushes of furze. - -Presently the man cried imperiously ‘Halt!’ and stepping forward caught -the bit and roughly arrested the horse. ‘I am certain we are followed.’ - -‘What if we are?’ asked Barbara. - -‘What if we are!’ echoed the man. ‘Why, everything to me.’ He put his -hands against the injured man; Barbara was sure he meant to thrust him -out of the saddle, leap into it himself, and make off. She said, ‘We -are followed by the boy with our gig.’ - -Then he laughed. ‘Ah! I forgot that. When a man has money about him and -no firearms, he is nervous in such a blast-blown desert as this, where -girls who may be decoys pop out of every furze bush.’ - -‘Lead on, Eve,’ said Barbara, affronted at his insolence. She was -unable to resist the impulse to say, across the horse, ‘You are not -ashamed to let two girls see that you are a coward.’ - -The man struck his arm across the crupper of the horse, caught her -bonnet-string and tore it away. - -‘I will beat your brains out against the saddle if you insult me.’ - -‘A coward is always cruel,’ answered Barbara; as she said this she -stood off, lest he should strike again, but he took no notice of her -last words, perhaps had not caught them. She said no more, deeming it -unwise to provoke such a man. - -Presently, turning his head, he asked, ‘Did you call that girl—Eve?’ - -‘Yes; she is my sister.’ - -‘That is odd,’ remarked the man. ‘Eve! Eve!’ - -‘Did you call me?’ asked the young girl who was leading. - -‘I was repeating your name, sweet as your face.’ - -‘Go on, Eve,’ said Barbara. - -The path descended, and became rough with stones. - -‘He is moving,’ said Barbara. ‘He said something.’ - -‘Martin!’ spoke the injured man. - -‘I am at your side, Jasper.’ - -‘I am hurt—where am I?’ - -‘I cannot tell you; heaven knows. In some God-forgotten waste.’ - -‘Do not leave me!’ - -‘Never, Jasper.’ - -‘You promise me?’ - -‘With all my heart.’ - -‘I must trust you, Martin,—trust you.’ - -Then he said no more, and sank back into half-consciousness. - -‘How much farther?’ asked the man who walked. ‘I call this a cursed -long half-hour. To women time is nought; but every moment to me is of -consequence. I must push on.’ - -‘You have just promised not to desert your friend, your brother.’ - -‘It pacified him, and sent him to sleep again.’ - -‘It was a promise.’ - -‘You promise a child the moon when it cries, but it never gets it. How -much farther?’ - -‘We are at Morwell.’ - -They issued from the lane, and were before the old gatehouse of -Morwell; a light shone through the window over the entrance door. - -‘Old Davy is up there, ill. He cannot come down. The gate is open; we -will go in,’ said Barbara. - -‘I am glad we are here,’ said the man called Martin; ‘now we must -bestir ourselves.’ - -Thoughtlessly he struck the horse with his whip, and the beast started, -nearly precipitating the rider to the ground. The man on it groaned. -The injured man was lifted down. - -‘Eve!’ said Barbara, ‘run in and tell Jane to come out, and see that a -bed be got ready at once, in the lower room.’ - -Presently out came a buxom womanservant, and with her assistance the -man was taken off the horse and carried indoors. - -A bedroom was on the ground-floor opening out of the hall. Into this -Eve led the way with a light, and the patient was laid on a bed hastily -made ready for his reception. His coat was removed, and Barbara -examined the head. - -‘Here is a gash to the bone,’ she said, ‘and much blood is flowing from -it. Jane, come with me, and we will get what is necessary.’ - -Martin was left alone in the room with Eve and the man called -Jasper. Martin moved, so that the light fell over her; and he stood -contemplating her with wonder and admiration. She was marvellously -beautiful, slender, not tall, and perfectly proportioned. Her hair was -of the richest auburn, full of gloss and warmth. She had the exquisite -complexion that so often accompanies hair of this colour. Her eyes were -large and blue. The pure oval face was set on a delicate neck, round -which hung a kerchief, which she now untied and cast aside. - -‘How lovely you are!’ said Martin. A rich blush overspread her cheek -and throat, and tinged her little ears. Her eyes fell. His look was -bold. - -Then, almost unconscious of what he was doing, as an act of homage, -Martin removed his slouched hat, and for the first time Eve saw what -he was like, when she timidly raised her eyes. With surprise she saw -a young face. The man with the imperious manner was not much above -twenty, and was remarkably handsome. He had dark hair, a pale skin, -very large, soft dark eyes, velvety, enclosed within dark lashes. His -nose was regular, the nostrils delicately arched and chiselled. His lip -was fringed with a young moustache. There was a remarkable refinement -and tenderness in the face. Eve could hardly withdraw her wondering -eyes from him. Such a face she had never seen, never even dreamed of as -possible. Here was a type of masculine beauty that transcended all her -imaginings. She had met very few young men, and those she did meet were -somewhat uncouth, addicted to the stable and the kennel, and redolent -of both, more at home following the hounds or shooting than associating -with ladies. There was so much of innocent admiration in the gaze of -simple Eve that Martin was flattered, and smiled. - -‘Beauty!’ he said, ‘who would have dreamed to have stumbled on the -likes of you on the moor? Nay, rather let me bless my stars that I -have been vouchsafed the privilege of meeting and speaking with a real -fairy. It is said that you must never encounter a fairy without taking -of her a reminiscence, to be a charm through life.’ - -Suddenly he put his hand to her throat. She had a delicate blue riband -about it, disclosed when she cast aside her kerchief. He put his finger -between the riband and her throat, and pulled. - -‘You are strangling me!’ exclaimed Eve, shrinking away, alarmed at his -boldness. - -‘I care not,’ he replied, ‘this I will have.’ - -He wrenched at and broke the riband, and then drew it from her neck. As -he did so a gold ring fell on the floor. He stooped, picked it up, and -put it on his little finger. - -‘Look,’ said he with a laugh, ‘my hand is so small, my fingers so -slim—I can wear this ring.’ - -‘Give it me back! Let me have it! You must not take it!’ Eve was -greatly agitated and alarmed. ‘I may not part with it. It was my -mother’s.’ - -Then, with the same daring insolence with which he had taken the ring, -he caught the girl to him, and kissed her. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -THE LIMPING HORSE. - - -EVE drew herself away with a cry of anger and alarm, and with sparkling -eyes and flushed cheeks. At that moment her sister returned with Jane, -and immediately Martin reassumed his hat with broad brim. Barbara did -not notice the excitement of Eve; she had not observed the incident, -because she entered a moment too late to do so, and no suspicion that -the stranger would presume to take such a liberty crossed her mind. - -Eve stood back behind the door, with hands on her bosom to control its -furious beating, and with head depressed to conceal the heightened -colour. - -Barbara and the maid stooped over the unconscious man, and whilst -Martin held a light, they dressed and bandaged his head. - -Presently his eyes opened, a flicker of intelligence passed through -them, they rested on Martin; a smile for a moment kindled the face, and -the lips moved. - -‘He wants to speak to you,’ said Barbara, noticing the direction of the -eyes, and the expression that came into them. - -‘What do you want, Jasper?’ asked Martin, putting his hand on that of -the other. - -The candlelight fell on the two hands, and Barbara noticed the -contrast. That of Martin was delicate as the hand of a woman, narrow, -with taper fingers, and white; that of Jasper was strong, darkened by -exposure. - -‘Will you be so good as to undress him,’ said Barbara, ‘and put him to -bed? My sister will assist me in the kitchen. Jane, if you desire help, -is at your service.’ - -‘Yes, go,’ said Martin, ‘but return speedily, as I cannot stay many -minutes.’ - -Then the girls left the room. - -‘I do not want you,’ he said roughly to the serving woman. ‘Take -yourself off; when I need you I will call. No prying at the door.’ He -went after her, thrust Jane forth and shut the door behind her. Then -he returned to Jasper, removed his clothes, somewhat ungently, with -hasty hands. When his waistcoat was off, Martin felt in the inner -breast-pocket, and drew from it a pocket-book. He opened it, and -transferred the contents to his own purse, then replaced the book and -proceeded with the undressing. - -When Jasper was divested of his clothes, and laid at his ease in the -bed, his head propped on pillows, Martin went to the door and called -the girls. He was greatly agitated, Barbara observed it. His lower lip -trembled. Eve hung back in the kitchen, she could not return. - -Martin said in eager tones, ‘I have done for him all I can, now I am in -haste to be off.’ - -‘But,’ remonstrated Barbara, ‘he is your brother.’ - -‘My brother!’ laughed Martin. ‘He is no relation of mine. He is naught -to me and I am naught to him.’ - -‘You called him your brother.’ - -‘That was tantamount to comrade. All sons of Adam are brothers, at -least in misfortune. I do not even know the fellow’s name.’ - -‘Why,’ said Barbara, ‘this is very strange. You call him Jasper, and he -named you Martin.’ - -‘Ah!’ said the man hesitatingly, ‘we are chance travellers, riding -along the same road. He asked my name and I gave it him—my surname. I -am a Mr. Martin—he mistook me; and in exchange he gave me his Christian -name. That is how I knew it. If anyone asks about this event, you can -say that Mr. Martin passed this way and halted awhile at your house, on -his road to Tavistock. - -‘You are going to Tavistock?’ - -‘Yes, that is my destination.’ - -‘In that case I will not seek to detain you. Call up Doctor Crooke and -send him here.’ - -‘I will do so. You furnish me with an additional motive for haste to -depart.’ - -‘Go,’ said Barbara. ‘God grant the poor man may not die.’ - -‘Die! pshaw! die!’ exclaimed Martin. ‘Men aren’t such brittle ware as -that pretty sister of yours. A fall from a horse don’t kill a man. If -it did, fox-hunting would not be such a popular sport. To-morrow, or -the day after, Mr. Jasper What’s-his-name will be on his feet again. -Hush! What do I hear?’ - -His cheek turned pale, but Barbara did not see it; he kept his face -studiously away from the light. - -‘Your horse which you hitched up outside neighed, that is all.’ - -‘That is a great deal. It would not neigh at nothing.’ - -He went out. Barbara told the maid to stay by the sick man, and went -after Martin. She thought that in all probability the boy had arrived -driving the gig. - -Martin stood irresolute in the doorway. The horse that had borne the -injured man had been brought into the courtyard, and hitched up at the -hall door. Martin looked across the quadrangle. The moon was shining -into it. A yellow glimmer came from the sick porter’s window over the -great gate. The large gate was arched, a laden waggon might pass under -it. It was unprovided with doors. Through it the moonlight could be -seen on the paved ground in front of the old lodge. - -A sound of horse-hoofs was audible approaching slowly, uncertainly, on -the stony ground; but no wheels. - -‘What can the boy have done with our gig?’ asked Barbara. - -‘Will you be quiet?’ exclaimed Martin angrily. - -‘I protest—you are trembling,’ she said. - -‘May not a man shiver when he is cold?’ answered the man. - -She saw him shrink back into the shadow of the entrance as something -appeared in the moonlight outside the gatehouse, indistinctly seen, -moving strangely. - -Again the horse neighed. - -They saw the figure come on haltingly out of the light into the -blackness of the shadow of the gate, pass through, and emerge into the -moonlight of the court. - -Then both saw that the lame horse that had been deserted on the moor -had followed, limping and slowly, as it was in pain, after the other -horse. Barbara went at once to the poor beast, saying, ‘I will put you -in a stall,’ but in another moment she returned with a bundle in her -hand. - -‘What have you there?’ asked Martin, who was mounting his horse, -pointing with his whip to what she carried. - -‘I found this strapped to the saddle.’ - -‘Give it to me.’ - -‘It does not belong to you. It belongs to the other—to Jasper.’ - -‘Let me look through the bundle; perhaps by that means we may discover -his name.’ - -‘I will examine it when you are gone. I will not detain you; ride on -for the doctor.’ - -‘I insist on having that bundle,’ said Martin. ‘Give it me, or I will -strike you.’ He raised his whip. - -‘Only a coward would strike a woman. I will not give you the bundle. It -is not yours. As you said, this man Jasper is naught to you, nor you to -him.’ - -‘I will have it,’ he said with a curse, and stooped from the saddle to -wrench it from her hands. Barbara was too quick for him; she stepped -back into the doorway and slammed the door upon him, and bolted it. - -He uttered an ugly oath, then turned and rode through the courtyard. -‘After all,’ he said, ‘what does it matter? We were fools not to be rid -of it before.’ - -As he passed out of the gatehouse, he saw Eve in the moonlight, -approaching timidly. - -‘You must give me back my ring!’ she pleaded; ‘you have no right to -keep it.’ - -‘Must I, Beauty? Where is the compulsion?’ - -‘Indeed, indeed you must.’ - -‘Then I will—but not now; at some day in the future, when we meet -again.’ - -‘O give it me now! It belonged to my mother, and she is dead.’ - -‘Come! What will you give me for it? Another kiss?’ - -Then from close by burst a peal of impish laughter, and the boy bounded -out of the shadow of a yew tree into the moonlight. - -‘Halloo, Martin! always hanging over a pretty face, detained by it when -you should be galloping. I’ve upset the gig and broken it; give me my -place again on the crupper.’ - -He ran, leaped, and in an instant was behind Martin. The horse bounded -away, and Eve heard the clatter of the hoofs as it galloped up the lane -to the moor. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -A BUNDLE OF CLOTHES. - - -BARBARA JORDAN sat by the sick man with her knitting on her lap, and -her eyes fixed on his face. He was asleep, and the sun would have shone -full on him had she not drawn a red curtain across the window, which -subdued the light, and diffused a warm glow over the bed. He was -breathing calmly; danger was over. - -On the morning after the eventful night, Mr. Jordan had returned to -Morwell, and had been told what had happened—at least, the major -part—and had seen the sick man. He, Jasper, was then still unconscious. -The doctor from Tavistock had not arrived. The family awaited him -all day, and Barbara at last suspected that Martin had not taken -the trouble to deliver her message. She did not like to send again, -expecting him hourly. Then a doubt rose in her mind whether Doctor -Crooke might not have refused to come. Her father had made some -slighting remarks about him in company lately. It was possible that -these had been repeated and the doctor had taken umbrage. - -The day passed, and as he did not arrive, and as the sick man remained -unconscious, on the second morning Barbara sent a foot messenger to -Beer Alston, where was a certain Mr. James Coyshe, surgeon, a young -man, reputed to be able, not long settled there. The gig was broken, -and the cob in trying to escape from the upset vehicle had cut himself -about the legs, and was unfit for a journey. The Jordans had but one -carriage horse. The gig lay wrecked in the lane; the boy had driven -it against a gate-post of granite, and smashed the axle and the -splashboard and a wheel. - -Coyshe arrived; he was a tall young man, with hair cut very short, very -large light whiskers, prominent eyes, and big protruding ears. - -‘He is suffering from congestion of the brain,’ said the surgeon; ‘if -he does not awake to-morrow, order his grave to be dug.’ - -‘Can you do nothing for him?’ asked Miss Jordan. - -‘Nothing better than leave him in your hands,’ said Coyshe with a bow. - -This was all that had passed between Barbara and the doctor. Now the -third day was gone, and the man’s brain had recovered from the pressure -on it. - -As Barbara knitted, she stole many a glance at Jasper’s face; -presently, finding that she had dropped stitches and made false -counts, she laid her knitting in her lap, and watched the sleeper with -undivided attention and with a face full of perplexity, as though -trying to read the answer to a question which puzzled her, and not -finding the answer where she sought it, or finding it different from -what she anticipated. - -In appearance Barbara was very different from her sister. Her face -was round, her complexion olive, her eyes very dark. She was strongly -built, without grace of form, a sound, hearty girl, hale to her heart’s -core. She was not beautiful, her features were without chiselling, but -her abundant hair, her dark eyes, and the sensible, honest expression -of her face redeemed it from plainness. She had practical common sense; -Eve had beauty. Barbara was content with the distribution; perfectly -satisfied to believe herself destitute of personal charms, and ready to -excuse every act of thoughtlessness committed by her sister. Barbara -rose from her seat, laid aside the knitting, and went to a carved oak -box that stood against the wall, ornamented with the figure of a man -in trunk hose, with a pair of eagles’ heads in the place of a human -face. She raised the lid and looked in. There lay, neatly folded, the -contents of Jasper’s bundle, a coarse grey and yellow suit—a suit -so peculiar in cut and colour that there was no mistaking whence it -had come, and what he was who had worn it. Barbara shut the chest -and returned to her place, and her look was troubled. Her eyes were -again fixed on the sleeper. His face was noble. It was pale from loss -of blood. The hair was black, the eyes were closed, but the lashes -were long and dark. His nose was aquiline without being over-strongly -characterised, his lips were thin and well moulded. The face, even in -sleep, bore an expression of gravity, dignity, and integrity. Barbara -found it hard to associate such a face with crime, and yet how else -could she account for that convict garb she had found rolled up and -strapped to his saddle, and which she had laid in the trunk? - -Prisoners escaped now and again from the great jail on Dartmoor. This -was one of them. As she sat watching him, puzzling her mind over this, -his eyes opened, and he smiled. The smile was remarkably sweet. His -eyes were large, dark and soft, and from being sunken through sickness, -appeared to fill his face. Barbara rose hastily, and, going to the -fireplace, brought from it some beef-tea that had been warming at the -small fire. She put it to his lips; he thanked her, sighed, and lay -back. She said not a word, but resumed her knitting. - -From this moment their positions were reversed. It was now she who was -watched by him. When she looked up, she encountered his dark eyes. She -coloured a little, and impatiently turned her chair on one side, so as -to conceal her face. A couple of minutes after, sensible in every nerve -that she was being observed, unable to keep her eyes away, spell-drawn, -she glanced at him again. He was still watching her. Then she moved to -her former position, bit her lip, frowned, and said, ‘Are you in want -of anything?’ - -He shook his head. - -‘You are sufficiently yourself to remain alone for a few minutes,’ -she said, stood up, and left the room. She had the management of the -house, and, indeed, of the farm on her hands; her usual assistant in -setting the labourers their work, old Christopher Davy, was ill with -rheumatism. This affair had happened at an untoward moment, but is it -not always so? A full hour had elapsed before Miss Jordan returned. -Then she saw that the convalescent’s eyes were closed. He was probably -again asleep, and sleep was the best thing for him. She reseated -herself by his bedside, and resumed her knitting. A moment after she -was again aware that his eyes were on her. She had herself watched him -so intently whilst he was asleep that a smile came involuntarily to -her lips. She was being repaid in her own coin. The smile encouraged -him to speak. - -‘How long have I been here?’ - -‘Four days.’ - -‘Have I been very ill?’ - -‘Yes, insensible, sometimes rambling.’ - -‘What made me ill? What ails my head?’ He put his hand to the bandages. - -‘You have had a fall from your horse.’ - -He did not speak for a moment or two. His thoughts moved slowly. After -a while he asked, ‘Where did I fall?’ - -‘On the moor—Morwell Down.’ - -‘I can remember nothing. When was it?’ - -‘Four days ago.’ - -‘Yes—you have told me so. I forgot. My head is not clear, there is -singing and spinning in it. To-day is——?’ - -‘To-day is Monday.’ - -‘What day was that—four days ago?’ - -‘Thursday.’ - -‘Yes, Thursday. I cannot think to reckon backwards. Monday, Tuesday, -Wednesday. I can go on, but not backward. It pains me. I can recall -Thursday.’ He sighed and turned his head to the wall. ‘Thursday -night—yes. I remember no more.’ - -After a while he turned his head round to Barbara and asked, ‘Where am -I now?’ - -‘At Morwell House.’ - -He asked no more questions for a quarter of an hour. He was taking in -and turning over the information he had received. He lay on his back -and closed his eyes. His face was very pale, like marble, but not like -marble in this, that across it travelled changes of expression that -stirred the muscles. Do what she would Barbara could not keep her eyes -off him. The horrible mystery about the man, the lie given to her -thoughts of him by his face, forced her to observe him. - -Presently he opened his eyes, and met hers; she recoiled as if smitten -with a guilty feeling at her heart. - -‘You have always been with me whilst I was unconscious and rambling,’ -he said earnestly. - -‘I have been a great deal with you, but not always. The maid, Jane, and -an old woman who comes in occasionally to char, have shared with me the -task. You have not been neglected.’ - -‘I know well when you have been by me—and when you have been away. -Sometimes I have felt as if I lay on a bank with wild thyme under me——’ - -‘That is because we put thyme with our linen,’ said the practical -Barbara. - -He did not notice the explanation, but went on, ‘And the sun shone on -my face, but a pleasant air fanned me. At other times all was dark and -hot and miserable.’ - -‘That was according to the stages of your illness.’ - -‘No, I think I was content when you were in the room, and distressed -when you were away. Some persons exert a mesmeric power of soothing.’ - -‘Sick men get strange fancies,’ said Barbara. - -He rose on his elbow, and held out his hand. - -‘I know that I owe my life to you, young lady. Allow me to thank you. -My life is of no value to any but myself. I have not hitherto regarded -it much. Now I shall esteem it, as saved by you. I thank you. May I -touch your hand?’ - -He took her fingers and put them to his lips. - -‘This hand is firm and strong,’ he said, ‘but gentle as the wing of a -dove.’ - -She coldly withdrew her fingers. - -‘Enough of thanks,’ she said bluntly. ‘I did but my duty.’ - -‘Was there——’ he hesitated—’anyone with me when I was found, or was I -alone?’ - -‘There were two—a man and a boy.’ - -His face became troubled. He began a question, then let it die in his -mouth, began another, but could not bring it to an end. - -‘And they—where are they?’ he asked at length. - -‘That one called Martin brought you here.’ - -‘He did!’ exclaimed Jasper, eagerly. - -‘That is—he assisted in bringing you here.’ Barbara was so precise and -scrupulous about truth, that she felt herself obliged to modify her -first assertion. ‘Then, when he saw you safe in our hands, he left you.’ - -‘Did he—did he say anything about me?’ - -‘Once—but that I suppose was by a slip, he called you brother. -Afterwards he asserted that you were nothing to him, nor he to you.’ - -Jasper’s face was moved with painful emotions, but it soon cleared, and -he said, ‘Yes, I am nothing to him—nothing. He is gone. He did well. I -was, as he said—and he spoke the truth—nothing to him.’ - -Then, hastily, to turn the subject, ‘Excuse me. Where am I now? And, -young lady, if you will not think it rude of me to inquire, who are you -to whom I owe my poor life?’ - -‘This, as I have already said, is Morwell, and I am the daughter of the -gentleman who resides in it, Mr. Ignatius Jordan.’ - -He fell back on the bed, a deadly greyness came over his face, he -raised his hands: ‘My God! my God! this is most wonderful. Thy ways are -past finding out.’ - -‘What is wonderful?’ asked Barbara. - -He did not answer, but partially raised himself again in bed. - -‘Where are my clothes?’ he asked. - -‘Which clothes?’ inquired Barbara, and her voice was hard, and her -expression became stern. She hesitated for a moment, then went to the -chest and drew forth the suit that had been rolled up on the pommel of -the saddle; also that which he had worn when he met with the accident. -She held one in each hand, and returned to the bed. - -‘Which?’ she asked gravely, fixing her eyes on him. - -He looked from one to the other, and his pale face turned a chalky -white. Then he said in a low tremulous tone, ‘I want my waistcoat.’ - -She gave it him. He felt eagerly about it, drew the pocket-book from -the breast-pocket, opened it and fell back. - -‘Gone!’ he moaned, ‘gone!’ - -The garment dropped from his fingers upon the floor, his eyes became -glassy and fixed, and scarlet spots of colour formed in his cheeks. - -After this he became feverish, and tossed in his bed, put his hand -to his brow, plucked at the bandages, asked for water, and his pulse -quickened. - -Towards evening he seemed conscious that his senses were slipping -beyond control. He called repeatedly for the young lady, and Jane, who -attended him then, was obliged to fetch Barbara. - -The sun was setting when she came into the room. She despatched Jane -about some task that had to be done, and, coming to the side of the -bed, said in a constrained voice, ‘Yes, what do you require? I am here.’ - -He lifted himself. His eyes were glowing with fever; he put out his -hand and clasped her wrist; his hand was burning. His lips quivered; -his face was full of a fiery eagerness. - -‘I entreat you! you are so good, so kind! You have surprised a secret. -I beseech you let no one else into it—no one have a suspicion of it. -I am hot. I am in a fever. I am afraid what I may say when others -are by me. I would go on my knees to you could I rise. I pray you, I -pray you——’ he put his hands together, ‘do not leave me if I become -delirious. It is a hard thing to ask. I have no claim on you; but I -fear. I would have none but you know what I say, and I may say strange -things if my mind becomes deranged with fever. You feel my hand, is it -not like a red-hot-coal? You know that I am likely to wander. Stay by -me—in pity—in mercy—for the love of God—for the love of God!’ - -His hand, a fiery hand, grasped her wrist convulsively. She stood by -his bed, greatly moved, much stung with self-reproach. It was cruel of -her to act as she had done, to show him that convict suit, and let him -see that she knew his vileness. It was heartless, wicked of her, when -the poor fellow was just returned to consciousness, to cast him back -into his misery and shame by the sight of that degrading garment. - -Spots of colour came into her cheeks almost as deep as those which -burnt in the sick man’s face. - -‘I should have considered he was ill, that he was under my charge,’ -she said, and laid her left hand on his to intimate that she sought to -disengage her wrist from his grasp. - -At the touch his eyes, less wild, looked pleadingly at her. - -‘Yes, Mr. Jasper,’ she said, ‘I——’ - -‘Why do you call me Mr. Jasper?’ - -‘That other man gave you the name.’ - -‘Yes, my name is Jasper. And yours?’ - -‘Barbara. I am Miss Barbara Jordan.’ - -‘Will you promise what I asked?’ - -‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I will stay by you all night, and whatever passes -your lips shall never pass mine.’ - -He smiled, and gave a sigh of relief. - -‘How good you are! How good! Barbara Jordan.’ - -He did not call her Miss, and she felt slightly piqued. He, a convict, -to speak of her thus! But she pacified her wounded pride with the -consideration that his mind was disturbed by fever. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -A NIGHT-WATCH. - - -BARBARA had passed her word to remain all night with the sick man, -should he prove delirious; she was scrupulously conscientious, and -in spite of her father’s remonstrance and assurance that old Betty -Westlake could look after the fellow well enough, she remained in the -sick room after the rest had gone to bed. - -That Jasper was fevered was indubitable; he was hot and restless, -tossing his head from side to side on the pillow, and it was not safe -to leave him, lest he should disarrange his bandage, lest, in an access -of fever, he should leap from his bed and do himself an injury. - -After everyone had retired the house became very still. Barbara poked -and made up the fire. It must not become too large, as the nights were -not cold, and it must not be allowed to go out. - -Jasper did not speak, but he opened his eyes occasionally, and looked -at his nurse with a strange light in his eyes that alarmed her. What -if he were to become frantic? What—worse—were he to die? He was only -half conscious, he did not seem to know who she was. His lips twitched -and moved, but no voice came. Then he clasped both hands over his brow, -and moaned, and plucked at the bandages. ‘You must not do that,’ said -Barbara Jordan, rising from her chair and going beside him. He glared -at her from his burning eyes without intelligence. Then she laid her -cool hand on his strapped brow, and he let his arms fall, and lay -still, and the twitching of his mouth ceased. The pressure of her hand -eased, soothed him. Directly she withdrew her hand he began to murmur -and move, and cry out, ‘O Martin! Martin!’ - -Then he put forth his hand and opened it wide, and closed it again, in -a wild, restless, unmeaning manner. Next he waved it excitedly, as if -in vehement conversation or earnest protest. Barbara spoke to him, but -he did not hear her. She urged him to lie quiet and not excite himself, -but her words, if they entered his ear, conveyed no message to the -brain. He snatched at his bandage. - -‘You shall not do that,’ she said, and caught his hand, and held it -down firmly on the coverlet. Then, at once, he was quiet. He continued -turning his head on the pillow, but he did not stir his arm. When she -attempted to withdraw her hand he would not suffer her. Once, when -almost by main force, she plucked her hand away, he became excited and -tried to rise in his bed. In terror, to pacify him, she gave him her -hand again. She moved her chair close to the bed, where she could sit -facing him, and let him hold her left hand with his left. He was quiet -at once. It seemed to her that her cool, calmly flowing blood poured -its healing influence through her hand up his arm to his tossing, -troubled head. Thus she was obliged to sit all night, hand in hand -with the man she was constrained to pity, but whom, for his guilt, she -loathed. - -He became cooler, his pulse beat less fiercely, his hand was less -burning and dry. She saw him pass from vexing dreams into placid sleep. -She was unable to knit, to do any work all night. She could do nothing -other than sit, hour after hour, with her eyes on his face, trying to -unravel the riddle, to reconcile that noble countenance with an evil -life. And when she could not solve it, she closed her eyes and prayed, -and her prayer was concerned, like her thoughts, with the man who lay -in fever and pain, and who clasped her so resolutely. Towards dawn his -eyes opened, and there was no more vacancy and fire in them. Then she -went to the little casement and opened it. The fresh, sweet air of -early morning rushed in, and with the air came the song of awakening -thrushes, the spiral twitter of the lark. One fading star was still -shining in a sky that was laying aside its sables. - -She went back to the bedside and said gently, ‘You are better.’ - -‘Thank you,’ he answered. ‘I have given you much trouble.’ - -She shook her head, she did not speak. Something rose in her throat. -She had extinguished the lamp. In the grey dawn the face on the bed -looked death-like, and a gush of tenderness, of pity for the patient, -filled Barbara’s heart. She brought a basin and a sponge, and, leaning -over him, washed his face. He thanked her with his sweet smile, a -smile that told of pain. It affected Barbara strangely. She drew a -long breath. She could not speak. If she had attempted to do so she -would have sobbed; for she was tired with her continued watching. To -be a nurse to the weak, whether to a babe or a wounded man, brings out -all the sweet springs in a woman’s soul; and poor Barbara, against -her judgment, felt that every gentle vein in her heart was oozing -with pity, love, solicitude, mercy, faith and hope. What eyes that -Jasper had! so gentle, soft, and truthful. Could treachery, cruelty, -dishonesty lurk beneath them? - -A question trembled on Barbara’s lips. She longed to ask him something -about himself, to know the truth, to have that horrible enigma solved. -She leaned her hand on the back of the chair, and put the other to her -lips. - -‘What is it?’ he asked suddenly. - -She started. He had read her thoughts. Her eyes met his, and, as they -met, her eyes answered and said, ‘Yes, there is a certain matter. I -cannot rest till I know.’ - -‘I am sure,’ he said, ‘there is something you wish to say, but are -afraid lest you should excite me.’ - -She was silent. - -‘I am better now; the wind blows cool over me, and the morning light -refreshes me. Do not be afraid. Speak.’ - -She hesitated. - -‘Speak,’ he said. ‘I am fully conscious and self-possessed now.’ - -‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘It is right that I should know for certain -what you are.’ She halted. She shrank from the question. He remained -waiting. Then she asked with a trembling voice, ‘Is that convict -garment yours?’ - -He turned away his face sharply. - -She waited for the answer. He did not reply. His breast heaved and his -whole body shook, the very bed quivered with suppressed emotion. - -‘Do not be afraid,’ she said, in measured tones. ‘I will not betray -you. I have nursed you and fed you, and bathed your head. No, never! -never! whatever your crime may have been, will I betray you. No one in -the house suspects. No eyes but mine have seen that garment. Do not -mistrust me; not by word or look will I divulge the secret, but I must -know all.’ - -Still he did not reply. His face was turned away, but she saw the -working of the muscles of his cheek-bone, and the throb of the great -vein in his temple. Barbara felt a flutter of compunction in her heart. -She had again overagitated this unhappy man when he was not in a -condition to bear it. She knew she had acted precipitately, unfairly, -but the suspense had become to her unendurable. - -‘I have done wrong to ask the question,’ she said. - -‘No,’ he answered, and looked at her. His large eyes, sunken and -lustrous with sickness, met hers, and he saw that tears were trembling -on her lids. - -‘No,’ he said, ‘you did right to ask;’ then paused. ‘The garment—the -prison garment is mine.’ - -A catch in Barbara’s breath; she turned her head hastily and walked -towards the door. Near the door stood the oak chest carved with the -eagle-headed man. She stooped, threw it open, caught up the convict -clothes, rolled them together, and ran up into the attic, where she -secreted them in a place none but herself would be likely to look into. - -A moment after she reappeared, composed. - -‘A packman came this way with his wares yesterday,’ said Miss Jordan -gravely. ‘Amongst other news he brought was this, that a convict had -recently broken out from the prison at Prince’s Town on Dartmoor, and -was thought to have escaped off the moor.’ He listened and made no -answer, but sighed heavily. ‘You are safe here,’ she said; ‘your secret -remains here’—she touched her breast. ‘My father, my sister, none of -the maids suspect anything. Never let us allude to this matter again, -and I hope that as soon as you are sufficiently recovered you will go -your way.’ - -The door opened gently and Eve appeared, fresh and lovely as a May -blossom. - -‘Bab, dear sister,’ said the young girl, ‘let me sit by him now. You -must have a nap. You take everything upon you—you are tired. Why, -Barbara, surely you have been crying?’ - -‘I——crying!’ exclaimed the elder angrily. ‘What have I had to make me -cry? No; I am tired, and my eyes burn.’ - -‘Then close them and sleep for a couple of hours.’ - -Barbara left the room and shut the door behind her. In the early -morning none of the servants could be spared to sit with the sick man. - -Eve went to the table and arranged a bunch of oxlips, dripping with -dew, in a glass of water. - -‘How sweet they are!’ she said, smiling. ‘Smell them, they will do you -good. These are of the old monks’ planting; they grow in abundance in -the orchard, but nowhere else. The oxlips and the orchis suit together -perfectly. If the oxlip had been a little more yellow and the orchis a -little more purple, they would have made an ill-assorted posy.’ - -Jasper looked at the flowers, then at her. - -‘Are you her sister?’ - -‘What, Barbara’s sister?’ - -‘Yes, her name is Barbara.’ - -‘Of course I am.’ - -He looked at Eve. He could trace in her no likeness to her sister. -Involuntarily he said, ‘You are very beautiful.’ - -She coloured—with pleasure. Twice within a few days the same compliment -had been paid her. - -‘What is your name, young lady?’ - -‘My name is Eve.’ - -‘Eve!’ repeated Jasper. ‘How strange!’ - -Twice also, within a few days, had this remark been passed on her name. - -‘Why should it be strange?’ - -‘Because that was also the name of my mother and of my sister.’ - -‘Is your mother alive?’ - -He shook his head. - -‘And your sister?’ - -‘I do not know. I remember her only faintly, and my father never -speaks of her.’ Then he changed the subject. ‘You are very unlike Miss -Barbara. I should not have supposed you were sisters.’ - -‘We are half-sisters. We had not the same mother.’ - -He was exhausted with speaking, and turned towards the wall. Eve seated -herself in the chair vacated by Barbara. She occupied her fingers with -making a cowslip ball, and when it was made she tossed it. Then, as he -moved, she feared that she disturbed him, so she put the ball on the -table, from which, however, it rolled off. - -Jasper turned as she was groping for it. - -‘Do I trouble you?’ she said. ‘Honour bright, I will sit quiet.’ - -How beautiful she looked with her chestnut hair; how delicate and -pearly was her lovely neck; what sweet eyes were hers, blue as a heaven -full of sunshine! - -‘Have you sat much with me, Miss Eve, whilst I have been ill?’ - -‘Not much; my sister would not suffer me. I am such a fidget that she -thought I might irritate you; such a giddypate that I might forget your -draughts and compresses. Barbara is one of those people who do all -things themselves, and rely on no one else.’ - -‘I must have given Miss Barbara much trouble. How good she has been!’ - -‘Oh, Barbara is good to everyone! She can’t help it. Some people are -born good-tempered and practical, and others are born pretty and -poetical; some to be good needlewomen, others to wear smart clothes.’ - -‘Tell me, Miss Eve, did anyone come near me when I met with my -accident?’ - -‘Your friend Martin and Barbara brought you here.’ - -‘And when I was here who had to do with my clothes?’ - -‘Martin undressed you whilst my sister and I got ready what was -necessary for you.’ - -‘And my clothes—who touched them?’ - -‘After your friend Martin, only Barbara; she folded them and put them -away. Why do you ask?’ - -Jasper sighed and put his hand to his head. Silence ensued for some -time; had not he held his hand to the wound Eve would have supposed he -was asleep. Now, all at once, Eve saw the cowslip ball; it was under -the table, and with the point of her little foot she could touch it and -roll it to her. So she played with the ball, rolling it with her feet, -but so lightly that she made no noise. - -All at once he looked round at her. Startled, she kicked the cowslip -ball away. He turned his head away again. - -About five minutes later she was on tiptoe, stealing across the room to -where the ball had rolled. She picked it up and laid it on the pillow -near Jasper’s face. He opened his eyes. They had been closed. - -‘I thought,’ explained Eve, ‘that the scent of the flowers might do -you good. They are somewhat bruised and so smell the stronger.’ - -He half nodded and closed his eyes again. - -Presently she plucked timidly at the sheet. As he paid no attention she -plucked again. He looked at her. The bright face, like an opening wild -rose, was bending over him. - -‘Will it disturb you greatly if I ask you a question?’ - -He shook his head. - -‘Who was that young man whom you called Martin?’ - -He looked earnestly into her eyes, and the colour mounted under the -transparent skin of her throat, cheeks, and brow. - -‘Eve,’ he said gravely, ‘have you ever been ill—cut, wounded’—he put -out his hand and lightly indicated her heart—’there?’ - -She shook her pretty head with a smile. - -‘Then think and ask no more about Martin. He came to you out of -darkness, he went from you into darkness. Put him utterly and for ever -out of your thoughts as you value your happiness.’ - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -BAB. - - -AS Jasper recovered, he saw less of the sisters. June had come, and -with it lovely weather, and with the lovely weather the haysel. The -air was sweet about the house with the fragrance of hay, and the soft -summer breath wafted the pollen and fine strands on its wings into the -court and in at the windows of the old house. Hay harvest was a busy -time, especially for Barbara Jordan. She engaged extra hands, and saw -that cake was baked and beer brewed for the harvesters. Mr. Jordan had -become, as years passed, more abstracted from the cares of the farm, -and more steeped in his fantastic semi-scientific pursuits. As his -eldest daughter put her strong shoulder to the wheel of business, Mr. -Jordan edged his from under it and left the whole pressure upon her. -Consequently Barbara was very much engaged. All that was necessary to -be done for the convalescent was done, quietly and considerately; but -Jasper was left considerably to himself. Neither Barbara nor Eve had -the leisure, even if they had the inclination, to sit in his room and -entertain him with conversation. Eve brought Jasper fresh flowers every -morning, and by snatches sang to him. The little parlour opened out of -the room he occupied, and in it was her harpsichord, an old instrument, -without much tone, but it served to accompany her clear fresh voice. -In the evening she and Barbara sang duets. The elder sister had a good -alto voice that contrasted well with the warble of her sister’s soprano. - -Mr. Jordan came periodically into the sick room, and saluted his guest -in a shy, reserved manner, asked how he progressed, made some common -remark about the weather, fidgeted with the backs of the chairs or the -brim of his hat, and went away. He was a timid man with strangers, -a man who lived in his own thoughts, a man with a frightened, -far-off look in his eyes. He was ungainly in his movements, through -nervousness. He made no friends, he had acquaintances only. - -His peculiar circumstances, the connection with Eve’s mother, his -natural reserve, had kept him apart from the gentlefolks around. His -reserve had deepened of late, and his shyness had become painful to -himself and to those with whom he spoke. - -As Eve grew up, and her beauty was observed, the neighbours pitied the -two girls, condemned through no fault of their own to a life of social -exclusion. Of Barbara everyone spoke well, as an excellent manager and -thrifty housekeeper, kind of heart, in all things reliable. Of Eve -everyone spoke as a beauty. Some little informal conclaves had been -held in the neighbourhood, and one good lady had said to the Cloberrys, -‘If you will call, so will I.’ So the Cloberrys of Bradstone, as a -leading county family, had taken the initiative and called. As the -Cloberry family coach drove up to the gate of Morwell, Mr. Jordan -was all but caught, but he had the presence of mind to slip behind a -laurel bush, that concealed his body, whilst exposing his legs. There -he remained motionless, believing himself unseen, till the carriage -drove away. After the Cloberrys had called, other visitors arrived, -and the girls received invitations to tea, which they gladly accepted. -Mr. Jordan sent his card by his daughters; he would make no calls in -person, and the neighbours were relieved not to see him. That affair of -seventeen years ago was not forgiven. - -Mr. Jordan was well pleased that his daughters should go into society, -or rather that his daughter Eve should be received and admired. With -Barbara he had not much in common, only the daily cares of the estate, -and these worried him. To Eve, and to her alone, he opened out, and -spoke of things that lived within, in his mind, to her alone did he -exhibit tenderness. Barbara was shut out from his heart; she felt the -exclusion, but did not resent the preference shown to Eve. That was -natural, it was Eve’s due, for Eve was so beautiful, so bright, so -perfect a little fairy. But, though Barbara did not grudge her young -sister the love that was given to her, she felt an ache in her heart, -and a regret that the father’s love was not so full that it could -embrace and envelop both. - -One day, when the afternoon sun was streaming into the hall, Barbara -crossed it, and came to the convalescent’s room. - -‘Come,’ she said, ‘my father and I think you had better sit outside -the house; we are carrying the hay, and it may amuse you to watch -the waggons. The sweet air will do you good. You must be weary of -confinement in this little room.’ - -‘How can I be weary where I am so kindly treated!—where all speaks to -me of rest and peace and culture!’ Jasper was dressed, and was sitting -in an armchair reading, or pretending to read, a book. - -‘Can you rise, Mr. Jasper?’ she asked. - -He tried to leave the chair, but he was still very weak, so she -assisted him. - -‘And now,’ she said kindly, ‘walk, sir!’ - -She watched his steps. His face was pale, and the pallor was the more -observable from the darkness of his hair. ‘I think,’ said he, forcing a -smile, ‘I must beg a little support.’ - -She went without hesitation to his side, and he put his arm in hers. He -had not only lost much blood, but had been bruised and severely shaken, -and was not certain of his steps. Barbara was afraid, in crossing the -hall, lest he should fall on the stone floor. She disengaged his hand, -put her arm about his waist, bade him lean on her shoulder. How strong -she seemed! - -‘Can you get on now?’ she asked, looking up. His deep eyes met her. - -‘I could get on for ever thus,’ he answered. - -She flushed scarlet. - -‘I dislike such speeches,’ she said; and disengaged herself from him. -Whilst her arm was about him her hand had felt the beating of his heart. - -She conducted him to a bench in the garden near a bed of stocks, where -the bees were busy. - -‘How beautiful the world looks when one has not seen it for many days!’ -he said. - -‘Yes, there is a good shear of hay, saved in splendid order.’ - -‘When a child is born into the world there is always a gathering, and a -festival to greet it. I am born anew into the beautiful world to-day. I -am on the threshold of a new life, and you have nursed me into it. Am -I too presumptuous if I ask you to sit here a very little while, and -welcome me into it? That will be a festival indeed.’ - -She smiled good-humouredly, and took her place on the bench. Jasper -puzzled her daily more and more. What was he? What was the temptation -that had led him away? Was his repentance thorough? Barbara prayed for -him daily, with the excuse to her conscience that it was always well to -pray for the conversion of a sinner, and that she was bound to pray for -the man whom Providence had cast broken and helpless at her feet. The -Good Samaritan prayed, doubtless, for the man who fell among thieves. -She was interested in her patient. Her patient he was, as she was the -only person in the house to provide and order whatever was done in it. -Her patient, Eve and her father called him. Her patient he was, somehow -her own heart told her he was; bound to her doubly by the solicitude -with which she had nursed him, by the secret of his life which she had -surprised. - -He puzzled her. He puzzled her more and more daily. There was a -gentleness and refinement in his manner and speech that showed her he -was not a man of low class, that if he were not a gentleman by birth -he was one in mind and culture. There was a grave religiousness about -him, moreover, that could not be assumed, and did not comport with a -criminal. - -Who was he, and what had he done? How far had he sinned, or been -sinned against? Barbara’s mind was fretted with these ever-recurring -questions. Teased with the enigma, she could not divert her thoughts -for long from it—it formed the background to all that occupied her -during the day. She considered the dairy, but when the butter was -weighed, went back in mind to the riddle. She was withdrawn again by -the demands of the cook for groceries from her store closet; when the -closet door was shut she was again thinking of the puzzle. She had to -calculate the amount of cake required for the harvesters, and went -on from the calculations of currants and sugar to the balancing of -probabilities in the case of Jasper. - -She had avoided seeing him of late more than was necessary, she -had resolved not to go near him, and let the maid Jane attend to -his requirements, aided by Christopher Davy’s boy, who cleaned the -boots and knives, and ran errands, and weeded the paths, and was made -generally useful. Yet for all her resolve she did not keep it: she -discovered that some little matter had been neglected, which forced her -to enter the room. - -When she was there she was impatient to be out of it again, and she -hardly spoke to Jasper, was short, busy, and away in a moment. - -‘It does not do to leave the servants to themselves,’ soliloquised -Barbara. ‘They half do whatever they are set at. The sick man would not -like to complain. I must see to everything myself.’ - -Now she complied with his request to sit beside him, but was at once -filled with restlessness. She could not speak to him on the one subject -that tormented her. She had herself forbidden mention of it. - -She looked askance at Jasper, who was not speaking. He had his hat -off, on his lap; his eyes were moist, his lips were moving. She was -confident he was praying. He turned in a moment, recovered his head, -and said with his sweet smile, ‘God is good. I have already thanked -you. I have thanked him now.’ - -Was this hypocrisy? Barbara could not believe it. - -She said, ‘If you have no objection, may we know your name? I have been -asked by my father and others. I mean,’ she hesitated, ‘a name by which -you would care to be called.’ - -‘You shall have my real name,’ he said, slightly colouring. - -‘For myself to know, or to tell others?’ - -‘As you will, Miss Jordan. My name is Babb.’ - -‘Babb!’ echoed Barbara. She thought to herself that it was a name as -ugly as it was unusual. At that moment Eve appeared, glowing with life, -a wreath of wild roses wound about her hat. - -‘Bab! Bab dear!’ she cried, referring to her sister. - -Barbara turned crimson, and sprang from her seat. - -‘The last cartload is going to start,’ said Eve eagerly, ‘and the -men say that I am the Queen and must sit on the top; but I want -half-a-crown, Bab dear, to pay my footing up the ladder to the top of -the load.’ - -Barbara drew her sister away. ‘Eve! never call me by that ridiculous -pet-name again. When we were children it did not matter. Now I do not -wish it.’ - -‘Why not?’ asked the wondering girl. ‘How hot you are looking, and yet -you have been sitting still!’ - -‘I do not wish it, Eve. You will make me very angry, and I shall feel -hurt if you do it again. Bab—think, darling, the name is positively -revolting, I assure you. I hate it. If you have any love for me in your -heart, any regard for my feelings, you will not call me by it again. -Bab——!’ - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -THE POCKET-BOOK. - - -JASPER drew in full draughts of the delicious air, leaning back on -the bench, himself in shade, watching the trees, hearing the hum of -the bees, and the voices of the harvesters, pleasant and soft in the -distance, as if the golden sun had subdued all the harshness in the -tones of the rough voices. Then the waggon drew nigh; the garden was -above the level of the farmyard, terraced so that Jasper could not -see the cart and horses, or the men, but he saw the great load of -grey-green hay move by, with Eve and Barbara seated on it, the former -not only crowned with roses, but holding a pole with a bunch of roses -and a flutter of ribands at the top. Eve’s golden hair had fallen loose -and was about her shoulders. She was in an ecstasy of gaiety. As the -load travelled along before the garden, both Eve and her sister saw -the sick man on his bench. He seemed so thin, white, and feeble in the -midst of a fresh and vigorous nature that Barbara’s heart grew soft, -and she had to bite her lip to control its quiver. Eve waved her staff -topped with flowers and streamers, stood up in the hay and curtsied to -him, with a merry laugh, and then dropped back into the hay, having -lost her balance through the jolting of the wheels. Jasper brightened, -and, removing his hat, returned the salute with comic majesty. Then, -as Eve and Barbara disappeared, he fell back against the wall, and his -eyes rested on the fluttering leaves of a white poplar, and some white -butterflies that might have been leaves reft from the trees, flickering -and pursuing each other in the soft air. The swallows that lived in -a colony of inverted clay domes under the eaves were darting about, -uttering shrill cries, the expression of exuberant joy of life. Jasper -sank into a summer dream. - -He was roused from his reverie by a man coming between him and the -pretty garden picture that filled his eyes. He recognised the surgeon, -Mr.—or as the country people called him, Doctor—Coyshe. The young -medical man had no objection to being thus entitled, but he very -emphatically protested against his name being converted into Quash, -or even Squash. Coyshe is a very respectable and ancient Devonshire -family name, but it is a name that lends itself readily to phonetic -degradation, and the young surgeon had to do daily battle to preserve -it from being vulgarised. ‘Good afternoon, patient!’ said he cheerily; -‘doing well, thanks to my treatment.’ - -Jasper made a suitable reply. - -‘Ah! I dare say you pull a face at seeing me now, thinking I am paying -visits for the sake of my fee, when need for my attendance is past. -That, let me tell you, is the way of some doctors; it is, however, -not mine. Lord love you, I knew a case of a man who sent for a doctor -because his wife was ill, and was forced to smother her under pillows -to cut short the attendance and bring the bill within the compass of -his means. Bless your stars, my man, that you fell into my hands, not -into those of old Crooke.’ - -‘I am assured,’ said Jasper, ‘that I am fallen into the best possible -hands.’ - -‘Who assured you of that?’ asked Coyshe sharply; ‘Miss Eve or the -other?’ - -‘I am assured by my own experience of your skill.’ - -‘Ah! an ordinary practitioner would have trepanned you; the whole run -of them, myself and myself only excepted, have an itch in their fingers -for the saw and the scalpel. There is far too much bleeding, cupping, -and calomel used in the profession now—but what are we to say? The -people love to have it so, to see blood and have a squeal for their -money. I’ve had before now to administer a bread pill and give it a -Greek name.’ - -Mr. Jordan from his study, the girls from the stackyard (or moway, as -it is locally called), saw or heard the surgeon. He was loud in his -talk and made himself heard. They came to him into the garden. Eve, -with her natural coquetry, retained the crown of roses and her sceptre. - -‘You see,’ said Mr. Coyshe, rubbing his hands, ‘I have done wonders. -This would have been a dead man but for me. Now, sir, look at me,’ he -said to Jasper; ‘you owe me a life.’ - -‘I know very well to whom I owe my life,’ answered Jasper, and glanced -at Barbara. ‘To my last hour I shall not forget the obligation.’ - -‘And do you know _why_ he owes me his life?’ asked the surgeon of -Mr. Jordan. ‘Because I let nature alone, and kept old Crooke away. -I can tell you the usual practice. The doctor comes and shrugs his -shoulders and takes snuff. When he sees a proper impression made, he -says, “However; we will do our best, only we don’t work miracles.” He -sprinkles his victim with snuff, as if about to embalm the body. If the -man dies, the reason is clear. Crooke was not sent for in time. If he -recovers, Crooke has wrought a miracle. That is not my way, as you all -know.’ He looked about him complacently. - -‘What will you take, Mr. Coyshe?’ asked Barbara; ‘some of our haysel -ale, or claret? And will you come indoors for refreshment?’ - -‘Indoors! O dear me, no!’ said the young doctor; ‘I keep out of the -atmosphere impregnated with four or five centuries of dirt as much -as I can. If I had my way I would burn down every house with all its -contents every ten years, and so we might get rid of half the diseases -which ravage the world. I wouldn’t live in your old ramshackle Morwell -if I were paid ten guineas a day. The atmosphere must be poisoned, -charged with particles of dust many centuries old. Under every -cupboard, ay, and on top of it, is fluff, and every stir of a gown, -every tread of a foot, sets it floating, and the currents bring it to -your lungs or pores. What is that dust made up of? Who can tell? The -scrapings of old monks, the scum of Protestant reformers, the detritus -of any number of Jordans for ages, some of whom have had measles, some -scarlet-fever, some small-pox. No, thank you. I’ll have my claret in -the garden. I can tell you without looking what goes to make up the air -in that pestilent old box; the dog has carried old bones behind the -cupboard, the cat has been set a saucer of milk under the chest, which -has been forgotten and gone sour. An old stocking which one of the -ladies was mending was thrust under a sofa cushion, when the front door -bell rang, and she had to receive callers—and that also was forgotten.’ - -Miss Jordan waxed red and indignant. ‘Mr. Coyshe,’ she said, ‘I cannot -hear you say this, it is not true. Our house is perfectly sweet and -clean; there is neither a store of old bones, nor a half-darned -stocking, nor any of the other abominations you mentioned about it.’ - -‘Your eyes have not seen the world through a microscope. Mine have,’ -answered the unabashed surgeon. ‘When a ray of sunlight enters your -rooms, you can see the whole course of the ray.’ - -‘Yes.’ - -‘Very well, that is because the air is dirty. If it were clean you -would be unable to see it. No, thank you. I will have my claret in the -garden; perhaps you would not mind having it sent out to me. The air -out of doors is pure compared to that of a house.’ - -A little table, wine, glasses and cake were sent out. Barbara and Eve -did not reappear. - -Mr. Jordan had a great respect for the young doctor. His -self-assurance, his pedantry, his boasting, imposed on the timid and -half-cultured mind of the old man. He hoped to get information from -the surgeon about tests for metals, to interest him in his pursuits -without letting him into his secrets; he therefore overcame his shyness -sufficiently to appear and converse when Mr. Coyshe arrived. - -‘What a very beautiful daughter you have got!’ said Coyshe; ‘one that -is only to be seen in pictures. A man despairs of beholding such -loveliness in actual life, and see, here, at the limit of the world, -the vision flashes on one! Not much like you, Squire, not much like her -sister; looks as if she belonged to another breed.’ - -Jasper Babb looked round startled at the audacity and rudeness of the -surgeon. Mr. Jordan was not offended; he seemed indeed flattered. He -was very proud of Eve. - -‘You are right. My eldest daughter has almost nothing in common with -her younger sister—only a half-sister.’ - -‘Really,’ said Coyshe, ‘it makes me shiver for the future of that fairy -being. I take it for granted she will be yoked to some county booby of -a squire, a Bob Acres. Good Lord! what a prospect! A jewel of gold in a -swine’s snout, as Solomon says.’ - -‘Eve shall never marry one unworthy of her,’ said Ignatius Jordan -vehemently. She will be under no constraint. She will be able to -afford to shape her future according to her fancy. She will be -comfortably off.’ - -‘Comfortably off fifty years ago means pinched now, and pinched now -means screwed flat fifty years hence. Everything is becoming costly. -Living is a luxury only for the well-to-do. The rest merely exist under -sufferance.’ - -‘Miss Eve will not be pinched,’ answered Mr. Jordan, unconscious that -he was being drawn out by the surgeon. ‘Seventeen years ago I lent -fifteen hundred pounds, which is to be returned to me on Midsummer Day. -To that I can add about five hundred; I have saved something since—not -much, for somehow the estate has not answered as it did of old.’ - -‘You have two daughters.’ - -‘Oh, yes, there is Barbara,’ said Jordan in a tone of indifference. -‘Of course she will have something, but then—she can always manage for -herself—with the other it is different.’ - -‘Are you ill?’ asked Coyshe, suddenly, observing that Jasper had turned -very pale, and dark under the eyes. ‘Is the air too strong for you?’ - -‘No, let me remain here. The sun does me good.’ - -Mr. Jordan was rather glad of this opportunity of publishing the -fortune he was going to give his younger daughter. He wished it to be -known in the neighbourhood, that Eve might be esteemed and sought by -suitable young men. He often said to himself that he could die content -were Eve in a position where she would be happy and admired. - -‘When did Miss Eve’s mother die?’ asked Coyshe abruptly. Mr. Jordan -started. - -‘Did I say she was dead? Did I mention her?’ - -Coyshe mused, put his hand through his hair and ruffled it up; then -folded his arms and threw out his legs. - -‘Now tell me, squire, are you sure of your money?’ - -‘What do you mean?’ - -‘That money you say you lent seventeen years ago. What are your -securities?’ - -‘The best. The word of an honourable man.’ - -‘The word!’ Mr. Coyshe whistled. ‘Words! What are words?’ - -‘He offered me a mortgage, but it never came,’ said Mr. Jordan. -‘Indeed, I never applied for it. I had his word.’ - -‘If you see the shine of that money again, you are lucky.’ Then looking -at Jasper: ‘My patient is upset again—I thought the air was too strong -for him. He must be carried in. He is going into a fit.’ - -Jasper was leaning back against the wall, with distended eyes, and -hands and teeth clenched as with a spasm. - -‘No,’ said Jasper faintly, ‘I am not in a fit.’ - -‘You looked much as if going into an attack of lock-jaw.’ - -At that moment Barbara came out, and at once noticed the condition of -the convalescent. - -‘Here,’ said she, ‘lean on me as you did coming out. This has been too -much for you. Will you help me, Doctor Coyshe?’ - -‘Thank you,’ said Jasper. ‘If Miss Jordan will suffer me to rest on her -arm, I will return to my room.’ - -When he was back in his armchair and the little room he had occupied, -Barbara looked earnestly in his face and said, ‘What has troubled you? -I am sure something has.’ - -‘I am very unhappy,’ he answered, ‘but you must ask me no questions.’ - -Miss Jordan went in quest of her sister. ‘Eve,’ she said, ‘our poor -patient is exhausted. Sit in the parlour and play and sing, and give a -look into his room now and then. I am busy.’ - -The slight disturbance had not altered the bent of Mr. Jordan’s -thoughts. When Mr. Coyshe rejoined him, which he did the moment he -saw Jasper safe in his room, Mr. Jordan said, ‘I cannot believe that I -ran any risk with the money. The man to whom I lent it is honourable. -Besides, I have his note of hand acknowledging the debt; not that I -would use it against him.’ - -‘A man’s word,’ said Coyshe, ‘is like india-rubber that can be made -into any shape he likes. A word is made up of letters, and he will hold -to the letters and permute their order to suit his own convenience, not -yours. A man will stick to his word only so long as his word will stick -to him. It depends entirely on which side it is licked. Hark! Is that -Miss Eve singing? What a voice! Why, if she were trained and on the -stage——’ - -Mr. Jordan stood up, agitated and angry. - -‘I beg your pardon,’ said Coyshe. ‘Does the suggestion offend you? I -merely threw it out in the event of the money lent not turning up.’ - -Just then his eyes fell on something that lay under the seat. ‘What is -that? Have you dropped a pocket-book?’ - -A rough large leather pocket-book that was to which he pointed. Mr. -Jordan stooped and took it up. He examined it attentively and uttered -an exclamation of surprise. - -‘Well,’ said the surgeon mockingly, ‘is the money come, dropped from -the clouds at your feet?’ - -‘No,’ answered Mr. Jordan, under his breath, ‘but this is most -extraordinary, most mysterious! How comes this case here? It is the -very same which I handed over, filled with notes, to that man seventeen -years ago! See! there are my initials on it; there on the shield is my -crest. How comes it here?’ - -‘The question, my dear sir, is not how comes it here? but what does it -contain?’ - -‘Nothing.’ - -The surgeon put his hands in his pockets, screwed up his lips for a -whistle, and said, ‘I foretold this, I am always right.’ - -‘The money is not due till Midsummer-day.’ - -‘Nor will come till the Greek kalends. Poor Miss Eve!’ - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -BARBARA’S PETITION. - - -MIDSUMMER-DAY was come. Mr. Jordan was in suspense and agitation. His -pale face was more livid and drawn than usual. The fears inspired by -the surgeon had taken hold of him. - -Before the birth of Eve he had been an energetic man, eager to get all -he could out of the estate, but for seventeen years an unaccountable -sadness had hung over him, damping his ardour; his thoughts had been -carried away from his land, whither no one knew, though the results -were obvious enough. - -With Barbara he had little in common. She was eminently practical. -He was always in a dream. She was never on an easy footing with her -father, she tried to understand him and failed, she feared that his -brain was partially disturbed. Perhaps her efforts to make him out -annoyed him; at any rate he was cold towards her, without being -intentionally unkind. An ever-present restraint was upon both in each -other’s presence. - -At first, after the disappearance of Eve’s mother, things had gone -on upon the old lines. Christopher Davy had superintended the farm -labours, but as he aged and failed, and Barbara grew to see the -necessity for supervision, she took the management of the farm as -well as of the house upon herself. She saw that the men dawdled over -their work, and that the condition of the estate was going back. Tho -coppices had not been shredded in winter and the oak was grown into a -tangle. The rending for bark in spring was done unsystematically. The -hedges became ragged, the ploughs out of order, the thistles were -not cut periodically and prevented from seeding. There were not men -sufficient to do the work that had to be done. She had not the time to -attend to the men as well as the maids, to the farmyard as well as the -house. She had made up her mind that a proper bailiff must be secured, -with authority to employ as many labourers as the estate required. -Barbara was convinced that her father, with his lost, dreamy head, was -incapable of managing their property, even if he had the desire. Now -that the trusty old Davy was ill, and breaking up, she had none to -advise her. - -She was roused to anger on Midsummer-day by discovering that the -hayrick had never been thatched, and that it had been exposed to the -rain which had fallen heavily, so that half of it had to be taken down -because soaked, lest it should catch fire or blacken. This was the -result of the carelessness of the men. She determined to speak to her -father at once. She had good reason for doing so. - -She found him in his study arranging his specimens of mundic and -peacock copper. - -‘Has anyone come, asking for me?’ he said, looking up with fluttering -face from his work. - -‘No one, father.’ - -‘You startled me, Barbara, coming on me stealthily from behind. What -do you want with me? You see I am engaged, and you know I hate to be -disturbed.’ - -‘I have something I wish to speak about.’ - -‘Well, well, say it and go.’ His shaking hands resumed their work. - -‘It is the old story, dear papa. I want you to engage a steward. It is -impossible for us to go on longer in the way we have. You know how I am -kept on the run from morning to night. I have to look after all your -helpless men, as well as my own helpless maids. When I am in the field, -there is mischief done in the kitchen; when I am in the house, the -men are smoking and idling on the farm. Eve cannot help me in seeing -to domestic matters, she has not the experience. Everything devolves -on me. I do not grudge doing my utmost, but I have not the time for -everything, and I am not ubiquitous.’ - -‘No,’ said Mr. Jordan, ‘Eve cannot undertake any sort of work. That is -an understood thing.’ - -‘I know it is. If I ask her to be sure and recollect something, she is -certain with the best intentions to forget; she is a dear beautiful -butterfly, not fit to be harnessed. Her brains are thistledown, her -bones cherry stalks.’ - -‘Yes, do not crush her spirits with uncongenial work.’ - -‘I do not want to. I know as well as yourself that I must rely on her -for nothing. But the result is that I am overtasked. Now—will you -credit it? The beautiful hay that was like green tea is spoiled. Those -stupid men did not thatch it. They said they had no reed, and waited -to comb some till the rain set in. When it did pour, they were all in -the barn talking and making reed, but at the same time the water was -drenching and spoiling the hay. Oh, papa, I feel disposed to cry!’ - -‘I will speak to them about it,’ said Mr. Jordan, with a sigh, not -occasioned by the injury to his hay, but because he was disturbed over -his specimens. - -‘My dear papa,’ said the energetic Barbara, ‘I do not wish you to be -troubled about these tiresome matters. You are growing old, daily -older, and your strength is not gaining. You have other pursuits. You -are not heartily interested in the farm. I see your hand tremble when -you hold your fork at dinner; you are becoming thinner every day. I -would spare you trouble. It is really necessary, I must have it—you -must engage a bailiff. I shall break down, and that will be the end, -or we shall all go to ruin. The woods are running to waste. There are -trees lying about literally rotting. They ought to be sent away to the -Devonport dockyard where they could be sold. Last spring, when you let -the rending, the barbers shaved a whole copse wood, as if shaving a -man’s chin, instead of leaving the better sticks standing.’ - -‘We have enough to live on.’ - -‘We must do our duty to the land on which we live. I cannot endure -to see waste anywhere. I have only one head, one pair of eyes, and -one pair of hands. I cannot think of, see to, and do everything. I -lie awake night after night considering what has to be done, and the -day is too short for me to do all I have determined on in the night. -Whilst that poor gentleman has been ill, I have had to think of him -in addition to everything else; so some duties have been neglected. -That is how, I suppose, the doctor came to guess there was a stocking -half-darned under the sofa cushion. Eve was mending it, she tired and -put it away, and of course forgot it. I generally look about for Eve’s -leavings, and tidy her scraps when she has gone to bed, but I have been -too busy. I am vexed about that stocking. How those protruding eyes of -the doctor managed to see it I cannot think. He was, however, wrong -about the saucer of sour milk.’ - -Mr. Jordan continued nervously sorting his minerals into little white -card boxes. - -‘Well, papa, are you going to do anything?’ - -‘Do—do—what?’ - -‘Engage a bailiff. I am sure we shall gain money by working the estate -better. The bailiff will pay his cost, and something over.’ - -‘You are very eager for money,’ said Mr. Jordan sulkily; ‘are you -thinking of getting married, and anxious to have a dower?’ - -Barbara coloured deeply, hurt and offended. - -‘This is unkind of you, papa; I am thinking of Eve. I think only of -her. You ought to know that’—the tears came into her eyes. ‘Of course -Eve will marry some day;’ then she laughed, ‘no one will ever come for -me.’ - -‘To be sure,’ said Mr. Jordan. - -‘I have been thinking, papa, that Eve ought to be sent to some very -nice lady, or to some very select school, where she might have proper -finishing. All she has learnt has been from me, and I have had so much -to do, and I have been so unable to be severe with Eve—that—that—I -don’t think she has learned much except music, to which she takes -instinctively as a South Sea islander to water.’ - -‘I cannot be parted from Eve. It would rob my sky of its sun. What -would this house be with only you—I mean without Eve to brighten it?’ - -‘If you will think the matter over, father, you will see that it ought -to be. We must consider Eve, and not ourselves. I would not have her, -dear heart, anywhere but in the very best school,—hardly a school, a -place where only three or four young ladies are taken, and they of -the best families. That will cost money, so we must put our shoulders -to the wheel, and push the old coach on.’ She laid her hands on the -back of her father’s chair and leaned over his shoulder. She had been -standing behind him. Did she hope he would kiss her? If so, her hope -was vain. - -‘Do, dear papa, engage an honest, superior sort of man to look after -the farm. I will promise to make a great deal of money with my dairy, -if he will see to the cows in the fields. Try the experiment, and, -trust me, it will answer.’ - -‘All in good time.’ - -‘No, papa, do not put this off. There is another reason why I speak. -Christopher Davy is bedridden. You are sometimes absent, then we girls -are left alone in this great house, all day, and occasionally nights as -well. You know there was no one here on that night when the accident -happened. There were two men in this house, one, indeed, insensible. -We know nothing of them, who they were, and what they were about. How -can you tell that bad characters may not come here? It is thought that -you have saved money, and it is known that Morwell is unprotected. -You, papa, are so frail, and with your shaking hand a gun would not be -dangerous.’ - -He started from his chair and upset his specimens. - -‘Do not speak like that,’ he said, trembling. - -‘There, I have disturbed you even by alluding to it. If you were to -level a gun, and had your finger——’ - -He put his hand, a cold, quivering hand, on her lips: ‘For God’s -sake—silence!’ he said. - -She obeyed. She knew how odd her father was, yet his agitation now was -so great that it surprised her. It made her more resolute to carry her -point. - -‘Papa, you are expecting to have about two thousand pounds in the -house. Will it be safe? You have told the doctor, and that man, our -patient, heard you. Excuse my saying it, but I think it was not well -to mention it before a perfect stranger. You may have told others. Mr. -Coyshe is a chatterbox, he may have talked about it throughout the -neighbourhood—the fact may be known to everyone, that to-day you are -expecting to have a large sum of money brought you. Well—who is to -guard it? Are there no needy and unscrupulous men in the county who -would rob the house, and maybe silence an old man and two girls who -stood in their way to a couple of thousand pounds?’ - -‘The sum is large. It must be hidden away,’ said Mr. Jordan, uneasily. -‘I had not considered the danger’—he paused—’if it be paid——’ - -‘_If_, papa? I thought you were sure of it.’ - -‘Yes, quite sure; only Mr. Coyshe disturbed me by suggesting doubts.’ - -‘Oh, the doctor!’ exclaimed Barbara, shrugging her shoulders. - -‘Well, the doctor,’ repeated Mr. Jordan, captiously. ‘He is a very able -man. Why do you turn up your nose at him? He can see through a stone -wall, and under a cushion to where a stocking is hidden, and under a -cupboard to where a saucer of sour milk is thrust away; and he can see -into the human body through the flesh and behind the bones, and can -tell you where every nerve and vein is, and what is wrong with each. -When things are wrong, then it is like stockings and saucers where they -ought not to be in a house.’ - -‘He was wrong about the saucer of sour milk, utterly wrong,’ persisted -Barbara. - -‘I hope and trust the surgeon was wrong in his forecast about the -money—but my heart fails me——’ - -‘He was wrong about the saucer,’ said the girl encouragingly. - -‘But he was right about the stocking,’ said her father dispiritedly. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -GRANTED! - - -AS the sun declined, Mr. Jordan became uneasy. He could not remain in -his study. He could not rest anywhere. The money had not been returned. -He had taken out of his strong box Ezekiel Babb’s acknowledgment and -promise of payment, but he knew that it was so much waste-paper to -him. He could not or would not proceed against the borrower. Had he -not wronged him cruelly by living with his daughter as if she were his -wife, without having been legally married to her? Could he take legal -proceedings for the recovery of his money, and so bring all the ugly -story to light and publish it to the world? He had let Mr. Babb have -the money to pacify him, and make some amends for the wrong he had -done. No! If Mr. Babb did not voluntarily return the money, Ignatius -Jordan foresaw that it was lost to him, lost to Eve, and poor Eve’s -future was unprovided for. The estate must go to Barbara, that is, the -reversion in the tenure of it; the ready money he had intended for -Eve. Mr. Jordan felt a bitterness rise in his heart against Barbara, -whose future was assured, whilst that of Eve was not. He would have -liked to leave Morwell to his younger daughter, but he was not sure -that the Duke would approve of this, and he was quite sure that Eve was -incompetent to manage a farm and dairy. - -At the time of which we treat, it was usual for every squire to farm a -portion of his own estate, his manor house was backed with extensive -outbuildings for cattle, and his wife and daughters were not above -superintending the dairy. Indeed, an ancestress of the author took farm -after farm into her own hands as the leases fell in, and at last farmed -the entire parish. She died in 1795. The Jordans were not squires, but -perpetual tenants under the Dukes of Bedford, and had been received by -the country gentry on an equal footing, till Mr. Jordan compromised his -character by his union with Eve’s mother. The estate of Morwell was a -large one for one man to farm; if the Duke had exacted a large rent, -of late years Mr. Jordan would have fallen into arrears, but the Duke -had not raised his rent at the last renewal. The Dukes were the most -indulgent of landlords. - -Mr. Jordan came into the hall. It was the same as it had been seventeen -years before; the same old clock was there, ticking in the same tone, -the same scanty furniture of a few chairs, the same slate floor. Only -the cradle was no longer to be seen. The red light smote into the -room just as it had seventeen years before. There against the wall it -painted a black cross as it had done seventeen years ago. - -Ignatius Jordan looked up over the great fireplace. Above it hung the -musket he had been cleaning when Ezekiel Babb entered. It had not -been taken down and used since that day. Seventeen years! It was an -age. The little babe that had lain in the cradle was now a beautiful -marriageable maiden. Time had made its mark upon himself. His back -was more bent, his hand more shaky, his walk less steady; a careful, -thrifty man had been converted into an abstracted, half-crazed dreamer. -Seventeen years of gnawing care and ceaseless sorrow! How had he been -able to bear it? Only by the staying wings of love, of love for his -little Eve—for _her_ child. Without his Eve, _her_ child, long ago he -would have sunk and been swallowed up, the clouds of derangement of -intellect would have descended on his brain, or his bodily health would -have given way. - -Seventeen years ago, on Midsummer-day, there had stood on the little -folding oak table under the window a tumbler full of china roses, which -were drooping, and had shed their leaves over the polished, almost -black, table top. They had been picked some days before by his wife. -Now, in the same place stood a glass, and in it were roses from the -same tree, not drooping, but fresh and glistening, placed that morning -there by _her_ daughter. His eye sought the clock. At five o’clock, -seventeen years ago, Ezekiel Babb had come into that hall through that -doorway, and had borrowed his money. The clock told that the time -was ten minutes to five. If Mr. Babb did not appear to the hour, he -would abandon the expectation of seeing him. He must make a journey -to Buckfastleigh over the moor, a long day’s journey, and seek the -defaulter, and know the reason why the loan was not repaid. - -He thought of the pocket-book on the gravel. How came it there? Who -could have brought it? Mr. Jordan was too fully impressed with belief -in the supernatural not to suppose it was dropped at his feet as a -warning that his money was gone. - -Mr. Jordan’s eyes were fixed on the clock. The works began to whir-r. -Then followed the strokes. One—two—three—four—FIVE. - -At the last stroke the door of Jasper’s sickroom opened, and the -convalescent slowly entered the hall and confronted his host. - -The last week had wrought wonders in the man. He had rapidly recovered -flesh and vigour after his wounds were healed. - -As he entered, and his eyes met those of Mr. Jordan, the latter felt -that a messenger from Ezekiel Babb stood before him, and that his money -was not forthcoming. - -‘Well, sir?’ he said. - -‘I am Jasper, the eldest son of Ezekiel Babb, of Owlacombe in -Buckfastleigh,’ he said. ‘My father borrowed money of you this day -seventeen years ago, and solemnly swore on this day to repay it.’ - -‘Well?’ - -‘It is not well. I have not got the money.’ - -A moan of disappointment broke from the heart of Ignatius Jordan, then -a spasm of rage, such as might seize on a madman, transformed his face; -his eye blazed, and he sprang to his feet and ran towards Jasper. The -latter, keeping his eye on him, said firmly, ‘Listen to me, Mr. Jordan. -Pray sit down again, and I will explain to you why my father has not -sent the money.’ - -Mr. Jordan hesitated. His face quivered. With his raised hand he would -have struck Jasper, but the composure of the latter awed him. The -paroxysm passed, and he sank into his chair, and gave way to depression. - -‘My father is a man of honour. He gave you his word, and he intended -to keep it. He borrowed of you a large sum, and he laid it out in the -purchase of some land. He has been fairly prosperous. He saved money -enough to repay the debt, and perhaps more. As the time drew nigh for -repayment he took the sum required from the bank in notes, and locked -them in his bureau. Others knew of this. My father was not discreet: he -talked about the repayment, he resented having to make it, complained -that he would be reduced to great straits without it.’ - -‘The money was not his, but mine.’ - -‘I know that,’ said Jasper, sorrowfully. ‘But my father has always -been what is termed a close man, has thought much of money, and -cannot bear to part with it. I do not say that this justifies, but it -explains, his dissatisfaction. He is an old man, and becoming feeble, -and clings through force of habit to his money.’ - -‘Go on; nothing can justify him.’ - -‘Others knew of his money. One day he was at Totnes, at a great cloth -fair. He did not return till the following day. During his absence his -bureau was broken open, and the money stolen.’ - -‘Was the thief not caught? Was the money not recovered?’ asked Mr. -Jordan, trembling with excitement. - -‘The money was in part recovered.’ - -‘Where is it?’ - -‘Listen to what follows. You asked if the—the person who took the money -was caught. He was.’ - -‘Is he in prison?’ - -‘The person who took the money was caught, tried, and sent to jail. -When taken, some of the money was found about him; he had not spent it -all. What remained I was bringing you.’ - -‘Give it me.’ - -‘I have not got it.’ - -‘You have not got it?’ - -‘No, I have lost it.’ - -Again did Mr. Jordan start up in a fit of rage. He ground his teeth, -and the sweat broke out in drops on his brow. - -‘I had the money with me when the accident happened, and I was thrown -from my horse, and became unconscious. It was lost or taken then.’ - -‘Who was your companion? He must have robbed you.’ - -‘I charge no one. I alone am to blame. The money was entrusted to my -keeping.’ - -‘Why did your father give you the money before the appointed day?’ - -‘When my father recovered part of the money, he would no longer keep it -in his possession, lest he should again lose it; so he bade me take it -to you at once.’ - -‘You have spent the money, you have spent it yourself!’ cried Mr. -Jordan wildly. - -‘If I had done this, should I have come to you to-day with this -confession? I had the money in the pocket-book in notes. The notes were -abstracted from the book. As I was so long insensible, it was too late -to stop them at the bank. Whoever took them had time to change them -all.’ - -‘Cursed be the day I lent the money,’ moaned Ignatius Jordan. ‘The -empty, worthless case returns, the precious contents are gone. What is -the shell without the kernel? My Eve, my Eve!’ He clasped his hands -over his brow. - -‘And now once more hearken to me,’ pursued Jasper. ‘My father cannot -immediately find the money that he owes you. He does not know of this -second loss. I have not communicated with him since I met with my -accident. The blame attaches to me. I must do what I can to make amends -for my carelessness. I put myself into your hands. To repay you now, -my father would have to sell the land he bought. I do not think he -could be persuaded to do this, though, perhaps, you might be able to -force him to it. However, as you say the money is for your daughter, -will you allow it to lie where it is for a while? I will undertake, -should it come to me after my father’s death, to sell it or transfer -it, so as to make up to Miss Eve at the rate of five per cent. on the -loan. I will do more. If you will consent to this, I will stay here -and work for you. I have been trained in the country, and know about a -farm. I will act as your foreman, overlooker, or bailiff. I will put my -hand to anything. Reckon what my wage would be. Reckon at the end of -a year whether I have not earned my wage and much more. If you like, -I will work for you as long as my father lives; I will serve you now -faithfully as no hired bailiff would serve you. My presence here will -be a guarantee to you that I will be true to my undertaking to repay -the whole sum with interest. I can see that this estate needs an active -man on it; and you, sir, are too advanced in age, and too much given up -to scientific pursuits, to cope with what is required.’ - -Those words, ‘scientific pursuits,’ softened Mr. Jordan. Jasper spoke -in good faith; he had no idea how worthless those pursuits were, how -little true science entered into them. He knew that Mr. Jordan made -mineralogical studies, and he supposed they were well directed. - -‘Order me to do what you will,’ said Jasper, ‘and I will do it, and -will double your gains in the year.’ - -‘I accept,’ said Ignatius Jordan. ‘There is no help for it. I must -accept or be plundered of all.’ - -‘You accept! let us join hands on the bargain.’ - -It was strange; as once before, seventeen years ago, hands had met -in the golden gleam of sun that shot through the window, ratifying a -contract, so was it now. The hands clasped in the sunbeam, and the -reflected light from their illuminated hands smote up into the faces -of the two men, both pale, one with years and care, the other with -sickness. - -Mr. Jordan withdrew his hand, clasped both palms over his face and -wept. ‘Thus it comes,’ he said. ‘The shadow is on me and on my child. -One sorrow follows another.’ - -At that moment Barbara and Eve entered from the court. - -‘Eve! Eve!’ cried the father excitedly, ‘come to me, my angel! my -ill-treated child! my martyr!’ He caught her to his heart, put his -face on her shoulder, and sobbed. ‘My darling, you have had your money -stolen, the money put away for you when you were in the cradle.’ - -‘Who has stolen it, papa?’ asked Barbara. - -‘Look there!’ he cried; ‘Jasper Babb was bringing me the money, and -when he fell from his horse, it was stolen.’ - -Neither Barbara nor Eve spoke. - -‘Now,’ continued Mr. Jordan, ‘he has offered himself as my hind to look -after the farm for me, and promises, if I give him time——’ - -‘Father, you have refused!’ interrupted Barbara. - -‘On the contrary, I have accepted.’ - -‘It cannot, it must not be!’ exclaimed Barbara vehemently. ‘Father, you -do not know what you have done.’ - -‘This is strange language to be addressed by a child to a father,’ said -Mr. Jordan in a tone of irritation. ‘Was there ever so unreasonable a -girl before? This morning you pressed me to engage a bailiff, and now -that Mr. Jasper Babb has volunteered, and I have accepted him, you turn -round and won’t have him.’ - -‘No,’ she said, with quick-drawn breath, ‘I will not. Take anyone but -him. I entreat you, papa. If you have any regard for my opinion, let -him go. For pity’s sake do not allow him to remain here!’ - -‘I have accepted him,’ said her father coldly. ‘Pray what weighty -reasons have you got to induce me to alter my resolve?’ - -Miss Jordan stood thinking; the colour mounted to her forehead, then -her brows contracted. ‘I have none to give,’ she said in a low tone, -greatly confused, with her eyes on the ground. Then, in a moment, she -recovered her self-possession and looked Jasper full in the face, but -without speaking, steadily, sternly. In fact, her heart was beating -so fast, and her breath coming so quick, that she could not speak. -‘Mr. Jasper,’ she said at length, controlling her emotions by a strong -effort of will, ‘I entreat you—go.’ - -He was silent. - -‘I have nursed you; I have given my nights and days to you. You -confessed that I had saved your life. If you have any gratitude in -your heart, if you have any respect for the house that has sheltered -you—go!’ - -‘Barbara,’ said her father, ‘you are a perverse girl. He shall not go. -I insist on his fulfilling his engagement. If he leaves I shall take -legal proceedings against his father to recover the money.’ - -‘Do that rather than retain him.’ - -‘Miss Jordan,’ said Jasper, slowly, and with sadness in his voice, -‘it is true that you have saved my life. Your kind hand drew me from -the brink of the grave whither I was descending. I thank you with all -my heart, but I cannot go from my engagement to your father. Through -my fault the money was lost, and I must make what amends I may for my -negligence.’ - -‘Go back to your father.’ - -‘That I cannot do.’ - -She considered with her hand over her lips to hide her agitation. -‘No,’ she said, ‘I understand that. Of course you cannot go back to -your native place and to your home; but you need not stay here.’ Then -suddenly, in a burst of passion, she extended her hands to her father, -‘Papa!’—then to the young man, ‘Mr. Jasper!—Papa, send him away! Mr. -Jasper, do not remain!’ - -The young man was hardly less agitated than herself. He took a couple -of steps towards the door. - -‘Stuff and fiddlesticks!’ shouted Mr. Jordan. ‘He shall not go. I -forbid him.’ - -Jasper turned. ‘Miss Barbara,’ he said, humbly, ‘you are labouring -under a mistake which I must not explain. Forgive me. I stay.’ - -She looked at him with moody anger, and muttered, ‘Knowing what you -do—that I am not blind—that you should dare to settle here under this -_honourable_ roof. It is unjust! it is ungrateful! it is wicked! God -help us! I have done what I could.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -CALLED AWAY. - - -JASPER was installed in Morwell as bailiff in spite of the -remonstrances of Barbara. He was given a room near the gatehouse, and -was attended by Mrs. Davy, but he came for his dinner to the table of -the Jordans. Barbara had done what she could to prevent his becoming an -inmate of the house. She might not tell her father her real reasons for -objecting to the arrangement. - -She was rendered more uneasy a day or two after by receiving news that -an aunt, a sister of her mother, who lived beyond Dartmoor, was dying, -and she was summoned to receive her last sigh. She must leave Morwell, -leave her father and sister in the house with a man whom she thoroughly -mistrusted. Her only comfort was that Jasper was not sufficiently -strong and well to be dangerous. What was he? Was there any truth in -that story he had told her father? She could not believe it, because -it would not fit in with what she already knew. What place had the -convict’s garb in that tale? She turned the narrative about in her -mind, and rejected it. She was inclined to disbelieve in Jasper being -the son of old Mr. Babb. He had assumed the name and invented the story -to deceive her father, and form an excuse for remaining in the house. - -She hardly spoke to Jasper when they met. She was cold and haughty, she -did not look at him; and he made no advances to gain her goodwill. - -When she received the summons to her aunt’s deathbed, knowing that she -must go, she asked where Mr. Babb was, and, hearing that he was in the -barn, went thither with the letter in her hand. - -He had been examining the horse-turned winnowing machine, which was -out of order. As she came to the door he looked up and removed his hat, -making a formal salute. The day was hot; he had been taking the machine -to pieces, and was warm, so he had removed his coat. He at once drew it -on his back again. - -Barbara had a curt, almost rough, manner at times. She was vexed now, -and angry with him, so she spoke shortly, ‘I am summoned to Ashburton. -That is close to Buckfastleigh, where, you say, you lived, to make my -father believe it is your home.’ - -‘Yes, Miss Jordan, that is true.’ - -‘You have not written to your home since you have been with us. At -least—’she hesitated, and slightly coloured—’you have sent no letter -by our boy. Perhaps you were afraid to have it known where you are. -No doubt you were right. It is essential to you that your presence -here should not be known to anyone but your father. A letter might -be opened, or let lie about, and so your whereabouts be discovered. -Supposing your story to be true, that is how I account for your -silence. If it be false——’ - -‘It is not false, Miss Jordan.’ - -‘I am going to Ashburton, I will assure myself of it there. If it be -false I shall break my promise to you, and tell my father everything. I -give you fair warning. If it be true——’ - -‘It is true, dear young lady.’ - -‘Do not be afraid of my disclosing your secret, and putting you in -peril.’ - -‘I am sure you cannot do that,’ he said, with a smile that was sad. ‘If -you go to Buckfastleigh, Miss Jordan, I shall venture to send word by -you to my father where I am, that the money is lost, and what I have -undertaken.’ - -Barbara tossed her head, and flashed an indignant glance at him out of -her brown eyes. - -‘I cannot, I will not be a porter of lies.’ - -‘What lies?’ - -‘You did not lose the money. Why deceive me? I know your object in -lurking here, in the most out-of-the-way nook of England you could -find. You think that here you are safe from pursuit. You made up the -story to impose on my father, and induce him to engage you. O, you are -very honourable! discharging a debt!—I hate crime, but I hate falsehood -even more.’ - -‘You are mistaken, Miss Jordan. The story is true.’ - -‘You have told the whole honest truth?’ - -‘I do not profess to have told the whole truth. What I have told has -been true, though I have not told all.’ - -‘A pinch of truth is often more false than a bushel of lies. It -deceives, the other does not.’ - -‘It is true that I lost the money confided to me. If you are going to -Ashburton, I ask you, as a matter of kindness—I know how kind you can -be, alas, and I know also how cruel—to see my father.’ - -She laughed haughtily. ‘This is a fine proposition. The servant sends -the mistress to do his dirty work. I thank you for the honour.’ She -turned angrily away. - -‘Miss Barbara,’ said Jasper, ‘you are indeed cruel.’ - -‘Am I cruel?’ She turned and faced him again, with a threatening brow. -‘I have reason to be just. Cruel I am not.’ - -‘You were all gentleness at one time, when I was ill. Now——’ - -‘I will not dispute with you. Do you expect to be fed with a spoon -still? When you were ill I treated you as a patient, not more kindly -than I would have treated my deadliest enemy. I acted as duty prompted. -There was no one else to take care of you, that was my motive—my only -motive.’ - -‘When I think of your kindness then, I wish I were sick again.’ - -‘A mean and wicked wish. Tired already, I suppose, of doing _honest_ -work.’ - -‘Miss Barbara,’ he said, ‘pray let me speak.’ - -‘Cruel,’—she recurred to what he had said before, without listening to -his entreaty, ‘It is you who are cruel coming here—you, with the ugly -stain on your life, coming here to hide it in this innocent household. -Would it not be cruel in a man with the plague poison in him to steal -into a home of harmless women and children, and give them all the -pestilence? Had I suspected that you intended making Morwell your -retreat and skulking den, I would never have passed my promise to keep -silence. I would have taken the hateful evidence of what you are in my -hand, and gone to the first constable and bid him arrest you in your -bed.’ - -‘No,’ said Jasper, ‘you would not have done it. I know you better than -you know yourself. Are you lost to all humanity? Surely you feel pity -in your gentle bosom, notwithstanding your bitter words.’ - -‘No,’ she answered, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, ‘no, I have -pity only for myself, because I was weak enough to take pains to save -your worthless life.’ - -‘Miss Jordan,’ he said, looking sorrowfully at her—and her eyes -fell—’surely I have a right to ask some pity of you. Have you -considered what the temptations must be that beset a young man who has -been roughly handled at home, maltreated by his father, reared without -love—a young man with a soul bounding with hopes, ambition, love of -life, with a heart for pleasure, all which are beaten back and trampled -down by the man who ought to direct them? Can you not understand how a -lad who has been thwarted in every way, without a mother to soothe him -in trouble, and encourage him in good, driven desperate by a father’s -harshness, may break away and transgress? Consider the case of one who -has been taught that everything beautiful—laughter, delight in music, -in art, in nature, a merry gambol, a joyous warble—is sinful; is it not -likely that the outlines of right and wrong would be so blurred in his -conscience, that he might lapse into crime without criminal intent?’ - -‘Are you speaking of yourself, or are you excusing another?’ - -‘I am putting a case.’ - -Barbara sighed involuntarily. Her own father had been unsympathetic. He -had never been actually severe, he had been indifferent. - -‘I can see that there were temptations to one so situated to leave his -home,’ she answered, ‘but this is not a case of truancy, but of crime.’ - -‘You judge without knowing the circumstances.’ - -‘Then tell me all, that I may form a more equitable judgment.’ - -‘I cannot do that now. You shall be told—later.’ - -‘Then I must judge by what I know——’ - -‘By what you guess,’ he said, correcting her. - -‘As you will.’ Her eyes were on the ground. A white spar was there. She -turned it over with her foot, and turned it again. - -She hesitated what to say. - -‘Should you favour me so far as to visit my father,’ said Jasper, ‘I -beg of you one thing most earnestly. Do not mention the name of my -companion—Martin.’ - -‘Why not?’ - -‘He may suspect him of having robbed me. My father is an energetic, -resolute man. He might pursue him, and I alone am to blame. I lost the -money.’ - -‘Who was that Martin?’ - -‘He told you—that I was nothing to him.’ - -‘Then why do you seek to screen him?’ - -‘Can I say that he took the money? If my father gets him arrested—I -shall be found.’ - -Barbara laughed bitterly. - -‘Of course, the innocent must not be brought into suspicion because he -has ridden an hour alongside of the guilty. No! I will say nothing of -Martin.’ - -She was still turning over the piece of spar with her foot. It sparkled -in the sun. - -‘How are you going to Ashburton, Miss Jordan?’ - -‘I ride, and little John Ostler rides with me, conveying my -portmanteau.’ - -Then she trifled with the spar again. There was some peacock copper on -it that glistened with all the colours of the rainbow. Abruptly, at -length, she turned away and went indoors. - -Next morning early she came in her habit to the gate where the boy who -was to accompany her held the horses. She had not seen Jasper that -morning, but she knew where he was. He had gone along the lane toward -the common to set the men to repair fences and hedges, as the cattle -that strayed on the waste-land had broken into the wheat field. - -She rode along the lane in meditative mood. She saw Jasper awaiting her -on the down, near an old quarry, the rubble heap from which was now -blazing with gorse in full bloom. She drew rein, and said, ‘I am going -to Ashburton. I will take your message, not because you asked me, but -because I doubt the truth of your story.’ - -‘Very well, Miss Jordan,’ he said respectfully; ‘I thank you, whatever -your motive may be.’ - -‘I expect and desire no thanks,’ she answered, and whipped her horse, -that started forward. - -‘I wish you a favourable journey,’ he said. ‘Good-bye.’ - -She did not turn her head or respond. She was very angry with him. She -stooped over her pommel and buckled the strap of the little pocket -in the leather for her kerchief. But, before she had ridden far, an -intervening gorse bush forced her to bend her horse aside, and then -she looked back, without appearing to look, looked back out of her -eye-corners. Jasper stood where she had left him, with his hat in his -hand. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -MR. BABB AT HOME. - - -A LOVELY July day in the fresh air of Dartmoor, that seems to sparkle -as it enters the lungs: fresh, but given a sharpness of salt: pure, -but tinged with the sweetness of heather bloom and the honey of gorse. -Human spirits bound in this air. The scenery of Dartmoor, if bare of -trees, is wildly picturesque with granite masses and bold mountain -peaks. Barbara could not shake off the anxiety that enveloped her -spirits like the haze of a valley till she rose up a long ascent of -three miles from the wooded valley of the Tavy to the bald, rock-strewn -expanse of Dartmoor. She rode on, attended by her little groom, till -she reached Prince’s Town, the highest point attained by the road, -where, in a desolate plain of bog, but little below the crests of -some of the granite tors, stands a prison surrounded by a few mean -houses. From Prince’s Town Barbara would have a rough moor-path, not -a good road, before her; and, as the horses were exhausted with their -long climb, she halted at the little inn, and ordered some dinner for -herself, and required that the boy and the horses should be attended to. - -Whilst ham and eggs—nothing else was procurable—were being fried, -Barbara walked along the road to the prison, and looked at the gloomy, -rugged gate built of untrimmed granite blocks. The unbroken desolation -swept to the very walls of the prison.[1] At that height the wind moans -among the rocks and rushes mournfully; the air is never still. The -landlady of the inn came to her. - -‘That is the jail,’ she said. ‘There was a prisoner broke out not long -ago, and he has not yet been caught. How he managed it none can tell. -Where he now is no one knows. He may be still wandering on the moor. -Every road from it is watched. Perhaps he may give himself up, finding -escape impossible. If not, he will die of hunger among the rocks.’ - -‘What was the crime for which he was here?’ asked Barbara; but she -spoke with an effort. - -‘He was a bad man; it was no ordinary wickedness he committed. He -robbed his own father.’ - -‘His own father!’ echoed Barbara, starting. - -‘Yes, he robbed him of nigh on two thousand pounds. The father acted -sharp, and had him caught before he had spent all the money. The -assizes were next week, so it was quick work; and here he was for a few -days, and then—he got away.’ - -‘Robbed his own father!’ murmured Barbara, and now she thought she saw -more clearly than before into a matter that looked blacker the more she -saw. - -‘There’s a man in yonder who set fire to his house to get the -insurance. Folks say his house was but a rummagy old place. ‘Tis a -pity. Now, if he had got away it would not have mattered; but, a -rascal who did not respect his own father!—not that I hold with a man -prosecuting his own son. That was hard. Still, if one was to escape, I -don’t see why the Lord blessed the undertaking of the man who robbed -his father, and turned His face away from him who only fired his house -to get the insurance.’ - -The air ceased to sparkle as Miss Jordan rode the second stage of her -journey: the sun was less bright, the fragrance of the gorse less -sweet. She did not speak to her young groom the whole way, but rode -silently, with compressed lips and moody brow. The case was worse than -she had anticipated. Jasper had robbed his father, and all that story -of his coming as a messenger from Mr. Babb with the money was false. - -One evening, unattended, Barbara Jordan rode to Buckfastleigh, asked -for the house of Mr. Babb, and dismounted at the door. The house was -a plain, ugly, square modern erection, almost an insult to the beauty -of the surroundings. The drive from the entrance gate was grass-grown. -There was a stucco porch. The door was painted drab, and the paint was -blistered, and had flaked off. The house also was mottled. It had been -painted over plaster and cement, and the paint had curled and come off -in patches. The whole place had an uncared-for look. There were no -flower beds, no creepers against the walls; the rain-shoots to the roof -were choked, and the overflowing water had covered the walls where it -reached with slime, black and green. At the back of the house was a -factory, worked by a water-wheel, for cloth, and a gravel well-trodden -path led from the back door of the house to the factory. - -Barbara had descended from her cob to open the gate into the drive; and -she walked up to the front door, leading her horse. There she rang the -bell, but had doubts whether the wire were sound. She waited a long -time, and no one responded. She tried the bell again, and then rapped -with the handle of her whip against the door. - -Then she saw a face appear at a side window, observe her and withdraw. -A moment after, a shuffling tread sounded in the hall, chains and bolts -were undone, the door was cautiously opened, and in it stood an old man -with white hair, and black beady eyes. - -‘What do you want? Who are you?’ he asked. - -‘Am I speaking to Mr. Babb?’ - -‘Yes, you are.’ - -‘May I have a few words with you in private?’ - -‘Oh, there is no one in the house, except my housekeeper, and she is -deaf. You can say what you want here.’ - -‘Who is there to take my horse?’ - -‘You can hold him by the bridle, and talk to me where you stand. -There’s no occasion for you to come in.’ - -Barbara saw into the hall; it was floored with stone, the Buckfastleigh -marble, but unpolished. The walls had been papered with glazed -imitation panelling, but the paper had peeled off, and hung in strips. -A chair with wooden seat, that had not been wiped for weeks, a set of -coat and hat pegs, some broken, on one a very discoloured great coat -and a battered hat. In a corner a bulging green umbrella, the silk -detached from the whalebone. - -‘You see,’ said the old man grimly, half turning, as he noticed that -Barbara’s eyes were observing the interior; ‘you see, this is no place -for ladies. It is a weaving spider’s web, not a gallant’s bower.’ - -‘But——’ the girl hesitated, ‘what I have to say is very particular, and -I would not be overheard on any account.’ - -‘Ah! ah!’ he giggled, ‘I’ll have no games played with me. I’m no longer -susceptible to fascination, and I ain’t worth it; on my sacred word I’m -not. I’m very poor, very poor now. You can see it for yourself. Is this -house kept up, and the garden? Does the hall look like a lap of luxury? -I’m too poor to be a catch, so you may go away.’ - -Barbara would have laughed had not the nature of her visit been so -serious. - -‘I am Miss Jordan,’ she said, ‘daughter of Mr. Jordan of Morwell, from -whom you borrowed money seventeen years ago.’ - -‘Oh!’ he gave a start of surprise. ‘Ah, well, I have sent back as much -as I could spare. Some was stolen. It is not convenient to me after -this reverse to find all now.’ - -‘My father has received nothing. What you sent was lost or stolen on -the way.’ - -The old man’s jaw fell, and he stared blankly at her. - -‘It is as I say. My father has received nothing.’ - -‘I sent it by my son.’ - -‘He has lost it.’ - -‘It is false. He has stolen it.’ - -‘What is to be done?’ - -‘Oh, that is for your father to decide. When my son robbed me, I -locked him up. Now let your father see to it. I have done my duty, my -conscience is clear.’ - -Barbara looked steadily, with some curiosity, into his face. The face -was repulsive. The strongly marked features which might have been -handsome in youth, were exaggerated by age. His white hair was matted -and uncombed. He had run his fingers through it whilst engaged on his -accounts, and had divided it into rat’s-tails. His chin and jaws were -frouzy with coarse white bristles. In his black eyes was a keen twinkle -of avarice and cunning. Old age and the snows of the winter of life -soften a harsh face, if there be any love in it; but in this there was -none. If a fire had burnt on the hearth of the old man’s heart, not a -spark remained alive, the hearth was choked with grey ashes. Barbara -traced a resemblance between the old man and his son. From his father, -Jasper had derived his aquiline nose, and the shape of mouth and chin. -But the expression of the faces was different. That of Jasper was -noble, that of his father mean. The eyes of the son were gentle, those -of Mr. Babb hard as pebbles that had been polished. - -As Barbara talked with and observed the old man she recalled what -Jasper had said of ill-treatment and lack of love. There was no -tenderness to be got out of such a man as that before her. - -‘Now look you here,’ said Mr. Babb. ‘Do you see that stretch of field -yonder where the cloth is strained in the sun? Very well. That cloth is -mine. It is woven in my mill yonder. That field was purchased seventeen -years ago for my accommodation. I can’t repay the money now without -selling the factory or the field, and neither is worth a shilling -without the other. No—we must all put up with losses. I have mine; the -Lord sends your father his. A wise Providence orders all that. Tell -him so. His heart has been hankering after mammon, and now Heaven has -deprived him of it. I’ve had losses too. I’ve learned to bear them. So -must he. What is your name?—I mean your Christian name?’ - -‘Barbara.’ - -‘Oh! not Eve—dear, no. You don’t look as if that were your name.’ - -‘Eve is my sister—my half-sister.’ - -‘Ah, ha! the elder daughter. And what has become of the little one?’ - -‘She is well, at home, and beautiful as she is good. She is not at all -like me.’ - -‘That is a good job—for you. I mean, that you are not like her. Is she -lively?’ - -‘Oh, like a lark, singing, dancing, merry.’ - -‘Of course, thoughtless, light, a feather that flies and tosses in the -breath.’ - -‘To return to the money. It was to have been my sister’s.’ - -‘Well,’ said the old man with a giggle, ‘let it so remain. It _was_ to -have been. Now it cannot be. Whose fault is that? Not mine. I kept the -money for your father. I am a man of my word. When I make a covenant I -do not break it. But my son—my son!’ - -‘Your son is now with us.’ - -‘You say he has stolen the money. Let your father not spare him. There -is no good in being lenient. Be just. When my son robbed me, I did not -spare him. I will not lift a little finger to save Jasper, who now, as -you say, has robbed your father. Wait where you are; I will run in, and -write something, which will perhaps satisfy Mr. Jordan; wait here, you -cannot enter, or your horse would run away. What did you give for that -cob? not much. Do you want to sell him? I don’t mind ten pounds. He’s -not worth more. See how he hangs his off hind leg. That’s a blemish -that would stand in your way of selling. Would you like to go over -the factory? No charge, you can tip the foreman a shilling. No cloth -weaving your way, only wool growing; and—judging from what I saw of -your father—wool-gathering.’ With a cackle the old man slipped in and -shut the door in Barbara’s face. - -Miss Jordan stood patting the neck of her disparaged horse. ‘You are -not to be parted with, are you, Jock, to an old skinflint who would -starve you?’ - -The cob put his nose on her shoulder, and rubbed it. She looked round. -Everything spoke of sordidness, only the factory seemed cared for, -where money was made. None was wasted on the adornment, even on the -decencies, of life. - -The door opened. Mr. Babb had locked it after him as he went in. He -came out with a folded letter in his hand. - -‘Here,’ he said, ‘give that to your father.’ - -‘I must tell you, Mr. Babb, that your son Jasper is with us. He -professes to have lost the money. He met with an accident and was -nearly killed. He remains with us, as a sort of steward to my father, -for a while, only for a while.’ - -‘Let him stay. I don’t want him back, I won’t have him back. I dare -say, now, it would do him good to have his Bible. I’ll give you that to -take to him. He may read and come to repentance.’ - -‘It is possible that there may be other things of his he will want. If -you can make them up into a bundle, I will send for them. No,’ she said -after a pause, ‘I will not send for them. I will take them myself.’ - -‘You will not mind staying there whilst I fetch them?’ said Mr. Babb. -‘Of course you won’t. You have the horse to hold. If you like to take a -look round the garden you may, but there is nothing to see. Visit the -mill if you like. You can give twopence to a boy to hold the horse.’ -Then he slipped in again and relocked the door. - -Barbara was only detained ten minutes. Mr. Babb came back with a jumble -of clothes, a Bible, and a violin, not tied together, but in his arms -anyhow. He threw everything on the doorstep. - -‘There,’ he said, ‘I will hold the bridle, whilst you make this into -a bundle. I’m not natty with my fingers.’ He took the horse from her. -Barbara knelt under the portico and folded Jasper’s clothes, and tied -all together in an old table cover the father gave for the purpose. -‘Take the fiddle,’ he said, ‘or I’ll smash it.’ - -She looked up at him gravely, whilst knotting the ends. - -‘Have you a message for your son—of love and forgiveness?’ - -‘Forgiveness! it is your father he has robbed. Love——There is no love -lost between us.’ - -‘He is lonely and sad,’ said Barbara, not now looking up, but busy with -her hands, tightening the knots and intent on the bundle. ‘I can see -that his heart is aching; night and day there is a gnawing pain in his -breast. No one loves him, and he seems to me to be a man who craves for -love, who might be reclaimed by love.’ - -‘Don’t forget the letter for your father,’ said Mr. Babb. - -‘What about your son? Have you no message for him?’ - -‘None. Mind that envelope. What it contains is precious.’ - -‘Is it a cheque for fifteen hundred pounds?’ - -‘Oh, dear me, no! It is a text of scripture.’ - -Then, hastily, Mr. Babb stepped back, shut the door, and bolted and -chained it. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -A SINE QUÂ NON. - - -BARBARA was on her way home from Ashburton. She had attended her aunt’s -funeral, and knew that a little sum of about fifty pounds per annum -was hers, left her by her aunt. She was occupied with her thoughts. -Was there any justification for Jasper? The father was hateful. She -could excuse his leaving home; that was nothing; such a home must be -intolerable to a young man of spirit—but to rob his father was another -matter. Barbara could not quite riddle the puzzle out in her mind. It -was clear that Mr. Babb had confided the fifteen hundred pounds to -Jasper, and that Jasper had made away with them. He had been taken and -sent to prison at Prince’s Town. Thence he had escaped, and whilst -escaping had met with the accident which had brought him to become an -inmate of Morwell House. Jasper’s story that he had lost the money was -false. He had himself taken it. Barbara could not quite make it out; -she tried to put it from her. What mattered it how the robbery had been -committed?—sufficient that the man who took the money was with her -father. What had he done with the money? That no one but himself could -tell, and that she would not ask him. - -It was vain crying over spilt milk. Fifteen hundred pounds were gone, -and the loss of that money might affect Eve’s prospects. Eve was -already attracting admiration, but who would take her for her beauty -alone? Eve, Barbara said to herself, was a jewel that must be kept in a -velvet and morocco case, and must not be put to rough usage. She must -have money. She must marry where nothing would be required of her but -to look and be—charming. - -It was clear to Barbara that Mr. Coyshe was struck with her sister, and -Mr. Coyshe was a promising, pushing man, sure to make his way. If a man -has a high opinion of himself he impresses others with belief in him. -Mr. Jordan was loud in his praises; Barbara had sufficient sense to -dislike his boasting, but she was influenced by it. Though his manner -was not to her taste, she was convinced that Mr. Coyshe was a genius, -and a man whose name would be known through England. - -What was to be done? The only thing she could think of was to insist on -her father making over Morwell to Eve on his death; as for herself—she -had her fifty pounds, and she could go as housekeeper to some lady; the -Duchess of Bedford would recommend her. _She_ was was not likely to be -thought of by any man with only fifty pounds, and with a plain face. - -When Barbara reached this point she laughed, and then she sighed. She -laughed because the idea of her being married was so absurd. She sighed -because she was tired. Just then, quite uncalled for and unexpected, -the form of Jasper Babb rose up before her mind’s eye, as she had last -seen him, pale, looking after her, waving his hat. - -She was returning to him without a word from his father, of -forgiveness, of encouragement, of love. She was scheming a future for -herself and for Eve; Jasper had no future, only a horrible past, which -cast its shadow forward, and took all hope out of the present, and -blighted the future. If she could but have brought him a kind message -it would have inspired him to redeem his great fault, to persevere in -well-doing. She knew that she would find him watching for her return -with a wistful look in his dark full eyes, asking her if she brought -him consolation. - -Then she reproached herself because she had left his parting farewell -unacknowledged. She had been ungracious; no doubt she had hurt his -feelings. - -She had passed through Tavistock, with her groom riding some way -behind her, when she heard the sound of a trotting horse, and almost -immediately a well-known voice called, ‘Glad to see your face turned -homewards, Miss Jordan.’ - -‘Good evening, Mr. Coyshe.’ - -‘Our roads run together, to my advantage. What is that you are -carrying? Can I relieve you?’ - -‘A violin. The boy is careless, he might let it fall. Besides he is -burdened with my valise and a bundle.’ - -‘What? has your aunt bequeathed a violin to you?’ - -A little colour came into Barbara’s cheeks, and she answered, ‘I am -bringing it home from over the moor.’ She blushed to have to equivocate. - -‘I hope you have had something more substantial left you than an old -fiddle,’ said the surgeon. - -‘Thank you, my poor aunt has been good enough to leave me something -comfortable, which will enable my dear father to make up to Eve for the -sum that has been lost.’ - -‘I am glad to hear it,’ said Mr. Coyshe. ‘Charmed!’ - -‘By the way,’ Barbara began, ‘I wanted to say something to you, but I -have not had the opportunity. You were quite in the wrong about the -saucer of sour milk, though I admit there was a stocking—but how you -saw that, passes my comprehension.’ - -‘I did not see it, I divined it,’ said the young man, with his -protruding light eyes staring at her with an odd mischievous expression -in them. ‘It is part of the mysteries of medicine—a faculty akin to -inspiration in some doctors, that they see with their inner eyes what -is invisible to the outer eye. For instance, I can see right into your -heart, and I see there something that looks to me very much like the -wound I patched up in Mr. Jasper’s pate. Whilst his has been healing, -yours has been growing worse.’ - -Barbara turned cold and shivered. ‘For heaven’s sake, Mr. Coyshe, do -not say such things; you frighten me.’ - -He laughed. - -She remained silent, uneasy and vexed. Presently she said, ‘It is not -true; there is nothing the matter with me.’ - -‘But the stocking was under the sofa-cushion, and you said, Not true, -at first. Wait and look.’ - -‘Doctor, it is not true at all. That is, I have a sort of trouble or -pain, but it is all about Eve. I have been very unhappy about the loss -of her money, and that has fretted me greatly.’ - -‘I foresaw it would be lost.’ - -‘Yes, it is lost, but Eve shall be no loser.’ - -‘Look here, Miss Jordan, a beautiful face is like a beautiful song, -charming in itself, but infinitely better with an accompaniment.’ - -‘What do you mean, Mr. Coyshe?’ - -‘A sweet girl may have beauty and amiability, but though these may be -excellent legs for the matrimonial stool, a third must be added to -prevent an upset, and that—metallic.’ - -Barbara made no reply. The audacity and impudence of the young surgeon -took the power to reply from her. - -‘You have not given me that fiddle,’ said Coyshe. - -‘I am not sure you will carry it carefully,’ answered Barbara; -nevertheless she resigned it to him. ‘When you part from me let the boy -have it. I will not ride into Morwell cumbered with it.’ - -‘A doctor,’ said Coyshe, ‘if he is to succeed in his profession, must -be endowed with instinct as well as science. A cat does not know what -ails it, but it knows when it is out of sorts; instinct teaches it to -swallow a blade of grass. Instinct with us discovers the disorder, -science points out the remedy. I may say without boasting that I am -brimming with instinct—you have had a specimen or two—and I have passed -splendid examinations, so that testifies to my science. Beer Alston -cannot retain me long, my proper sphere is London. I understand the -Duke has heard of me, and said to someone whom I will not name, that -if I come to town he will introduce me. If once started on the rails -I must run to success. Now I want a word with you in confidence, Miss -Jordan. That boy is sufficiently in the rear not to hear. You will be -mum, I trust?’ - -Barbara slightly nodded her assent. - -‘I confess to you that I have been struck with your sister, Miss Eve. -Who could fail to see her and not become a worshipper? She is a radiant -star; I have never seen anyone so beautiful, and she is as good as she -is beautiful.’ - -‘Indeed, indeed she is,’ said Barbara, earnestly. - -‘Montecuculli said,’ continued the surgeon, ‘that in war three things -are necessary: money; secondly, money; thirdly, money. In love it is -the same. We may regret it, but it is undeniable.’ - -Barbara did not know what to say. The assurance of the young man -imposed on her; she did not like him particularly, but he was superior -in culture to most of the young men she knew, who had no ideas beyond -hunting and shooting. - -After a little while of consideration, she said, ‘Do you think you -would make Eve happy?’ - -‘I am sure of it. I have all the instincts of the family-man in me. A -man may marry a score of times and be father of fifty children, without -instinct developing the special features of domesticity. They are born -in a man, not acquired. _Pater-familias nascitur, non fit._’ - -‘Have you spoken to my father?’ - -‘No, not yet; I am only feeling my way. I don’t mind telling you what -brought me into notice with the Duke. He was ill last autumn when down -at Endsleigh for the shooting, and his physician was sent for. I met -the doctor at the Bedford Inn at Tavistock; some of us of the faculty -had an evening together, and his Grace’s condition was discussed, -casually of course. I said nothing. We were smoking and drinking rum -and water. There was something in his Grace’s condition which puzzled -his physician, and he clearly did not understand how to treat the case. -_I_ knew. I have instinct. Some rum had been spilled on the table; I -dipped the end of my pipe in it, and scribbled a prescription on the -mahogany. I saw the eye of the doctor on it. I have reason to believe -he used my remedy. It answered. He is not ungrateful. I say no more. A -city set on a hill cannot be hid. Beer Alston is a bushel covering a -light. Wait.’ - -Barbara said nothing. She rode on, deep in thought. The surgeon jogged -at her side, his protruding water-blue eyes peering in all directions. - -‘You think your sister will not be penniless?’ he said. - -‘I am certain she will not. Now that my aunt has provided for me, Eve -will have Morwell after my father’s death, and I am sure she is welcome -to what comes to me from my aunt till then.’ - -‘Halt!’ exclaimed the surgeon. - -Barbara drew rein simultaneously with Mr. Coyshe. - -‘Who are you there, watching, following us, skulking behind bushes and -hedges?’ shouted Coyshe. - -‘What is it?’ asked Miss Jordan, surprised and alarmed. - -The surgeon did not answer, but raised to his shoulder a stick he -carried. - -‘Answer! Who are you? Show yourself, or I fire!’ - -‘Doctor Coyshe,’ exclaimed Barbara, ‘forbear in pity!’ - -‘My dear Miss Jordan,’ he said in a low tone, ‘set your mind at rest. I -have only an umbrella stick, of which all the apparatus is blown away -except the catch. Who is there?’ he cried, again presenting his stick. - -‘Once, twice!’—click went the catch. ‘If I call three and fire, your -blood be on your own head!’ - -There issued in response a scream, piercing in its shrillness, inhuman -in its tone. - -Barbara shuddered, and her horse plunged. - -A mocking burst of laughter ensued, and then forth from the bushes -into the road leaped an impish boy, who drew a bow over the catgut of -a fiddle under his chin, and ran along before them, laughing, leaping, -and evoking uncouth and shrill screams from his instrument. - -‘A pixy,’ said the surgeon. ‘I knew by instinct one was dodging us. -Fortunately I could not lay my hand on a riding whip this morning, and -so took my old umbrella stick. Now, farewell. So you think Miss Eve -will have Morwell, and the matrimonial stool its golden leg? That is -right.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -AT THE QUAY. - - -ON the day of Barbara’s departure Eve attended diligently to the duties -of the house, and found that everything was in such order that she -was content to believe that all would go on of its own accord in the -old way, without her supervision, which declined next day, and was -pretermitted on the third. - -Jasper did not appear for mid-day dinner; he was busy on the old quay. -He saw that it must be put to rights. The woods could be thinned, the -coppice shredded for bark, and bark put on a barge at the bottom of the -almost precipitous slope, and so sent to the tanyards at Devonport. -There was waste of labour in carrying the bark up the hills and then -carting it to Beer Ferris, some ten miles. - -No wonder that, as Mr. Jordan complained, the bark was unremunerative. -The profit was eaten up by the wasteful transport. It was the same with -the timber. There was demand for oak and pine at the dockyards, and any -amount was grown in the woods of Morwell. - -So Jasper asked leave to have the quay put to rights, and Mr. Jordan -consented. He must supervise proceedings himself, so he remained the -greater part of the day by the river edge. The ascent to Morwell House -was arduous if attempted directly up the steep fall, long if he went by -the zigzag through the wood. It would take him a stiff three-quarters -of an hour to reach the house and half-an-hour to return. Accordingly -he asked that his dinner might be sent him. - -On the third day, to Eve’s dismay, she found that she had forgotten to -let him have his food, both that day and the preceding. He had made no -remark when he came back the day before. Eve’s conscience smote her—a -convalescent left for nine or ten hours without food. - -When she recalled her promise to send it him she found that there was -no one to send. In shame and self-reproach, she packed a little basket, -and resolved to carry it to him. The day was lovely. She put her -broad-brimmed straw hat, trimmed with forget-me-not bows, on her head, -and started on her walk. - -The bank of the Tamar falls from high moorland many hundreds of feet -to the water’s edge. In some places the rocks rise in sheer precipices -with gullies of coppice and heather between them. Elsewhere the fall -is less abrupt, and allows trees to grow, and the richness of the soil -and the friable nature of the rock allows them to grow to considerable -dimensions. From Morwell House a long _détour_ through beautiful -forest, affording peeps of mountains and water, gave the easiest -descent to the quay, but Eve reserved this road for the ascent, and -slid merrily down the narrow corkscrew path in the brushwood between -the crags, which afforded the quickest way down to the water’s edge. - -‘Oh, Mr. Jasper!’ she exclaimed, ‘I have sinned, through my -forgetfulness; but see, to make amends, I have brought you a little -bottle of papa’s Burgundy and a wee pot of red currant jelly for the -cold mutton.’ - -‘And you have come yourself to overwhelm me with a sense of gratitude.’ - -‘Oh, Mr. Jasper, I am so ashamed of my naughtiness. I assure you I -nearly cried. Bab—I mean Barbara—would never have forgotten. She -remembers everything. Her head is a perfect store-closet, where all -things are in place and measured and weighed and on their proper -shelves. You had no dinner yesterday.’ - -‘To-day’s is a banquet that makes up for all deficiencies.’ - -Eve liked Jasper; she had few to converse with, very few acquaintances, -no friends, and she was delighted to be able to have a chat with -anyone, especially if that person flattered her—and who did not? -Everyone naturally offered incense before her; she almost demanded it -as a right. The Tamar formed a little bay under a wall of rock. A few -ruins marked the site of the storehouses and boatsheds of the abbots. -The sun glittered on the water, forming of it a blazing mirror, and the -dancing light was reflected back by the flower-wreathed rocks. - -‘Where are the men?’ asked Eve. - -‘Gone into the wood to fell some pines. We must drive piles into the -bed of the river, and lay beams on them for a basement.’ - -‘Oh,’ said Eve listlessly, ‘I don’t understand about basements and -all that.’ She seated herself on a log. ‘How pleasant it is here with -the flicker of the water in one’s face and eyes, and a sense of being -without shadow! Mr. Jasper, do you believe in pixies?’ - -‘What do you mean, Miss?’ - -‘The little imps who live in the mines and on the moors, and play -mischievous tricks on mortals. They have the nature of spirits, and -yet they have human shapes, and are like old men or boys. They watch -treasures and veins of ore, and when mortals approach the metal, they -decoy the trespassers away.’ - -‘Like the lapwing that pretends to be wounded, and so lures you from -its precious eggs. Do _you_ believe in pixies?’ - -Eve laughed and shook her pretty head. ‘I think so, Mr. Jasper, for I -have seen one.’ - -‘What was he like?’ - -‘I do not know, I only caught glimpses of him. Do not laugh -satirically. I am serious. I did see something, but I don’t know -exactly what I saw.’ - -‘That is not a very convincing reason for the existence of pixies.’ - -Eve drew her little feet together, and folded her arms in her lap, and -smiled, and tossed her head. She had taken off her hat, and the sun -glorified her shining head. - -Jasper looked admiringly at her. - -‘Are you not afraid of a sunstroke, Miss Eve?’ - -‘O dear no! The sun cannot harm me. I love him so passionately. O Mr. -Jasper! I wish sometimes I lived far away in another country where -there are no wet days and grey skies and muggy atmospheres, and where -the hedges do not drip, and the lanes do not stand ankle deep in mud, -and the old walls exude moisture indoors, and one’s pretty shoes do not -go mouldy if not wiped over daily. I should like to be in a land like -Italy, where all the people sing and dance and keep holiday, and the -bells in the towers are ever ringing, and the lads have bunches of gold -and silver flowers in their hats, and the girls have scarlet skirts, -and the village musicians sit in a cart adorned with birch branches -and ribands and roses, and the trumpets go tu-tu! and the drums -bung-bung!—I have read about it, and cried for vexation that I was not -there.’ - -‘But the pixy?’ - -‘I would banish all pixies and black Copplestones and Whish hounds; -they belong to rocks and moors and darkness and storm. I hate gloom and -isolation.’ - -‘You are happy at Morwell, Miss Eve. One has but to look in your face -and see it. Not a crabbed line of care, not the track of a tear, all -smoothness and smiles.’ - -The girl twinkled with pleasure, and said, ‘That is because we are -in midsummer; wait till winter and see what becomes of me. Then I am -sad enough. We are shut in for five months—six months—seven almost, -by mud and water. O, how the winds howl! How the trees toss and roar! -How the rain patters! That is not pleasant. I wish, I do wish, I were -a squirrel; then I would coil myself in a corner lined with moss, and -crack nuts in a doze till the sun came again and woke me up with the -flowers. Then I would throw out all my cracked nutshells with both -paws, and leap to the foot of a tree, run up it, and skip from branch -to branch, and swing in the summer sunshine on the topmost twig. O, Mr. -Jasper, how much wiser than we the swallows are! I would rather be a -swallow than a squirrel, and sail away when I felt the first frost to -the land of eternal summer, into the blazing eye of the sun.’ - -‘But as you have no wings——’ - -‘I sit and mope and talk to Barbara about cows and cabbages, and to -father about any nonsense that comes into my head.’ - -‘As yet you have given me no description of the pixy.’ - -‘How can I, when I scarce saw him? I will tell you exactly what -happened, if you will not curl up the corner of your lips, as though -mocking me. That papa never does. I tell him all the rhodomontade I -can, and he listens gravely, and frightens and abashes me sometimes by -swallowing it whole.’ - -‘Where did you see, or not see, the pixy?’ - -‘On my way to you. I heard something stirring in the wood, and I half -saw what I took to be a boy, or a little man the size of a boy. When I -stood still, he stood; when I moved, I fancied he moved. I heard the -crackle of sticks and the stir of the bushes. I am sure of nothing.’ - -‘Were you frightened?’ - -‘No; puzzled, not frightened. If this had occurred at night, it would -have been different. I thought it might have been a red-deer; they are -here sometimes, strayed from Exmoor, and have such pretty heads and -soft eyes; but this was not. I fancied once I saw a queer little face -peering at me from behind a pine tree. I uttered a feeble cry and ran -on.’ - -‘I know exactly what it was,’ said Jasper, with a grave smile. ‘There -is a pixy lives in the Raven Rock; he has a smithy far down in the -heart of the cliff, and there he works all winter at a vein of pure -gold, hammering and turning the golden cups and marsh marigolds with -which to strew the pastures and watercourses in spring. But it is -dull for the pixy sitting alone without light; he has no one to love -and care for him, and, though the gold glows in his forge, his little -heart is cold. He has been dreaming all winter of a sweet fairy he saw -last summer wearing a crown of marigold, wading in cuckoo flowers, and -now he has come forth to capture that fairy and draw her down into his -stony palace.’ - -‘To waste her days,’ laughed Eve, ‘in sighing for the sun, whilst her -roses wither and her eyes grow dim, away from the twitter of the birds -and the scent of the gorse. He shan’t have me.’ Then, after a pause, -during which she gathered some marigolds and put them into her hat, she -said, half seriously, half jestingly, ‘Do you believe in pixies?’ - -‘You must not ask me. I have seen but one fairy in all my life, and she -now sits before me.’ - -‘Mr. Jasper,’ said Eve, with a dimple in her cheek, in recognition of -the compliment,—’Mr. Jasper, do you know my mother is a mystery to me -as much as pixies and fairies and white ladies?’ - -‘No, I was not aware of that.’ - -‘She was called, like me, Eve.’ - -‘I had a sister of that name who is dead, and my mother’s name was Eve. -She is dead.’ - -‘I did not think the name was so common,’ said the girl. ‘I fancied we -were the only two Eves that ever were. I do not know what my mother’s -other name was. Is not that extraordinary?’ - -Jasper Babb made no reply. - -‘I have been reading “Undine.” Have you read that story? O, it has made -me so excited. The writer says that it was founded on what he read in -an old author, and that author, Paracelsus, is one papa believes in. -So, I suppose, there is some truth in the tale. The story of my mother -is quite like that of Undine. One night my father heard a cry on the -moor, and he went to the place, and found my mother all alone. She -was with him for a year and a day, and would have stayed longer if my -father could have refrained from asking her name. When he did that she -was forced to leave him. She was never seen again.’ - -‘Miss Eve, this cannot be true.’ - -‘I do not know. That is what old Betsy Davy told me. Papa never speaks -of her. He has been an altered man since she left him. He put up the -stone cross on the moor at the spot where he found her. I like to fancy -there was something mysterious in her. I can’t ask papa, and Bab was—I -mean Barbara—was too young at the time to remember anything about it.’ - -‘This is very strange.’ - -‘Betsy Davy says that my father was not properly married to her, -because he could not get a priest to perform the ceremony without -knowing what she was.’ - -‘My dear Miss Eve, instead of listening to the cock-and-bull stories——’ - -‘Mr. Jasper! How can you—how can you use such an expression? The -story is very pretty and romantic, and not at all like things of this -century. I dare say there is some truth in it.’ - -‘I am far from any intention of offending you, dear young lady; but I -venture to offer you a piece of advice. Do not listen to idle tales; -do not encourage people of a lower class to speak to you about your -mother; ask your father what you want to know, he will tell you; and -take my word for it, romance there always must be in love, but there -will be nothing of what you imagine, with a fancy set on fire by -“Undine.”’ - -Her volatile mind had flown elsewhere. - -‘Mr. Jasper,’ she said, ‘have you ever been to a theatre?’ - -‘Yes.’ - -‘O, I should like it above everything else. I dream of it. We have -Inchbald’s “British Theatre” in the library, and it is my dearest -reading. Barbara likes a cookery book or a book on farming; I cannot -abide them. Do you know what Mr. Coyshe said the other day when I was -rattling on before him and papa? He said I had missed my vocation, and -ought to have been on the stage. What do you think?’ - -‘I think a loving and merciful Providence has done best to put such a -precious treasure here where it can best be preserved.’ - -‘I don’t agree with you at all,’ said Eve, standing up. ‘I think Mr. -Coyshe showed great sense. Anyhow, I should like to see a theatre—O, -above everything in the world! Papa thinks of Rome or the Holy Land; -but I say—a theatre. I can’t help it; I think it, and must say it. -Good-bye! I have things my sister left that I must attend to. I wish -she were back. Oh, Mr. Jasper, do not you?’ - -‘Everyone will be pleased to welcome her home.’ - -‘Because I have let everything go to sixes and sevens, eh?’ - -‘For her own sake.’ - -‘Well, I do miss her dreadfully, do not you?’ - -He did not answer. She cast him another good-bye, and danced off into -the wood, swinging her hat by the blue ribands. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -WATT. - - -THE air under the pines was balmy. The hot July sun brought out their -resinous fragrance. Gleams of fire fell through the boughs and dappled -the soil at intervals, and on these sun-flakes numerous fritillary -butterflies with silver under-wings were fluttering, and countless -flies were humming. The pines grew only at the bottom of the crags, -and here and there in patches on the slopes. The woods were composed -for the most part of oak, now in its richest, fullest foliage, the -golden hue of early spring changing to the duller green of summer. -Beech also abounded with their clean stems, and the soil beneath them -bare of weed, and here and there a feathery birch with erect silver -stem struggled up in the overgrowth to the light. The wood was full of -foxgloves, spires of pink dappled bells, and of purple columbine. Wild -roses grew wherever a rock allowed them to wreath in sunshine and burst -into abundant bloom over its face. Eve carried her straw hat on her -arm, hung by its blue ribands. She needed its shelter in the wood no -more than in her father’s hall. - -She came to a brook, dribbling and tinkling on its way through moss -and over stone. The path was fringed with blazing marigolds. Eve had -already picked some, she now halted, and brimmed the extemporised -basket with more of the golden flowers. - -The gloom, the fragrant air, the flicker of colour made her think of -the convent chapel at Lanherne, whither she had been sent for her -education, but whence, having pined under the restraint, she had been -speedily removed. As she walked she swung her hat like a censer. From -it rose the fresh odour of flowers, and from it dropped now and then -a marigold like a burning cinder. Scarce thinking what she did, Eve -assumed the slow and measured pace of a religious procession, as she -had seen one at Lanherne, still swinging her hat, and letting the -flowers fall from it whilst she chanted meaningless words to a sacred -strain. Then she caught her straw hat to her, and holding it before her -in her left arm, advanced at a quicker pace, still singing. Now she -dipped her right hand in the crown and strewed the blossoms to left and -right, as did the little girls in the Corpus Christi procession round -the convent grounds at Lanherne. Her song quickened and brightened, -and changed its character as her flighty thoughts shifted to other -topics, and her changeful mood assumed another complexion. Her tune -became that of the duet _Là ci darem la mano_, in ‘Don Giovanni,’ -which she had often sung with her sister. She sang louder and more -joyously, and her feet moved in rhythm to this song, as they had to the -ecclesiastical chant; her eyes sparkled, her cheeks flushed. - -It seemed to her that a delicate echo accompanied her—very soft and -spiritual, now in snatches, then low, rolling, long-drawn-out. She -stopped and listened, then went on again. What she heard was the echo -from the rocks and tree boles. - -But presently the road became steeper, and she could no longer spare -breath for her song; now the sacred chant was quite forgotten, but the -sweet air of Mozart clung to her memory, as the scent of pot-pourri to -a parlour, and there it would linger the rest of the day. - -As she walked on she was in a dream. What must it be to hear these -songs accompanied by instruments, and with light and scenery, and -acting on the stage? Oh, that she could for once in her life have the -supreme felicity of seeing a real play! - -Suddenly a flash of vivid golden light broke before her, the trees -parted, and she stood on the Raven Rock, a precipice that shoots high -above the Tamar and commands a wide prospect over Cornwall—Hingston -Hill, where Athelstan fought and beat the Cornish in the last stand -the Britons made, and Kitt Hill, a dome of moorclad mountain. As she -stepped forth on the rock to enjoy the light and view and air, there -rushed out of the oak and dogwood bushes a weird boy, who capered and -danced, brandished a fiddle, clapped it under his chin, and still -dancing, played _Là ci darem_ fast, faster, till his little arms went -faster than Eve could see. - -The girl stood still, petrified with terror. Here was the Pixy of the -Raven Rock Jasper had spoken of. The malicious boy saw and revelled in -her fear, and gambolled round her, grimacing and still fiddling till -his tune led up to and finished in a shriek. - -‘There, there,’ said he, at length, lowering the violin and bow; ‘how I -have scared you, Eve!’ - -Eve trembled in every limb, and was too alarmed to speak. The scenery, -the rock, the boy, swam in a blue haze before her eyes. - -‘There, Eve, don’t be frightened. You led me on with your singing. I -followed in your flowery traces. Don’t you know me?’ - -Eve shook her head. She could not speak. - -‘You have seen me. You saw me that night when I came riding over your -downs at the back of Martin, when poor Jasper fell—you remember me. -I smashed your rattletrap gig. What a piece of good luck it was that -Jasper’s horse went down and not ours. I might have broken my fiddle. -I’d rather break a leg, especially that of another person.’ - -Eve had not thought of the boy since that eventful night. Indeed, she -had seen little of him then. - -‘I remember,’ she said, ‘there was a boy.’ - -‘Myself. Watt is my name, or in full, Walter. If you doubt my humanity -touch my hand; feel, it is warm.’ He grasped Eve and drew her out on -the rocky platform. - -‘Sit down, Eve. I know you better than you know me. I have heard Martin -speak of you. That is how I know about you. Look me in the face.’ - -Eve raised her eyes to his. The boy had a strange countenance. The hair -was short-cropped and black, the skin olive. He had protruding and -large ears, and very black keen eyes. - -‘What do you think is my age?’ asked the boy. ‘I am nineteen. I am an -ape. I shall never grow into a man.’ He began again to skip and make -grimaces. Eve shrank away in alarm. - -‘There! Put your fears aside, and be reasonable,’ said Watt, coming -to a rest. ‘Jasper is below, munching his dinner. I have seen him. He -would not eat whilst you were by. He did not suspect I was lying on -the rock overhead in the heath, peering down on you both whilst you -were talking. I can skip about, I can scramble anywhere, I can almost -fly. I do not wish Jasper to know I am here. No one must know but -yourself, for I have come here on an errand to you.’ - -‘To me!’ echoed Eve, hardly recovered from her terror. - -‘I am come from Martin. You remember Martin? Oh! there are not many men -like Martin. He is a king of men. Imagine an old town, with ancient -houses and a church tower behind, and the moon shining on it, and in -the moonlight Martin in velvet, with a hat in which is a white feather, -and his violin, under a window, thinking you are there, and singing -_Deh, vieni alla finestra_. Do you know the tune? Listen.’ The boy -took his fiddle, and touching the strings with his fingers, as though -playing a mandolin, he sang that sweet minstrel song. - -Eve’s blue eyes opened wonderingly, this was all so strange and -incomprehensible to her. - -‘See here, Miss Zerlina, you were singing _Là ci darem_ just now, try -it with me. I can take Giovanni’s part and you that of Zerlina.’ - -‘I cannot. I cannot, indeed.’ - -‘You shall. I shall stand between you and the wood. You cannot escape -over the rock, you would be dashed to pieces. I will begin.’ - -Suddenly a loud voice interrupted him as he began to play—’Watt!’ - -Standing under the shadow of the oaks, with one foot on the rocky -platform, was Jasper. - -‘Watt, how came you here?’ - -The boy lowered his violin and stood for a moment speechless. - -‘Miss Eve,’ said Jasper, ‘please go home. After all, you have -encountered the pixy, and that a malicious and dangerous imp. Stand -aside, Watt.’ - -The boy did not venture to resist. He stood back near the edge of the -rock and allowed Eve to pass him. - -When she was quite gone, Jasper said gravely to the boy, ‘What has -brought you here?’ - -‘That is a pretty question to ask me, Jasper. We left you here, broken -and senseless, and naturally Martin and I want to know what condition -you are in. How could we tell whether you were alive or dead? You know -very well that Martin could not come, so I have run here to obtain -information.’ - -‘I am well,’ answered Jasper, ‘you may tell Martin, everywhere but -here,’ he laid his hand on his heart. - -‘With such a pretty girl near I do not wonder,’ laughed the boy. ‘I -shall tell poor Martin of the visits paid you at the water’s edge.’ - -‘That will do,’ said Jasper; ‘this joking offends me. Tell Martin I am -here, but with my heart aching for him.’ - -‘No occasion for that, Jasper. Not a cricket in the grass is lighter of -spirit than he.’ - -‘I dare say,’ said the elder, ‘he does not feel matters acutely. Tell -him the money must be restored. Here I stay as a pledge that the debt -shall be paid. Tell him that I insist on his restoring the money.’ - -‘Christmas is coming, and after that Easter, and then, all in good -time, Christmas again; but money once passed, returns no more.’ - -‘I expect Martin to restore what he took. He is good at heart, but -inconsiderate. I know Martin better than you. You are his bad angel. He -loves me and is generous. He knows what I have done for him, and when I -tell him that I must have the money back he will return it if he can.’ - -‘If he can!’ repeated the boy derisively. ‘It is well you have thrown -in that proviso. I once tossed my cap into the Dart and ran two miles -along the bank after it. I saw it for two miles bobbing on the ripples, -but at last it went over the weir above Totnes and disappeared. I -believe that cap was fished up at Dartmouth and is now worn by the -mayor’s son. It is so with money. Once let it out of your hands and it -avails nothing to run after it. It disappears and comes up elsewhere to -profit others.’ - -‘Where is Martin now?’ - -‘Anywhere and everywhere.’ - -‘He is not in this county, I trust.’ - -‘Did you never hear of the old lady who lost the store closet key and -hunted everywhere except in her own pocket? What is under your nose is -overlooked.’ - -‘Go back to Martin. Tell him, as he values his safety and my peace of -mind, to keep out of the country, certainly out of the county. Tell -him to take to some honest work and stick to it, and to begin his -repentance by——’ - -‘There! if I carry a preachment away with me I shall never reach -Martin. I had a surfeit of this in the olden days, Jasper. I know a -sailor lad who has been fed on salt junk at sea till if you put but as -much as will sit on the end of your knife under his nose when he is on -land he will upset the table. It is the same with Martin and me. No -sermons for us, Jasper. So—see, I am off at the first smell of a text.’ - -He darted into the wood and disappeared, singing at the top of his -voice ‘Life let us cherish.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -FORGET-ME-NOT! - - -THAT night Eve could not sleep. She thought of her wonderful adventure. -Who was that strange boy? And who was Martin? And, what was the link -between these two and Jasper? - -Towards morning, when she ought to have been stirring, she fell asleep, -and laughed in her dreams. She woke with the sun shining in on her, -and her father standing by her bed, watching her. - -After the visions in which she had been steeped full of fair forms and -brilliant colours, it was a shock to her to unclose her eyes on the -haggard face of her father, with sunken eyes. - -‘What is it, papa?’ - -‘My dear, it is ten o’clock. I have waited for my breakfast. The tea -is cold, the toast has lost its crispness, and the eggs are like the -tea—cold.’ - -‘O papa!’ she said sorrowfully, sitting up in bed; ‘I have overslept -myself. But, you will not begrudge me the lovely dreams I have had. -Papa! I saw a pixy yesterday.’ - -‘Where, child?’ - -‘On the Raven Rock.’ - -He shut his eyes, and put his hand over his mouth. Then he heaved a -deep sigh, said nothing, turned, and went out of the room. - -Eve was the idol of her father’s heart. He spoiled her, by allowing her -her own way in everything, by relieving her of every duty, and heaping -all the responsibilities on the shoulders of his eldest daughter. - -Eve was so full of love and gaiety, that it was impossible to be angry -with her when she made provoking mistakes; she was so penitent, so -pretty in her apologies, and so sincere in her purpose of amendment. - -Eve was warmly attached to her father. She had an affectionate nature, -but none of her feelings were deep. Her rippling conversation, her -buoyant spirits, enlivened the prevailing gloom of Mr. Jordan. His -sadness did not depress her. Indeed, she hardly noticed it. Hers was -not a sympathetic nature. She exacted the sympathy of others, but gave -nothing more in return than prattle and laughter. - -She danced down the stairs when dressed, without any regret for having -kept her father waiting. He would eat a better breakfast for a little -delay, she said to herself, and satisfied her conscience. - -She came into the breakfast-room in a white muslin dress, covered -with little blue sprigs, and with a blue riband in her golden hair. -The lovely roses of her complexion, the sparkling eyes, the dimple in -her cheeks, the air of perfect content with herself, and with all the -world, disarmed what little vexation hung in her father’s mood. - -‘Do you think Bab will be home to-day?’ she asked, seating herself -at the tea-tray without a word of apology for the lateness of her -appearance. - -‘I do not know what her movements are.’ - -‘I hope she will. I want her home.’ - -‘Yes, she must return, to relieve you of your duties.’ - -‘I am sure the animals want her home. The pigeons find I am not regular -in throwing them barley, and I sometimes forget the bread-crumbs after -a meal. The little black heifer always runs along the paddock when Bab -goes by, and she is indifferent to me. She lows when I appear, as much -as to say, Where is Miss Barbara? Then the cat has not been himself for -some days, and the little horse is in the dumps. Do you think brute -beasts have souls?’ - -‘I do not know.’ Then after a pause, ‘What was that you said about a -pixy?’ - -‘O papa! it was a dream.’ She coloured. Something rose in her heart to -check her from confiding to him what in her thoughtless freedom she was -prepared to tell on first awaking. - -He pressed her no further. He doubtless believed she had spoken the -truth. She had ever been candid. Now, however, she lacked courage to -speak. She remembered that the boy had said ‘I come to you with a -message.’ He had disappeared without giving it. What was that message? -Was he gone without delivering it? - -Mr. Jordan slowly ate his breakfast. Every now and then he looked at -his daughter, never steadily, for he could look fixedly long at nothing. - -‘I will tell you all, papa,’ said Eve suddenly, shaking her head, to -shake off the temptation to be untrue. Her better nature had prevailed. -‘It was not a dream, it was a reality. I did see a pixy on the Raven -Rock, the maddest, merriest, ugliest imp in the world.’ - -‘We are surrounded by an unseen creation,’ said Mr. Jordan. ‘The -microscope reveals to us teeming life in a drop of water. Another -generation will use an instrument that will show them the air full of -living things. Then the laugh will be no more heard on earth. Life will -be grave, if not horrible. This generation is sadder than the last -because less ignorant.’ - -‘O papa! He was not a pixy at all. I have seen him before, when Mr. -Jasper was thrown. Then he was perched like an ape, as he is, on the -cross you set up, where my mother first appeared to you. He was making -screams with his fiddle.’ - -Mr. Jordan looked at her with flickering, frightened eyes. ‘It was a -spirit—the horse saw it and started—that was how Jasper was thrown,’ he -said gravely. - -‘Here Jasper comes,’ said Eve, laughing; ‘ask him.’ But instead of -waiting for her father to do this, she sprang up, and danced to meet -him with the simplicity of a child, and clapping her palms, she asked, -‘Mr. Jasper! My father will have it that my funny little pixy was a -spirit of the woods or wold, and will not believe that he is flesh and -blood.’ - -‘My daughter,’ said Mr. Jordan, ‘has told me a strange story. She says -that she saw a boy on the—the Raven Rock, and that you know him.’ - -‘Yes, I do.’ - -‘Whence comes he?’ - -‘That I cannot say.’ - -‘Where does he live?’ - -‘Nowhere.’ - -‘Is he here still?’ - -‘I do not know.’ - -‘Have you seen him before?’ - -‘Yes—often.’ - -‘That will do.’ Mr. Jordan jerked his head and waved his hand, in sign -that he did not wish Jasper to remain. - -He treated Jasper with rudeness; he resented the loss of Eve’s money, -and being a man of narrow mind and vindictive temper, he revenged the -loss on the man who was partly to blame for the loss. He brooded over -his misfortune, and was bitter. The sight of Jasper irritated him, and -he did not scruple at meals to make allusions to the lost money which -must hurt the young man’s feelings. When Barbara was present, she -interposed to turn the conversation or blunt the significance of her -father’s words. Eve, on the other hand, when Mr. Jordan spoke in a way -she did not like to Jasper or Barbara, started up and left the room, -because she could not endure discords. She sprang out of the way of -harsh words as she turned from a brier. It did not occur to her to save -others, she saved herself. - -Barbara thought of Jasper and her father, Eve only of herself. - -When Jasper was gone, Mr. Jordan put his hand to his head. ‘I do not -understand, I cannot think,’ he said, with a vacant look in his eyes. -‘You say one thing, and he another.’ - -‘Pardon me, dearest papa, we both say the same, that the pixy was -nothing but a real boy of flesh and blood, but—there, let us think and -talk of something else.’ - -‘Take care!’ said Mr. Jordan gloomily; ‘take care! There are spirits -where the wise see shadows; the eye of the fool sees farther than the -eye of the sage. My dear Eve, beware of the Raven Rock.’ - -Eve began to warble the air of the serenade in ‘Don Giovanni’ which she -had heard the boy Watt sing. - -Then she threw her arms round her father’s neck. ‘Do not look so -miserable, papa. I am the happiest little being in the world, and I -will kiss your cheeks till they dimple with laughter.’ But instead of -doing so, she dashed away to pick flowers, for she thought, seeing -herself in the glass opposite, that a bunch of forget-me-not in her -bosom was what lacked to perfect her appearance in the blue-sprigged -muslin. - -She knew where wild forget-me-nots grew. The Abbot’s Well sent -its little silver rill through rich grass towards the wood, where -it spilled down the steep descent to the Tamar. She knew that -forget-me-not grew at the border of the wood, just where the stream -left the meadow and the glare of the sun for its pleasant shadow. As -she approached the spot she saw the imp-like boy leap from behind a -tree. - -He held up his finger, put it to his lips, then beckoned her to follow -him. This she would not do. She halted in the meadow, stooped, and, -pretending not to see him, picked some of the blue flowers she desired. - -He came stealthily towards her, and pointed to a stone a few steps -further, which was hidden from the house by the slope of the hill. ‘I -will tell you nothing unless you come,’ he said. - -She hesitated a moment, looked round, and advanced to the place -indicated. - -‘I will go no farther with you,’ said she, putting her hand on the -rock. ‘I am afraid of you.’ - -‘It matters not,’ answered the boy; ‘I can say what I want here.’ - -‘What is it? Be quick, I must go home.’ - -‘Oh, you little puss! Oh, you came out full of business! I can tell -you, you came for nothing but the chance of hearing what I forgot to -tell you yesterday. I must give the message I was commissioned to bear -before I can leave.’ - -‘Who from?’ - -‘Can you ask? From Martin.’ - -‘But who is Martin?’ - -‘Sometimes he is one thing, then another; he is Don Giovanni. Then he -is a king. There—he is an actor. Will that content you?’ - -‘What is his surname?’ - -‘O Eve! daughter of Eve!’ jeered the boy, ‘all inquisitiveness! What -does that matter? An actor takes what name suits him.’ - -‘What is his message? I must run home.’ - -‘He stole something from you—wicked Martin.’ - -‘Yes; a ring.’ - -‘And you—you stole his heart away. Poor Martin _has_ had no peace of -mind since he saw you. His conscience has stung him like a viper. So he -has sent me back to you with the ring.’ - -‘Where is it?’ - -‘Shut your blue eyes, they dazzle me, and put out your finger.’ - -‘Give me the ring, please, and let me go.’ - -‘Only on conditions—not my conditions—those of Martin. He was very -particular in his instructions to me. Shut your eyes and extend your -dear little finger. Next swear never, never to part with the ring I put -on your finger.’ - -‘That I never will. Mr. Martin had no right to take the ring. It was -impertinent of him; it made me very angry. Once I get it back I will -never let the ring go again.’ She opened her eyes. - -‘Shut! shut!’ cried the boy: ‘and now swear.’ - -‘I promise,’ said the girl. ‘That suffices.’ - -‘There, then, take the ring.’ He thrust the circlet on her finger. She -opened her eyes again and looked at her hand. - -‘Why, boy!’ she exclaimed, ‘this is not my ring. It is another.’ - -‘To be sure it is, you little fool. Do you think that Martin would -return the ring you gave him? No, no. He sends you this in exchange -for yours. It is prettier, Look at the blue flower on it, formed of -turquoise. Forget-me-not.’ - -‘I cannot keep this. I want my own,’ said Eve, pouting, and her eyes -filling. - -‘You must abide Martin’s time. Meanwhile retain this pledge.’ - -‘I cannot! I will not!’ she stamped her foot petulantly on the oxalis -and forget-me-not that grew beneath the rock, tears of vexation -brimming in her eyes. ‘You have not dealt fairly by me. You have -cheated me.’ - -‘Listen to me, Miss Eve,’ said the boy in a coaxing tone. ‘You are a -child, and have to be treated as such. Look at the beautiful stones, -observe the sweet blue flower. You know what that means—Forget-me-not. -Our poor Martin has to ramble through the world with a heart-ache, -yearning for a pair of sparkling blue eyes, and for two wild roses -blooming in the sweetest cheeks the sun ever kissed, and for a head of -hair like a beech tree touched by frost in a blazing autumn’s sun. Do -you think he can forget these? He carries that face of yours ever about -with him, and now he sends you this ring, and that means—”Miss, you -have made me very unhappy. I can never forget the little maid with eyes -of blue, and so I send her this token to bid her forget me not, as I -can never forget her.”’ - -And as Eve stood musing with pouting lips, and troubled brow, looking -at the ring, the boy took his violin, and with the fingers plucked the -strings to make an accompaniment as he sang:— - - A maiden stood beside a river, - And with her pitcher seemed to play; - Then sudden stooped and drew up water, - But drew my heart as well away. - - And now I sigh beside the river, - I dream about that maid I saw, - I wait, I watch, am restless, weeping, - Until she come again to draw. - - A flower is blooming by the river, - A floweret with a petal blue, - Forget me not, my love, my treasure! - My flower and heart are both for you. - -He played and sang a sweet, simple and plaintive air. It touched Eve’s -heart; always susceptible to music. Her lips repeated after the boy, -‘My flower and heart are both for you.’ - -She could not make up her mind what to do. While she hesitated, the -opportunity of returning the ring was gone. Watt had disappeared into -the bushes. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -DISCOVERIES. - - -A BEAUTIFUL summer evening. Eve from her window saw Jasper in the -garden; he was trimming the flower-beds which had been neglected since -Christopher Davy had been ill. The men were busy on the farm, too busy -to be taken off for flower gardening. Barbara had said one day that -it was a pity the beds were not put to rights; and now Jasper was -attending to her wishes during her absence. Mr. Jordan was out. He had -gone forth with his hammer, and there was no telling when he would -return. Eve disliked being alone. She must talk to someone. She brushed -her beautiful hair, looked in the glass, adjusted a scarf round her -shoulders, and in a coquettish way tripped into the garden and began to -pick the flowers, peeping at Jasper out of the corners of her eyes, to -see if he were observing her. He, however, paid no attention to what -she was doing. In a fit of impatience, she flung the auriculas and -polyanthus she had picked on the path, and threw herself pouting into -the nearest garden seat. - -‘Mr. Jasper!’ she called; ‘are you so mightily busy that you cannot -afford me a word?’ - -‘I am always and altogether at your service, dear Miss Eve.’ - -‘Why have you taken to gardening? Are you fond of flowers?’ - -‘I am devoted to flowers.’ - -‘So am I. I pick them.’ - -‘And throw them away,’ said Jasper, stooping and collecting those she -had strewn on the path. - -‘Well—I have not the patience to garden. I leave all that to Barbara -and old Christopher. I wish things generally, gardens included, would -go along without giving trouble. I wish my sister were home.’ - -‘To relieve you of all responsibility and trouble.’ - -‘I hate trouble,’ said Eve frankly, ‘and responsibility is like a burr -in one’s clothes—detestable. There! you are laughing at me, Mr. Jasper.’ - -‘I am not laughing, I am sighing.’ - -‘Oh, you are always sad.’ - -‘I do not like to hear you talk in this manner. You cannot expect to -have your sister at your elbow throughout life, to fan off all the -flies that tease you.’ - -‘If I have not Bab, I shall have someone else.’ - -‘Miss Barbara might marry—and then——’ - -‘Barbara marry!’ exclaimed Eve, and clapped her hands. ‘The idea is too -absurd. Who would marry her? She is a dear, darling girl, but——’ - -‘But what, missie?’ - -‘I dare say I shall marry.’ - -‘Miss Eve! listen to me. It is most likely that you will be married -some day, but what then? You will have a thousand more cares on your -shoulders than you have now, duties you will be forced to bear, -troubles which will encompass you on all sides.’ - -‘Do you know,’ said Eve, with a twinkling face, and a sly look in her -eyes, ‘do you know, Mr. Jasper, I don’t think I shall marry for ever so -long. But I have a glorious scheme in my head. As my money is gone, if -anything should happen to us, I should dearly like to go on the stage. -That would be simply splendid!’ - -‘The young crows,’ said Jasper gravely, ‘live on the dew of heaven, -and then they are covered with a soft shining down. After a while the -old birds bring them carrion, and when they have tasted flesh, they no -longer have any liking for dew. Then the black feathers sprout, then -only.’ He raised his dark eyes to those of Eve, and said in a deep, -vibrating voice, ‘I would have this sweet fledgling sit still in her -beautiful Morwell nest, and drink only the sparkling drops that fall -into her mouth from the finger of God. I cannot bear to think of her -growing black feathers, and hopping about—a carrion crow.’ - -Eve fidgeted on her seat. She had thrust her pretty feet before her, -clad in white stockings and blue leather slippers, one on the other; -she crossed and recrossed them impatiently. - -‘I do not like you to talk to me like this. I am tired of living in the -wilds where one sees nobody, and where I can never go to theatre or -concert or ball. I should—oh, I should like to live in a town.’ - -‘You are a child, Miss Eve, and think and talk like a child. But the -time is coming when you must put away childish things, and face life -seriously.’ - -‘It is not wicked to want to go to a town. There is no harm in dreaming -that I am an actress. Oh!’ she exclaimed, held up her hands, and -laughed, ‘that would be too delightful!’ - -‘What has put this mad fancy into your head?’ - -‘Two or three things. I will confide in you, dear Mr. Jasper, if you -can spare the time to listen. This morning as I had nothing to do, -and no one to talk to, I thought I would search the garrets here. I -have never been over them, and they are extensive. Barbara has always -dissuaded me from going up there because they are so dusty and hung -with cobwebs. There is such a lot of rubbish heaped up and packed away -in the attics. I don’t believe that Barbara knows what is there. I -don’t fancy papa does. Well! I went up to-day and found treasures.’ - -‘Pray, what treasures?’ - -‘Barbara is away, and there is no one to scold. There are boxes there, -and old chairs, all kinds of things, some are so heavy I could hardly -move them. I could not get them back into their places again, if I were -to try.’ - -‘So you threw the entire garret into disorder?’ - -‘Pretty well, but I will send up one of the men or maids to tidy it -before Barbara comes home. Behind an old broken winnowing machine—fancy -a winnowing machine up there!—and under a pile of old pans and -bottomless crocks is a chest, to which I got with infinite trouble, and -not till I was very hot and dirty. I found it was locked, but the rust -had eaten through the hinges, or the nails fastening them; and after -working the lid about awhile I was able to lift it. What do you suppose -I found inside?’ - -‘I cannot guess.’ - -‘No, I am sure you cannot. Wait—go on with your gardening. I will bring -you one of my treasures.’ - -She darted into the house, and after a few minutes, Jasper heard a -tinkling as of brass. Then Eve danced out to him, laughing and shaking -a tambourine. - -‘I suppose it belonged to you or Miss Jordan when you were children, -and was stowed away under the mistaken impression that you had outgrown -toys.’ - -‘No, Mr. Jasper, it never belonged to either Barbara or me. I never -had one. Barbara gave me everything of her own I wanted. I could not -have forgotten this. I would have played with it till I had broken the -parchment, and shaken out all the little bells.’ - -‘Give it to me. I will tighten the parchment, and then you can drum on -it with your fingers.’ He took the instrument from her, and strained -the cover. ‘Do you know, Miss Eve, how to use a tambourine?’ - -‘No. I shake it, and then all the little bells tingle.’ - -‘Yes, but you also tap the drum. You want music as an accompaniment, -and to that you dance with this toy.’ - -‘How do you mean?’ - -‘I will show you how I have seen it played by Italian and gipsy -girls.’ He took the tambourine, and singing a lively dance air, struck -the drum and clinked the brasses. He danced before Eve gravely, with -graceful movements. - -‘That is it!’ cried Eve, with eyes that flashed with delight, and -with feet that itched to dance. ‘Oh, give it me back. I understand -thoroughly now, thank you, thank you so heartily, dear Mr. Jasper. And -now—I have not done. Come up into the garret when I call.’ - -‘What for? To help you to make more rummage, and find more toys?’ - -‘No! I want you to push the winnowing machine back, and to make order -in the litter I have created.’ - -Jasper nodded good-humouredly. - -Then Eve, rattling her tambourine over her head, ran in; and Jasper -resumed his work at the flower-beds. Barbara’s heliotrope, from which -she so often wore a fragrant flower, had not been planted many weeks. -It was straggling, and needed pinning down. Her seedling asters had not -been pricked out in a bed, and they were crowding each other in their -box. He took them out and divided their interlaced roots. - -‘Mr. Jasper!’ A little face was peeping out of the small window in the -gable that lighted the attic. He looked up, waved his hand, and laid -down the young asters with a sigh, but covered their roots with earth -before leaving them. - -Then he washed his hands at the Abbot’s Well, and slowly ascended the -stair to the attic. It was a newel stone flight, very narrow, in the -thickness of the wall. - -When he reached the top he threw up a trap in the floor, and pushed his -head through. - -Then, indeed, he was surprised. The inconsiderate Eve had taken some -candle ends and stuck them on the binding beam of the roof, and lighted -them. They cast a yellow radiance through the vast space, without -illumining its recesses. All was indistinct save within the radius of a -few feet around the candles. In the far-off blackness was one silvery -grey square of light—the little gable window. On the floor the rafter -cast its shadow as a bar of ink. - -Jasper was not surprised at the illumination, though vexed at the -careless manner in which Eve had created it. What surprised him was the -appearance of the young girl. She was transfigured. She was dressed -in a saffron-yellow skirt with a crimson lattice of ribbon over it, -fastened with bows, and covered with spangles. She wore a crimson -velvet bodice, glittering with gold lace and bullion thread embroidery. -But her eyes sparkled brighter than the tarnished spangles. - -The moment Jasper’s head appeared through the trap in the floor, she -struck the timbrel, and clattered the jingles, and danced and laughed. -Then seeing how amazed he was she skipped coquettishly towards him, -rattled her drum in his ear, and danced back again under her row of -candles. She had caught the very air he had sung recently, when showing -her how to manage the instrument. She had heard it that once, but she -had seized the melody, and she sang it, and varied it after her own -caprice, but without losing the leading thread, and always coming back -to the burden with a similar set gesture of arms and feet, and stroke -of drum and clash of bells. Then, all at once, one of the candles fell -over on the rafter and dropped to the floor. Eve brought her tambourine -down with a crash and jangle; Jasper sprang forward, and extinguished -the candle with his foot. - -‘There! Is not this witchcraft?’ exclaimed Eve. ‘Go down through the -trap again, Mr. Jasper, and I will rejoin you. Not a word to papa, or -to Barbie when she returns.’ - -‘I will not go till the candles are put out and the risk of a fire is -past. You can see by the window to take off this trumpery.’ - -‘Trumpery! Oh, Mr. Jasper! Trumpery!’ she exclaimed in an injured, -disappointed tone. - -‘Call it what you will. Where did you find it?’ - -‘In yonder box. There is more in it. Do go now, Mr. Jasper; I will put -out the candles, I will, honour bright.’ - -The bailiff descended, and resumed his work with the asters. He -smiled and yet was vexed at Eve’s giddiness. It was impossible to be -angry with her, she was but a child. It was hard not to look with -apprehension to her future. - -Suddenly he stood up, and listened. He heard the clatter of horse’s -hoofs in the lane. Who could be coming? The evening had closed in. -The sun was set. It was not dark so near midsummer, but dusk. He went -hastily from the garden into the lane, and saw the young groom urging -on his fagged horse, and leading another by the bridle, with a lady’s -saddle on it. - -‘Where is your mistress? Is anything the matter?’ - -‘Nothing,’ answered the lad. ‘She is behind. In taking off her glove -she lost her ring, and now I must get a lantern to look for it.’ - -‘Nelly,’ that was the horse, ‘is tired. I will get a light and run -back. Whereabouts is she?’ - -‘Oh, not a thousand yards from the edge of the moor. The doctor rode -with us part of the way from Tavistock. After he left, Miss Barbara -took off her glove and lost her ring. She won’t leave the spot till it -be found.’ - -‘Go in. I will take the light to her. Tell the cook to prepare supper. -Miss Jordan must be tired and hungry.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -BARBARA’S RING. - - -JASPER quickly got the lantern out of the stable, and lighted -the candle in the kitchen. Then he ran with it along the rough, -stone-strewn lane, between walls of moorstone, till he came to the -moor. He followed the track rather than road which traversed it. With -evening, clouds had gathered and much obscured the light. Nevertheless -the north was full of fine silvery haze, against which stood up the -curious conical hill of Brent Tor, crowned with its little church. - -When suddenly Jasper came up to Miss Jordan, he took her unawares. -She was stooping, searching the ground, and, in her dark-green riding -habit, he had mistaken her for a gorse bush. When he arrived with -the lantern she arose abruptly, and on recognising the young man the -riding-whip dropped from her hand. - -‘Mr. Jasper!’ she exclaimed. - -‘Miss Barbara!’ - -They stood still looking at each other in the twilight. One of her -white hands was gloveless. - -‘What has brought you here?’ asked Barbara, stooping and picking up her -whip with one hand, and gathering her habit with the other. - -‘I heard that you had lost something.’ - -‘Yes; I was thoughtless. I was warm, and I hastily whisked off my glove -that I might pass my hand over my brow, and I felt as I plucked the -glove away that my aunt’s ring came off. It was not a good fit. I was -so foolish, so unnerved, that I let drop the glove—and now can find -neither. The ring, I suspect, is in the glove, but I cannot find that. -So I sent on Johnny Ostler for the lantern. I supposed he would return -with it.’ - -‘I took the liberty of coming myself, he is a boy and tired with his -long journey; besides, the horses have to be attended to. I hope you -are not displeased.’ - -‘On the contrary,’ she replied, in her frank, kindly tone, ‘I am glad -to see you. When one has been from home a long distance, it is pleasant -to meet a messenger from home to say how all are.’ - -‘And it is pleasant for the messenger to bring good tidings. Mr. -Jordan is well; Miss Eve happy as a butterfly in summer over a clover -field.’ - -If it had not been dusk, and Barbara had not turned her head aside, -Jasper would have seen a change in her face. She suddenly bowed herself -and recommenced her search. - -‘I am very, very sorry,’ she said, in a low tone, ‘I am not able to be -a pleasant messenger to you. I am——’ she half raised herself, her voice -was full of sympathy. ‘I am more sorry than I can say.’ - -He made no reply; he had not, perhaps, expected much. He threw the -light of the lantern along the ground, and began to search for the -glove. - -‘You are carrying something,’ he said; ‘let me relieve you, Miss -Jordan.’ - -‘It is—your violin.’ - -‘Miss Barbara! how kind, how good! You have carried it all the way?’ - -‘Not at all. Johnny Ostler had it most part. Then Mr. Coyshe carried -it. The boy _could_ not take it at the same time that he led my horse; -you understand that?’ Her voice became cold, her pride was touched; she -did not choose that he should know the truth. - -‘But you thought of bringing it.’ - -‘Not at all. Your father insisted on its being taken from his house. -The boy has the rest of your things, as many as could be carried.’ - -Nothing further was said. They searched together for the glove. They -were forced to search closely together because the lantern cast but -a poor light round. Where the glare did fall, there the tiny white -clover leaves, fine moor grass, small delicately-shaped flowers of the -milkwort, white and blue, seemed a newly-discovered little world of -loveliness. But Barbara had other matters to consider, and scarcely -noticed the beauty. She was not susceptible as Eve to the beautiful and -picturesque. She was looking for her glove, but her thoughts were not -wholly concerned with the glove and ring. - -‘Mr. Jasper, I saw your father.’ She spoke in a low voice, their heads -were not far asunder. ‘I told him where you were.’ - -‘Miss Barbara, did he say anything to you about me? Did he say anything -about the—the loss of the money?’ - -‘He refused to hear about you. He would hardly listen to a word I said.’ - -‘Did he tell you who took the money?’ - -‘No.’ She paused. ‘Why should he? I know—it was you——’ - -Jasper sighed. - -‘I can see,’ pursued Barbara, ‘that you were hard tried. I know that -you had no happy home, that you had no mother, and that your father may -have been harsh and exacting, but—but—’ her voice shook. ‘Excuse me, I -am tired, and anxious about my ring. It is a sapphire surrounded with -diamonds. I cannot speak much. I ought not to have put the ring on my -finger till the hoop had been reduced. It was a very pretty ring.’ - -Then the search was continued in silence, without result. - -‘Excuse me,’ she said, after a while, ‘I may seem engrossed in my loss -and regardless of your disappointment. I expected that your father -would have been eager to forgive you. The father of the prodigal in -the Gospel ran to meet his repentant son. I am sure—I am sure you are -repentant.’ - -‘I will do all in my power to redress the wrong that has been done,’ -said Jasper calmly. - -‘I entreated Mr. Babb to be generous, to relax his severity, and to -send you his blessing. But I could not win a word of kindness for you, -Mr. Jasper, not a word of hope and love!’ - -‘Oh, Miss Jordan, how good and kind you are!’ - -‘Mr. Jasper,’ she said in a soft tremulous voice, ‘I would take the -journey readily over again. I would ride back at once, and alone over -the moor, if I thought that would win the word for you. I believe, I -trust, you are repentant, and I would do all in my power to strengthen -your good resolution, and save your soul.’ - -Then she touched a gorse bush and made her hand smart with the -prickles. She put the ungloved hand within the radius of the light, and -tried to see and remove the spines. - -‘Never mind,’ she said, forcing a laugh. ‘The ring, not the prickles, -is of importance now. If I do not find it to-night, I shall send out -all the men to-morrow, and promise a reward to quicken their interest -and sharpen their eyes.’ - -She put her fingers where most wounded to her lips. Then, thinking that -she had said too much, shown too great a willingness to help Jasper, -she exclaimed, ‘Our holy religion requires us to do our utmost for the -penitent. There is joy in heaven over one sinner that is contrite.’ - -‘I have found your glove,’ exclaimed Jasper joyously. He rose and held -up a dog-skin riding-glove with gauntlet. - -‘Feel inside if the ring be there,’ said Barbara. ‘I cannot do so -myself, one hand is engaged with my whip and skirt.’ - -‘I can feel it—the hoop—through the leather.’ - -‘I am so glad, so much obliged to you, Mr. Jasper.’ She held out her -white hand with the ring-finger extended. ‘Please put it in place, and -I will close my fist till I reach home.’ - -She made the request without thought, considering only that she had her -whip and gathered habit in her right, gloved hand. - -Jasper opened the lantern and raised it. The diamonds sparkled. ‘Yes, -that is my ring,’ said Barbara. - -He set the lantern on a stone, a slab of white felspar that lay on the -grass. Then he lightly held her hand with his left, and with the right -placed the ring on her finger. - -But the moment it was in place and his fingers held it there, a shock -of terror and shame went to Barbara’s heart. What inconsiderateness had -she been guilty of! The reflection of the light from the white felspar -was in their faces. In a moment, unable to control herself, Barbara -burst into tears. Jasper stooped and kissed the fingers he held. - -She started back, snatched her hand from him, clenched her fist, and -struck her breast with it. ‘How dare you! You—you—the escaped convict! -Go on; I will follow. You have insulted me.’ - -He obeyed. But as he walked back to Morwell ahead of her, he was not -cast down. Eve, in the garret, had that day opened a coffer and made -a discovery. He, too, on the down, had wrenched open for one moment a -fast-closed heart, had looked in, and made a discovery. - -When Barbara reached her home she rushed to her room, where she threw -herself on her bed, and beat and beat again, with her fists, her head -and breast, and said, ‘I hate—I hate and despise myself! I hate—oh, how -I hate myself!’ - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -PERPLEXITY. - - -BARBARA was roused early next morning by Eve; Eve had overslept herself -when she ought to be up; she woke and rose early when another hour -of rest would have been a boon to poor Barbara. The sisters occupied -adjoining rooms that communicated, and the door was always open between -them. When Eve was awake she would not suffer her sister to sleep on. -She stooped over her and kissed her closed eyes till she woke. Eve had -thrown open the window, and the sweet fresh air blew in. The young girl -was not more than half dressed. She stood by Barbara’s bed with her -lovely hair dishevelled about her head, ing a halo of red-gold glory -to her face. That face was lovely with its delicate roses of health and -happiness, and the blue eyes twinkling in it full of life and fun. Her -neck was exposed. She folded her slender arms round Barbara’s head and -shook it, and kissed again, till the tired, sleep-stupefied girl awoke. - -‘I cannot sleep this lovely morning,’ said Eve; then, with true -feminine _non-sequitur_; ‘So you must get up, Barbie.’ - -‘Oh, Eve, is it time?’ Barbara sat up in bed instantly wide awake. Her -sister seated herself on the side of the bed and laid her hand in her -lap. - -‘Eve!’ exclaimed Barbara suddenly, ‘what have you there—on your finger? -Who gave you that?’ - -‘It is a ring, Bab. Is it not beautiful, a forget-me-not of turquoise -set in a circlet of gold?’ - -‘Who gave it you, Eve?’ - -‘A pixy gift!’ laughed the girl carelessly. - -‘This will not do. You must answer me. Where did you get it?’ - -‘I found it, Barbie.’ - -‘Found it—where?’ - -‘Where are forget-me-nots usually found?’ Then hastily, before her -sister could speak, ‘But what a lovely ring you have got on your -pincushion, Bab! Mine cannot compare with it. Is that the ring I heard -the maids say you lost?’ - -‘Yes, dear.’ - -‘How did you recover it? Who found it for you?’ - -‘Jasper.’ - -Eve turned her ring on her finger. - -‘My darling,’ said Barbara, ‘you have not been candid with me about -that ring. Did Dr. Coyshe give it to you?’ - -‘Dr. Coyshe! Oh, Barbara, that ever you should think of me as aspiring -to be Mrs. Squash!’ - -‘When did you get the ring?’ - -‘Yesterday.’ - -‘Who gave it to you? You must tell me.’ - -‘I have already told you—I found it by the wood, as truly as you found -yours on the down.’ - -Suddenly Barbara started, and her heart beat fast. - -‘Eve!—where is the ribbon and your mother’s ring? You used to have that -ring always in your bosom. Where is it? Have you parted with that?’ - -Eve’s colour rose, flushing face and throat and bosom. - -‘Oh, darling!’ exclaimed Barbara, ‘answer me truly. To whom have you -given that ring?’ - -‘I have not given it; I have lost it. You must not be angry with me, -Bab. You lost yours.’ Eve’s eyes sank as she spoke, and her voice -faltered. - -The elder sister did not speak for a moment; she looked hard at Eve, -who stood up and remained before her in a pretty penitential attitude, -but unable to meet her eye. - -Barbara considered. Whom could her sister have met? There was no one, -absolutely no one she could think of, if Mr. Coyshe were set aside, but -Jasper. Now Barbara had disapproved of the way in which Eve ran after -Jasper before she departed for Ashburton. She had remonstrated, but she -knew that her remonstrances carried small weight. Eve was a natural -coquette. She loved to be praised, admired, made much of. The life at -Morwell was dull, and Eve sought society of any sort where she could -chatter and attract admiration and provoke a compliment. Eve had not -made any secret of her liking for Jasper, but Barbara had not thought -there was anything serious in the liking. It was a child’s fancy. But -then, she considered, would any man’s heart be able to withstand the -pretty wiles of Eve? Was it possible for Jasper to be daily associated -with this fairy creature and not love her? - -‘Eve,’ said Barbara gravely, ‘it is of no use trying concealment with -me. I know who gave you the ring. I know more than you suppose.’ - -‘Jasper has been telling tales,’ exclaimed Eve. - -Barbara winced but did not speak. - -Eve supposed that Jasper had informed her sister about the meeting with -Watt on the Raven Rock. - -‘Are you going to sleep again?’ asked Eve, as Barbara had cast herself -back on her pillow with the face in it. The elder sister shook her head -and made a sign with her hand to be left alone. - -When Barbara was nearly dressed, Eve stole on tiptoe out of her own -room into that of her sister. She was uneasy at Barbara’s silence; -she thought her sister was hurt and offended with her. So she stepped -behind her, put her arms round her waist, as Barbara stood before the -mirror, and her head over her sister’s shoulder, partly that she might -kiss her cheek, partly also that she might see her own face in the -glass and contrast it with that of Barbara. ‘You are not cross with -me?’ she said coaxingly. - -‘No, Eve, no one can be cross with you.’ She turned and kissed her -passionately. ‘Darling! you must give back the little ring and recover -that of your mother.’ - -‘It is impossible,’ answered Eve. - -‘Then I must do what I can for you,’ said Barbara. Barbara was resolved -what to do. She would speak to her father, if necessary; but before -that she must have a word on the matter with Jasper. It was impossible -to tolerate an attachment and secret engagement between him and her -sister. - -She sought an opportunity of speaking privately to the young man, and -easily found one. But when they were together alone, she discovered -that it was not easy to approach the topic that was uppermost in her -mind. - -‘I was very tired last night, Mr. Jasper,’ she said, ‘over-tired, and -I am hardly myself this morning. The loss of my aunt, the funeral, the -dividing of her poor little treasures, and then the lengthy ride, upset -me. It was very ridiculous of me last night to cry, but a girl takes -refuge in tears when overspent, it relieves and even refreshes her.’ - -Then she hesitated and looked down. But Barbara had a strong will, -and when she had made up her mind to do what she believed to be right, -allowed no weakness to interfere with the execution. - -‘And now I want to speak about something else. I must beg you will not -encourage Eve. She is a child, thoughtless and foolish.’ - -‘Yes; she should be kept more strictly guarded. I do not encourage her. -I regret her giddiness, and give her good advice, which she casts to -the winds. Excuse my saying it, but you and Mr. Jordan are spoiling the -child.’ - -‘My father and I spoil Eve! That is not possible.’ - -‘You think so; I do not. The event will prove which is right, Miss -Jordan.’ - -Barbara was annoyed. What right had Jasper to dictate how Eve was to be -treated? - -‘That ring,’ began Barbara, and halted. - -‘It is not lost again, surely!’ said Jasper. - -Barbara frowned. ‘I am not alluding to my ring which you found along -with my glove, but to that which you gave to Eve.’ - -‘I gave her no ring; I do not understand you.’ - -‘It is a pretty little thing, and a toy. Of course you only gave it her -as such, but it was unwise.’ - -‘I repeat, I gave her no ring, Miss Jordan.’ - -‘She says that she found it, but it is most improbable.’ - -Jasper laughed, not cheerfully; there was always a sadness in his -laughter. ‘You have made a great mistake, Miss Jordan. It is true that -your sister found the ring. That is, I conclude she did, as yesterday -she found a chest in the garret full of old masquerading rubbish, and a -tambourine, and I know not what besides.’ - -A load was taken off Barbara’s mind. So Eve had not deceived her. - -‘She showed me a number of her treasures,’ said Jasper. ‘No doubt -whatever that she found the ring along with the other trumpery.’ - -Barbara’s face cleared. She drew a long breath. ‘Why did not Eve tell -me all?’ she said. - -‘Because,’ answered the young man, ‘she was afraid you would be angry -with her for getting the old tawdry stuff out of the box, and she asked -me not to tell you of it. Now I have betrayed her confidence, I must -leave to you, Miss Jordan, to make my peace with Miss Eve.’ - -‘She has also lost something that hung round her throat.’ - -‘Very likely. She was, for once, hard at work in the garret, moving -boxes and hampers. It is lying somewhere on the floor. If you wish it -I will search for her ornament, and hope my success will be equal to -that of last night.’ He looked down at her hand. The ring was not on -it. She observed his glance and said coldly, ‘My ring does not fit -me, and I shall reserve it till I am old, or till I find some young -lady friend to whom I must make a wedding present.’ Then she turned -away. She walked across the Abbot’s Meadow, through which the path led -to the rocks, because she knew that Eve had gone in that direction. -Before long she encountered her sister returning with a large bunch of -foxgloves in her hand. - -‘Do look, Bab!’ exclaimed Eve, ‘is not this a splendid sceptre? A wild -white foxglove with thirty-seven bells on it.’ - -‘Eve!’ said Barbara, her honest face alight with pleasure; ‘my dearest, -I was wrong to doubt you. I know now where you found the ring, and I am -not in the least cross about it. There, kiss and make peace.’ - -‘I wish the country folk had a prettier name for the foxglove than -_flop-a-dock_,’ said Eve. - -‘My dear,’ said Barbara, ‘you shall show me the pretty things you have -found in the attic.’ - -‘What—Bab?’ - -‘I know all about it. Jasper has proved a traitor.’ - -‘What has he told you?’ - -‘He has told me where you found the turquoise ring, together with a -number of fancy ball dresses.’ - -Eve was silent. A struggle went on in her innocent heart. She hated -falsehood. It pained her to deceive her sister, who had such perfect -faith in her. She felt inclined to tell her all, yet she dared not do -so. In her heart she longed to hear more of Martin. She remembered his -handsome face, his flattering and tender words, the romance of that -night. No! she could not tell Barbara. - -‘We will go together into the garret,’ said Barbara, ‘and search for -your mother’s ring. It will easily be found by the blue ribbon to which -it is attached.’ - -Then Eve laughed, held her sister at arms’ length, thrusting the great -bunch of purple and white foxgloves against her shoulder, so that their -tall heads nodded by her cheek and ear. ‘No, Bab, sweet, I did not find -the ring in the chest with the gay dresses. I did not lose the ring of -my mother’s in the loft. I tell you the truth, but I tell you no more.’ - -‘Oh, Eve!’ Barbara’s colour faded. ‘Who was it? I implore you, if you -love me, tell me.’ - -‘I love you dearly, but no.’ She curtsied. ‘Find out if you can.’ Then -she tripped away, waving her foxgloves. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -THE SCYTHE OF TIME. - - -‘MY papa! my darling papa!’ Eve burst into her father’s room. ‘I want -you much to do something for me. Mr. Jasper is so kind. He has promised -to have a game of bowls with me this evening on the lawn, and the grass -is not mown.’ - -‘Well, dear, get it mown,’ said Mr. Jordan dreamily. - -‘But there is no man about, and old Davy is in bed. What am I to do?’ - -‘Wait till to-morrow.’ - -‘I cannot; I shall die of impatience. I have set my heart on a game of -bowls. Do you not see, papa, that the weather may change in the night -and spoil play for to-morrow?’ - -‘Then what do you wish?’ - -‘Oh! my dear papa,’ Eve nestled into his arms, ‘I don’t want much, only -that you would cut the grass for me. It really will not take you ten -minutes. I will promise to sweep up what is cut.’ - -‘I am engaged, Eve, on a very delicate test.’ - -‘So am I, papa.’ - -Mr. Ignatius Jordan looked up at her with dull surprise in his eyes. - -‘I mean, papa, that if you really love me you will jump up and mow the -grass. If you don’t love me you will go on muddling with those minerals -and chemicals.’ - -The gaunt old man stood up. Eve knew her power over him. She could make -him obey her slightest caprice. She ran before him to the gardener’s -tool-house and brought him the scythe. - -In the quadrangle was a grass plat, and on this Eve had decided to play -her game. - -‘All the balls are here except the Jack,’ said she. ‘I shall have to -rummage everywhere for the black-a-moor; I can’t think where he can -be.’ Then she ran into the house in quest of the missing ball. - -The grass had been left to grow all spring and had not been cut at -all, so that it was rank. Mr. Jordan did not well know how to wield a -scythe. He tried and met with so little success that he suspected the -blade was blunt. Accordingly he went to the tool-house for the hone, -and, standing the scythe up with the handle on the swath, tried to -sharpen the blade. - -The grass was of the worst possible quality. The quadrangle was much -in shadow. The plots were so exhausted that little grew except daisy -and buttercup. Jasper had already told Barbara to have the wood-ashes -thrown on the plots, and had promised to see that they were limed in -winter. Whilst Mr. Jordan was honing the scythe slowly and clumsily -Barbara came to him. She was surprised to see him thus engaged. Lean, -haggard, with deep-sunken eyes, and hollow cheeks, he lacked but the -hour-glass to make him stand as the personification of Time. He was -in an ill-humour at having been disturbed and set to an uncongenial -task, though his ill-humour was not directed towards Eve. Barbara was -always puzzled by her father. That he suffered, she saw, but she could -not make out of what and where he suffered, and he resented inquiry. -There were times when his usually dazed look was exchanged for one -of keenness, when his eyes glittered with a feverish anxiety, and he -seemed to be watching and expecting with eye and ear something or -some person that never came. At table he was without conversation; he -sat morose, lost in his own thoughts till roused by an observation -addressed to him. His temper was uncertain. Often, as he observed -nothing, he took offence at nothing; but occasionally small matters -roused and unreasonably irritated him. An uneasy apprehension in -Barbara’s mind would not be set at rest. She feared that her father’s -brain was disturbed, and that at any time, without warning, he might -break out into some wild, unreasonable, possibly dreadful, act, -proclaiming to everyone that what she dreaded in secret had come -to pass—total derangement. Of late his humour had been especially -changeful, but his eldest daughter sought to convince herself that this -could be accounted for by distress at the loss of Eve’s dowry. - -Barbara asked her father why he was mowing the grass plot, and when he -told her that Eve had asked him to do so that she might play bowls that -evening on it, she remonstrated, ‘Whom is she to play with?’ - -‘Jasper Babb has promised her a game. I suppose you and I will be -dragged out to make up a party.’ - -‘O papa, there is no necessity for your mowing! You do not understand a -scythe. Now you are honing the wrong way, blunting, not sharpening, the -blade.’ - -‘Of course I am wrong. I never do right in your eyes.’ - -‘My dear father,’ said Barbara, hurt at the injustice of the remark, -‘that is not true.’ - -‘Then why are you always watching me? I cannot walk in the garden, -I cannot go out of the door, I cannot eat a meal, but your eyes are -on me. Is there anything very frightful about me? Anything very -extraordinary? No—it is not that. I can read the thoughts in your head. -You are finding fault with me. I am not doing useful work. I am wasting -valuable hours over empty pursuits. I am eating what disagrees with me, -too much, or too little. Understand this, once for all. I hate to be -watched. Here is a case in point, a proof if one were needed. I came -out here to cut this grass, and at once you are after me. You have -spied my proceedings. I must not do this. If I sharpen the scythe I am -all in the wrong, blunting the blade.’ - -The tears filled Barbara’s eyes. - -‘I am told nothing,’ continued Mr. Jordan. ‘Everything I ought to know -is kept concealed from me, and you whisper about me behind my back to -Jasper and Mr. Coyshe.’ - -‘Indeed, indeed, dear papa——’ - -‘It is true. I have seen you talking to Jasper, and I know it was about -me. What were you trying to worm out of him about me? And so with the -doctor. You rode with him all the way from Tavistock to the Down the -other day; my left ear was burning that afternoon. What did it burn -for? Because I was being discussed. I object to being made the topic of -discussion. Then, when you parted with the doctor, Jasper Babb ran out -to meet you, that you might learn from him how I had behaved, what I -had done, whilst you were away. I have no rest in my own house because -of your prying eyes. Will you go now, and leave me.’ - -‘I will go now, certainly,’ said Barbara, with a gulp in her throat, -and swimming eyes. - -‘Stay!’ he said, as she turned. He stood leaning his elbow on the -head of the scythe, balancing it awkwardly. ‘I was told nothing of -your visit to Buckfastleigh. You told Eve, and you told Jasper—but I -who am most concerned only heard about it by a side-wind. You brought -Jasper his fiddle, and when I asked how he had got it, Eve told me. You -visited his father. Well! am I nobody that I am to be kept in the dark?’ - -‘I have nothing of importance to tell,’ said Barbara. ‘It is true I saw -Mr. Babb, but he would not let me inside his house.’ - -‘Tell me, what did that man say about the money?’ - -‘I do not think there is any chance of his paying unless he be -compelled. He has satisfied his conscience. He put the money away for -you, and as it did not reach you the loss is yours, and you must bear -it.’ - -‘But good heavens! that is no excuse at all. The base hypocrite! He -is a worse thief than the man who stole the money. He should sell the -fields he bought with my loan.’ - -‘They were fields useful to him for the stretching of the cloth he wove -in his factory.’ - -‘Are you trying to justify him for withholding payment?’ asked Mr. -Jordan. ‘He is a hypocrite. What was he to cry out against the strange -blood, and to curse it?—he, Ezekiel Babb, in whose veins ran fraud and -guile?’ - -Barbara looked wonderingly at him through the veil of tears that -obscured her sight. What did he mean? - -‘He is an old man, papa, but hard as iron. He has white hair, but none -of the reverence which clings to age attaches to him.’ - -‘White hair!’ Mr. Jordan turned the scythe, and with the point aimed -at, missed, aimed at again, and cut down a white-seeded dandelion in -the grass. ‘That is white, but the neck is soft, even if the head be -hard,’ said Mr. Jordan, pointing to the dandelion. ‘I wish that were -his head, and I had cut through his neck. But then——’ he seemed to fall -into a bewildered state—’the blood should run red—run, run, dribble -over the edge, red. This is milky, but acrid.’ He recovered himself. ‘I -have only cut down a head of dandelion.’ He reversed the scythe again, -and stood leaning his arm on the back of the blade, and staying the -handle against his knee. - -‘My dear father, had you not better put the scythe away?’ - -‘Why should I do that? I have done no harm with it. No one can set on -me for what I have cut with it—only a white old head of dandelion with -a soft neck. Think—if it had been Ezekiel Babb’s head sticking out of -the grass, with the white hair about it, and the sloe-black wicked -eyes, and with one cut of the scythe—swish, it had tumbled over, with -the stalk upwards, bleeding, bleeding, and the eyes were in the grass, -and winking because the daisies teased them and made them water.’ - -Barbara was distressed. She must change the current of his thoughts. To -do this she caught at the first thing that came into her head. - -‘Papa! I will tell you what Mr. Coyshe was talking to me about. It is -quite right, as you say, that you should know all; it is proper that -nothing should be kept from you.’ - -‘It is hardly big enough,’ said Mr. Jordan. - -‘What, papa?’ - -‘The dandelion. I can’t feel towards it as if it were Mr. Babb’s head.’ - -‘Papa,’ said Barbara, speaking rapidly, and eager to divert his mind -into another channel, ‘papa dear, do you know that the doctor is much -attached to our pet?’ - -‘It could not be otherwise. Everyone loves Eve; if they do not, they -deserve to die.’ - -‘Papa! He told me as much as that. He admires her greatly, and would -dearly like to propose for her, but, though I do not suppose he is -bashful, he is not quite sure that she cares for him.’ - -‘Eve shall have whom she will. If she does not like Coyshe, she shall -have anyone else.’ - -Then he hinted that, though he had no doubt he would make himself a -great name in his profession, and in time be very wealthy, that yet he -could not afford as he is now circumstanced to marry a wife without -means. - -‘There! there!’ exclaimed Mr. Jordan, becoming again excited. ‘See how -the wrong done by Ezekiel Babb is beginning to work. There is a future, -a fine future offering for my child, but she cannot accept it. The -gate is open, but she may not pass through, because she has not the -toll-money in her hand.’ - -‘Are you sure, papa, that Mr. Coyshe would make Eve happy?’ - -‘I am sure of it. What is this place for her? She should be in the -world, be seen and received, and shine. Here she is like one hidden in -a nook. She must be brought out, she must be admired by all.’ - -‘I do not think Eve cares for him.’ - -But her father did not hear her; he went on, and as he spoke his eyes -flashed, and spots of dark red colour flared on his cheek-bones. ‘There -is no chance for poor Eve! The money is gone past recovery. Her future -is for ever blighted. I call on heaven to redress the wrong. I went -the other day to Plymouth to hear Mass, and I had but one prayer on my -lips, Avenge me on my enemy! When the choir sang “_Gloria in Excelsis, -Deo_,” I heard my heart sing a bass, “On earth a curse on the man of -ill-will.” When they sang the Hosanna! I muttered, Cursed is he that -cometh to defraud the motherless! I could not hear the Benedictus. My -heart roared out “_Imprecatus! Imprecatus sit!_” I can pray nothing -else. All my prayers turn sour in my throat, and I taste them like gall -on my tongue.’ - -‘O papa! this is horrible!’ - -Now he rested both his elbows on the back of the blade and raised his -hands, trembling with passion, as if in prayer. His long thin hair, -instead of hanging lank about his head, seemed to bristle with electric -excitement, his cheeks and lips quivered. Barbara had never seen him so -greatly moved as now, and she did not know what to do to pacify him. -She feared lest any intervention might exasperate him further. - -‘I pray,’ he began, in a low, vibrating monotone, ‘I pray to the God of -justice, who protecteth the orphan and the oppressed, that He may cause -the man that sinned to suffer; that He will whet his gleaming sword, -and smite and not spare—smite and not spare the guilty.’ His voice rose -in tone and increased in volume. Barbara looked round, in hopes of -seeing Eve, trusting that the sight of her might soothe her father, and -yet afraid of her sister seeing him in this condition. - -‘There was a time, seventeen years ago,’ continued Mr. Jordan, not -noticing Barbara, looking before him as if he saw something far beyond -the boundary walls of the house, ‘there was a time when he lifted up -his hand and voice to curse my child. I saw the black cross, and the -shadow of Eve against it, and he with his cruel black hands held her -there, nailed her with his black fingers to the black cross. And now I -lift my soul and my hands to God against him. I cry to Heaven to avenge -the innocent. Raise Thy arm and Thy glittering blade, O Lord, and -smite!’ - -Suddenly the scythe slipped from under his elbows. He uttered a sharp -cry, staggered back and fell. - -As he lay on the turf, Barbara saw a dark red stain ooze from his right -side, and spread as ink on blotting-paper. The point of the scythe had -entered his side. He put his hand to the wound, and then looked at his -palm. His face turned livid. At that moment, just as Barbara sprang to -her father, having recovered from the momentary paralysis of terror, -Eve bounded from the hall-door, holding a ball over her head in both -her hands, and shouting joyously, ‘I have the Jack! I have the Jack!’ - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -THE RED STREAK. - - -BARBARA was not a girl to allow precious moments to be lost; instead -of giving way to emotion and exclamations, she knelt and tore off her -father’s waistcoat, ripped his shirt, and found a gash under the rib; -tearing off her kerchief she ran, sopped it in cold water, and held it -tightly to the wound. - -‘Run, Eve, run, summon help!’ she cried. But Eve was powerless to be of -assistance; she had turned white to the lips, had staggered back to the -door, and sent the Jack rolling over the turf to her father’s feet. - -‘I am faint,’ gasped poor Eve. ‘I cannot see blood.’ - -‘You must,’ exclaimed Barbara, ‘command yourself. Ring the alarm bell: -Jasper—someone—will hear.’ - -‘The power is gone from my arms,’ sobbed Eve, shivering. - -‘Call one of the maids. Bid her ring,’ ordered the elder. - -Eve, holding the sides of the door to prevent herself from falling, -deadly white, with knees that yielded under her, staggered into the -house. - -Presently the old bell hung in a pent-house over the roof of the chapel -began to give tongue. - -Barbara, kneeling behind her father, raised his head on her bosom, -and held her kerchief to his side. The first token of returning -consciousness was given by his hands, which clutched at some grass he -had cut. Then he opened his eyes. - -‘Why is the bell tolling?’ - -‘Dear papa! it is calling for help. Yon must be moved. You are badly -hurt.’ - -‘I feel it. In my side. How was it? I do not remember. Ah! the scythe. -Has the blade cut deep?’ - -‘I cannot tell, papa, till the doctor comes. Are you easier now?’ - -‘You did it. Interfering with me when I was mowing. Teasing me. You -will not leave me alone. You are always watching me. You wanted to -take the scythe from me. If you had left me alone this would not have -happened.’ - -‘Never mind, darling papa, how it happened. Now we must do our best to -cure you.’ - -‘Am I badly hurt? What are these women coming crowding round me for? I -do not want the maids here. Drive them back, Barbara.’ - -Barbara made a sign to the cook and house and kitchen maids to stand -back. - -‘You must be moved to your room, papa.’ - -‘Am I dying, Barbara?’ - -‘I hope and trust not, dear.’ - -‘I cannot die without speaking; but I will not speak till I am on the -point of death.’ - -‘Do not speak, father, at all now.’ - -He obeyed and remained quiet, with his eyes looking up at the sky. Thus -he lay till Jasper arrived breathless. He had heard the bell, and had -run, suspecting some disaster. - -‘Let me carry him, with one of the maids,’ said Jasper. - -‘No,’ answered Barbara. ‘You shall take his shoulders, I his feet. We -will carry him on a mattress. Cook and Jane have brought one. Help me -to raise him on to it.’ - -Jasper was the man she wanted. He did not lose his head. He did not -ask questions, how the accident had happened; he did not waste words in -useless lamentation. He sent a maid at once to the stable to saddle the -horse. A girl, in the country, can saddle and bridle as well as a boy. - -‘I am off for the doctor,’ he said shortly, as soon as he had seen Mr. -Jordan removed to the same downstairs room in which he had so recently -lain himself. - -‘Send for the lawyer,’ said Mr. Jordan, who had lain with his eyes shut. - -‘The lawyer, papa!’ - -‘I must make my will. I might die, and then what would become of Eve?’ - -‘Ride on to Tavistock after you have summoned Mr. Coyshe,’ said Barbara. - -When Jasper was gone, Eve, who had been fluttering about the door, came -in, and threw herself sobbing on her knees by her father’s bed. He put -out his hand, stroked her brow, and called her tender names. - -She was in great distress, reproaching herself for having asked him to -mow the grass for her; she charged herself with having wounded him. - -‘No—no, Eve!’ said her father. ‘It was not your fault. Barbara would -not let me alone. She interfered, and I lost my balance.’ - -‘I am so glad it was not I,’ sobbed Eve. - -‘Let me look at you. Stand up,’ he said. - -She rose, but averted her face somewhat, so as not to see the blood on -the sheet. He had been caressing her. Now, as he looked at her, he saw -a red streak across her forehead. - -‘My child! what is that? You are hurt! Barbara, help! She is bleeding.’ - -Barbara looked. - -‘It is nothing,’ she said; ‘your hand, papa, has left some of its -stains on her brow. Come with me, Eve, and I will wash it clean.’ - -The colour died completely out of Eve’s face, and she seemed again -about to faint. Barbara hastily bathed a napkin in fresh water, and -removed all traces of blood from her forehead, and then kissed it. - -‘Is it gone?’ whispered Eve. - -‘Entirely.’ - -‘I feel it still. I cannot remain here.’ Then the young girl crept out -of the room, hardly able to sustain herself on her feet. - -When Barbara was alone with her father, she said to him, in her quiet, -composed tones, ‘Papa, though I do not in the least think this wound -will prove fatal, I am glad you have sent for Lawyer Knighton, because -you ought to make your will, and provide for Eve. I made up my mind to -speak to you when I was on my way home from Ashburton.’ - -‘Well, what have you to say?’ - -‘Papa! I’ve been thinking that as the money laid by for Eve is gone for -ever, and as my aunt has left me a little more than sixteen hundred -pounds, you ought to give Morwell to Eve—that is, for the rest of your -term of it, some sixty-three years, I think. If you like to make a -little charge on it for me, do so, but do not let it be much. I shall -not require much to make me happy. I shall never marry. If I had a good -deal of money it is possible some man would be base enough to want -to marry me for it; but if I have only a little, no one will think -of asking me. There is no one whom I care for whom I would dream of -taking—under no circumstances—nothing would move me to it—nothing. And -as an old maid, what could I do with this property? Eve must marry. -Indeed, she can have almost anyone she likes. I do not think she cares -for the doctor, but there must be some young squire about here who -would suit her.’ - -‘Yes, Barbara, you are right.’ - -‘I am glad you think so,’ she said, smiled, and coloured, pleased with -his commendation, so rarely won. ‘No one can see Eve without loving -her. I have my little scheme. Captain Cloberry is coming home from the -army this ensuing autumn, and if he is as nice as his sisters say—then -something may come of it. But I do not know whether Eve cares or does -not care for Mr. Coyshe. He has not spoken to her yet. I think, papa, -it would be well to let him and everyone know that Morwell is not to -come to me, but is to go to Eve. Then everyone will know what to expect. - -‘It shall be so. If Mr. Knighton comes, I will get the doctor to be in -the room when I make my will, and Jasper Babb also.’ He considered for -a while, and then said, ‘In spite of all—there is good in you, Barbara. -I forgive you my wound. There—you may kiss me.’ - -As Barbara wished, and Mr. Jordan intended, so was the will executed. -Mr. Knighton, the solicitor, arrived at the same time as the surgeon; -he waited till Mr. Coyshe had bandaged up the wound, and then he -entered the sick man’s room, summoned by Barbara. - -‘My second daughter,’ said Mr. Jordan, ‘is, in the eye of the law, -illegitimate. My elder daughter has urged me to do what I likewise feel -to be right—to leave my title to Morwell estate to Eve.’ - -‘What is her surname—I mean her mother’s name?’ - -‘That you need not know. I leave Morwell to my daughter Eve, commonly -called Eve Jordan. That is Barbara’s wish.’ - -‘I urged it on my father,’ said Barbara. - -Jasper, who had been called in, looked into her face with an expression -of admiration. She resented it, frowned, and averted her head. - -When the will had been properly executed, the doctor left the room with -Jasper. He had already given his instructions to Barbara how Mr. Jordan -was to be treated. Outside the door he found Eve fluttering, nervous, -alarmed, entreating to be reassured as to her father’s condition. - -‘Dear Barbie disturbed him whilst he was mowing,’ she said, ‘and he -let the scythe slip, and so got hurt.’ She was readily consoled when -assured that the old gentleman lay in no immediate danger. He must, -however, be kept quiet, and not allowed to leave his bed for some time. -Then Eve bounded away, light as a roe. The reaction set in at once. She -was like a cork in water, that can only be kept depressed by force; -remove the pressure and the cork leaps to the surface again. - -Such was her nature. She could not help it. - -‘Mr. Jasper,’ said the surgeon, ‘I have never gone over this property. -If you have a spare hour and would do me a favour, I should like to -look about me. The quality of the land is good?’ - -‘Excellent.’ - -‘Is there anywhere a map of the property that I could run my eye over?’ - -‘In the study.’ - -‘What about the shooting, now?’ - -‘It is not preserved. If it were it would be good, the cover is so -fine.’ - -‘And there seems to be a good deal of timber.’ - -After about an hour Mr. Coyshe rode away. ‘Some men are Cyclopses, as -far as their own interests are concerned,’ said he to himself; ‘they -carry but a single eye. I invariably use two.’ - -In the evening, when Barbara came to her sister’s room to tell her that -she intended to sit up during the night with her father, she said: -‘Mr. Jasper is very kind. He insists on taking half the watch, he will -relieve me at two o’clock. What is the matter with you, Eve?’ - -‘I can see nothing, Barbie, but it is there still.’ - -‘What is?’ - -‘That red mark. I have been rubbing, and washing, and it burns like -fire.’ - -‘I can see, my dear Eve, that where you have rubbed your pretty white -delicate skin, you have made it red.’ - -‘I have rubbed it in. I feel it. I cannot get the feel away. It stains -me. It hurts me. It burns me.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -A BUNCH OF ROSES. - - -MR. JORDAN’S wound was not dangerous, but the strictest rest was -enjoined. He must keep his bed for some days. As when Jasper was ill, -so now that her father was an invalid, the principal care devolved on -Barbara. No reliance could be placed on Eve, who was willing enough, -but too thoughtless and forgetful to be trusted. When Barbara returned -from Ashburton she found her store closet in utter confusion: bags of -groceries opened and not tied up again, bottles of sauces upset and -broken, coffee berries and rice spilled over the floor, lemons with the -sugar, become mouldy, and dissolving the sugar. The linen cupboard was -in a similar disorder: sheets pulled out and thrust back unfolded in a -crumpled heap, pillow-cases torn up for dusters, blankets turned out -and left in a damp place, where the moth had got to them. Now, rather -than give the keys to Eve, Barbara retained them, and was kept all day -engaged without a moment’s cessation. She was not able to sit much with -her father, but Eve could do that, and her presence soothed the sick -man. Eve, however, would not remain long in the room with her father. -She was restless, her spirits flagged, and Mr. Jordan himself insisted -on her going out. Then she would run to Jasper Babb, if he were near. -She had taken a great fancy to him. He was kind to her; he treated her -as a child, and accommodated himself to her humours. Barbara could not -now be with her. Besides, Barbara had not that craving for colour and -light, and melody and poetry, that formed the very core of Eve’s soul. -The elder sister was severely practical. She liked what was beautiful, -as a well-educated young lady is required by society to have such a -liking, but it was not instinctive in her, it was in no way a passion. -Jasper, on the other hand, responded to the æsthetic longings of Eve. -He could sympathise with her raptures; Barbara laughed at them. It is -said that everyone sees his own rainbow, but there are many who are -colour-blind and see no rainbows, only raindrops. Wherever Eve looked -she saw rainbows. Jasper had a strong fibre of poetry in him, and he -was able to read the girl’s character and understand the uncertain -aspirations of her heart. He thought that Barbara was mistaken in -laughing down and showing no interest in her enthusiasms, and he sought -to give her vague aspirations some direction, and her cravings some -satisfaction. - -Eve appreciated his efforts. She saw that he understood her, which -Barbara did not; she and Jasper had a world of ideas in common from -which her sister was shut out. Eve took great delight in talking to -Jasper, but her chief delight was in listening to him when he played -the violin, or in accompanying him on the piano. Old violin music was -routed out of the cupboards, fresh was ordered. Jasper introduced her -to a great deal of very beautiful classical music of which she was -ignorant. Hitherto she had been restrained to a few meagre collections: -the ‘Musical Treasury,’ the ‘Sacred Harmonist,’ and the like. Now, with -her father’s consent, she ordered the operas of Mozart, Beethoven’s -sonatas, Rossini, Boieldieu, and was guided, a ready pupil, by Jasper -into this new and enchanted world. By this means Jasper gave Eve an -interest, which hitherto she had lacked—a pursuit which she followed -with eagerness. - -Barbara was dissatisfied. She thought Jasper was encouraging Eve in -her frivolity, was diverting her from the practical aims of life. She -was angry with Jasper, and misinterpreted his motives. The friendship -subsisting between her sister and the young steward was too warm. How -far would it go? How was it to be arrested? Eve was inexperienced and -wilful. Before she knew where she was, Jasper would have gained her -young heart. She was so headstrong that Barbara doubted whether a word -of caution would avail anything. Nevertheless, convinced that it was -her duty to interfere, she did speak, and, of course, gained nothing by -so doing. Barbara lacked tact. She spoke to Eve plainly, but guardedly. - -‘Why, Bab! what are you thinking of? Why should I not be with Mr. -Jasper?’ answered Eve to her sister’s expostulation. ‘I like him -vastly; he talks delightfully, he knows so much about music, he plays -and sings the tears into my eyes, and sets my feet tingling to dance. -Papa does not object. When we are practising I leave the parlour door -open for papa to hear. He says he enjoys listening. Oh, Barbie! I wish -you loved music as I do. But as you don’t, let me go my way with the -music, and you go your way with the groceries.’ - -‘My dearest sister,’ said Barbara, ‘I do not think it looks well to see -you running after Mr. Jasper.’ - -‘Looks well!’ repeated Eve. ‘Who is to see me? Morwell is quite out -of the world. Besides,’ she screwed up her pretty mouth to a pout, ‘I -don’t run after him, he runs after me, of course.’ - -‘My dear, dear Eve,’ said Barbara earnestly, ‘you must not suffer him -to do so.’ - -‘Why not?’ asked Eve frankly. ‘You like Ponto and puss to run after -you, and the little black calf, and the pony in the paddock. What is -the difference? You care for one sort of animals, and I for another. I -detest dogs and cats and bullocks.’ - -‘Eve, sweetheart’—poor Barbara felt her powerlessness to carry her -point, even to make an impression, but in her conscientiousness -believed herself bound to go on—’your conduct is indiscreet. We must -never part with our self-respect. That is the guardian angel given to -girls by God.’ - -‘Oh, Bab!’ Eve burst out laughing. ‘What a dear, grave old Mother -Hubbard you are! I am always doing, and always will do, exactly -opposite to what you intend and expect. I know why you are lecturing -me now. I will tell Mr. Jasper how jealous you have become.’ - -‘For heaven’s sake!’ exclaimed Barbara, springing to her feet—she had -been sitting beside Eve—’do nothing of the sort. Do not mention my -name to him. I am not jealous. It is an insult to me to make such a -suggestion. Do I ever seek his company? Do I not shun it? No, Eve, I am -moved only by uneasiness for you. You are thoughtless, and are playing -a dangerous game with that man. When he sees how you seek his society, -it flatters him, and his vanity will lead him to think of you with more -warmth than is well. Understand this, Eve—there is a bar between him -and you which should make the man keep his distance, and he shows a -wicked want of consideration when he draws near you, relying on your -ignorance.’ - -‘What are you hinting at?’ - -‘I cannot speak out as I wish, but I assure you of this, Eve, unless -you are more careful of your conduct, I shall be forced to take steps -to get Jasper Babb dismissed.’ - -Eve laughed, clapped her hands on her sister’s cheeks, kissed her lips -and said, ‘You dear old Mother Hubbard, you can’t do it. Papa would not -listen to you if I told him that I wanted Jasper to stay.’ - -Barbara was hurt. This was true, but it was unkind of Eve to say it. -The young girl was herself aware that she had spoken unfeelingly, was -sorry, and tried to make amends by coaxing her sister. - -‘I want you to tell me,’ said Barbara, very gravely, ‘for you have not -told me yet, who gave you the ring?’ - -‘I did not tell you because you said you knew. No one carries water to -the sea or coals to Newcastle.’ - -‘Be candid with me, Eve.’ - -‘Am not I open as the day? Why should you complain?’ - -‘Eve, be serious. Was it Mr. Jasper who gave you the turquoise ring?’ - -‘Jasper!’ Eve held out her skirts daintily, and danced and made -curtsies round her sister, in the prettiest, most coquettish, laughing -way. ‘You dearest, you best, you most jealous of sisters; we will -not quarrel over poor good Jasper. I don’t mind how much you pet the -black calf. How absurd you are! You make me laugh sometimes at your -density. There, do not cry. I would tell you all if I dared.’ Then -warbling a strain, and still holding her skirts out, she danced as in a -minuet, slowly out of the room, looking back over her shoulder at her -distressed sister. - -That was all Barbara had got by speaking—nothing, absolutely nothing. -She knew that Eve would not be one wit more guarded in her conduct for -what had been said to her. Barbara revolved in her mind the threat she -had rashly made of driving Jasper away. That would necessitate the -betrayal of his secret. Could she bring herself to this? Hardly. No, -the utmost she could do was to threaten him that, unless he voluntarily -departed, she would reveal the secret to her father. - -A day or two after this scene, Barbara was again put to great distress -by Eve’s conduct. - -She knew well enough that she and her sister were invited to the -Cloberrys to an afternoon party and dance. Eve had written and accepted -before the accident to Mr. Jordan. Barbara had let her write, because -she was herself that day much engaged and could not spare time. The -groom had ridden over from Bradstone manor, and was waiting for an -answer, just whilst Barbara was weighing out sago and tapioca. When Mr. -Jordan was hurt, Barbara had wished to send a boy to Bradstone with a -letter declining the party, but Mr. Coyshe had said that her father was -not in danger, had insisted on Eve promising him a couple of dances, -and had so strictly combated her desire to withdraw that she had given -way. - -In the afternoon, when the girls were ready to go, they came downstairs -to kiss their father, and let him see them in their pretty dresses. -The little carriage was at the door. - -In the hall they met Jasper Babb, also dressed for the party. He held -in his hands two lovely bouquets, one of yellow tea-scented roses, -which he handed to Barbara, the other of Malmaison, delicate white, -with a soft inner blush, which he offered to Eve. Whence had he -procured them? No doubt he had been for them to a nursery at Tavistock. - -Eve was in raptures over her Malmaison; it was a new rose, quite -recently introduced, and she had never seen it before. She looked at -it, uttered exclamations of delight, smelt at the flowers, then ran off -to her father that she might show him her treasures. - -Barbara thanked Jasper somewhat stiffly; she was puzzled. Why was he -dressed? - -‘Are you going to ride, or to drive us?’ asked Eve, skipping into the -hall again. She had put her bunch in her girdle. She was charmingly -dressed, with rose satin ribands in her hair, about her throat, round -her waist. Her face was, in colour, itself like a souvenir de la -Malmaison rose. - -‘Whom are you addressing?’ asked Barbara seriously. - -‘I am speaking to Jasper,’ answered Eve. - -‘_Mr._ Jasper,’ said Barbara, ‘was not invited to Bradstone.’ - -‘Oh, that does not matter!’ said the ready Eve. ‘I accepted for him. -You know, dear Bab—I mean Barbie—that I had to write, as you were up to -your neck in tapioca. Well, at these parties there are so many girls -and so few gentlemen, that I thought I would give the Cloberry girls -and Mr. Jasper a pleasure at once, so I wrote to say that you and I -accepted and would bring with us a young gentleman, a friend of papa, -who was staying in the house. Mr. Jasper ought to know the neighbours, -and get some pleasure.’ - -Barbara was aghast. - -‘I think, Miss Eve, you have been playing tricks with me,’ said -Jasper. ‘Surely I understood you that I had been specially invited, and -that you had accordingly accepted for me.’ - -‘Did I?’ asked Eve carelessly; ‘it is all the same. The Cloberry -girls will be delighted to see you. Last time I was there they said -they hoped to have an afternoon dance, but were troubled how to find -gentlemen as partners for all the pretty Misses.’ - -‘That being so,’ said Barbara sternly, turning as she spoke to Jasper, -‘of course you do not go?’ - -‘Not go!’ exclaimed Eve; ‘to be sure he goes. We are engaged to each -other for a score of dances.’ Then, seeing the gloom gathering on her -sister’s brow, she explained, ‘It is a plan between us so as to get -free from Doctor Squash. When Squash asks my hand, I can say I am -engaged. I have been booked by him for two dances, and he shall have no -more.’ - -‘You have been inconsiderate,’ said Barbara. ‘Unfortunately Mr. Babb -cannot leave Morwell, as my father is in his bed—it is not possible.’ - -‘I have no desire to go,’ said Jasper. - -‘I do not suppose you have,’ said Barbara haughtily, turning to him. -‘You are judge of what is right and fitting—in every way.’ - -Then Eve’s temper broke out. Her cheeks flushed, her lips quivered, -and the tears started into her eyes. ‘I will not allow Mr. Jasper to -be thus treated,’ she exclaimed. ‘I cannot understand you, Barbie; how -can you, who are usually so considerate, grudge Mr. Jasper a little -pleasure? He has been working hard for papa, and he has been kind -to me, and he has made your garden pretty, and now you are mean and -ungrateful, and send him back to his room when he is dressed for the -party. I’ll go and ask papa to interfere.’ - -Then she ran off to her father’s room. - -The moment Eve was out of hearing, Barbara’s anger blazed forth. ‘You -are not acting right. You forget your position; you forget who you -are. How dare you allow my sister——? If you had a spark of honour, -a grain of good feeling in your heart, you would keep her at arm’s -length. She is a child, inconsiderate and confiding; you are a man with -such a foul stain on your name, that you must not come near those who -are clean, lest you smirch them. Keep to yourself, sir! Away!’ - -‘Miss Jordan,’ he answered, with a troubled expression on his face and -a quiver in his voice, ‘you are hard on me. I had no desire whatever to -go to this dance, but Miss Eve told me it was arranged that I was to -go, and I am obedient in this house. Of course, now I withdraw.’ - -‘Of course you do. Good heavens! In a few days some chance might bring -all to light, and then it would be the scandal of the neighbourhood -that we had introduced—that Eve had danced with—an escaped jail-bird—a -vulgar thief.’ - -She walked out through the door, and threw the bunch of yellow roses -upon the plot of grass in the quadrangle. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -WHERE THEY WITHERED. - - -BARBARA did not enjoy the party at the Cloberrys. She was dull and -abstracted. It was otherwise with Eve. During the drive she had sulked; -she was in a pet with Barbara, who was a stupid, tiresome marplot. But -when she arrived at Bradstone and was surrounded by admirers, when -she had difficulty, not in getting partners, but in selecting among -those who pressed themselves on her, Eve’s spirits were elated. She -forgot about Jasper, Barbara, her father, about everything but present -delight. With sparkling eyes, heightened colour, and dimples that -came and went in her smiling face, she sailed past Barbara without -observing her, engrossed in the pleasure of the dance, and in playing -with her partner. - -Barbara was content to be unnoticed. She sat by herself in a corner, -scarce noticing what went on, so wrapped up was she in her thoughts. -Her mood was observed by her hostess, and attributed to anxiety for -her father. Mrs. Cloberry went to her, seated herself at her side, and -talked to her kindly about Mr. Jordan and his accident. - -‘You have a friend staying with you. We rather expected him,’ said Mrs. -Cloberry. - -‘Oh!’ Barbara answered, ‘that was dear Eve’s nonsense. She is a child, -and does not think. My father has engaged a steward; of course he could -not come.’ - -‘How lovely Eve is!’ said Mrs. Cloberry. ‘I think I never saw so -exquisite a creature.’ - -‘And she is as good and sweet as she is lovely,’ answered Barbara, -always eager to sing her sister’s praises. - -Eve’s roses were greatly admired. She had her posy out of her waistband -showing the roses, and many a compliment was occasioned by them. -‘Barbara had a beautifull bouquet also,’ she said, and looked round. -‘Oh, Bab! where are your yellow roses?’ - -‘I have dropped them,’ answered Barbara. - -Besides dancing there was singing. Eve required little pressing. - -‘My dear Miss Jordan,’ said Mrs. Cloberry, ‘how your sister has -improved in style. Who has been giving her lessons?’ - -The party was a pleasant one; it broke up early. It began at four -o’clock and was over when the sun set. As the sisters drove home, Eve -prattled as a brook over stones. She had perfectly enjoyed herself. -She had outshone every girl present, had been much courted and greatly -flattered. Eve was not a vain girl; she knew she was pretty, and -accepted homage as her right. Her father and sister had ever been her -slaves; and she expected to find everyone wear chains before her. But -there was no vulgar conceit about her. A queen born to wear the crown -grows up to expect reverence and devotion. It is her due. So with Eve; -she had been a queen in Morwell since infancy. - -Barbara listened to her talk and answered her in monosyllables, but her -mind was not with the subject of Eve’s conversation. She was thinking -then, and she had been thinking at Bradstone, whilst the floor throbbed -with dancing feet, whilst singers were performing, of that bouquet of -yellow roses which she had flung away. Was it still lying on the grass -in the quadrangle? Had Jane, the housemaid, seen it, picked it up, and -taken it to adorn the kitchen table? - -She knew that Jasper must have taken a long walk to procure those two -bunches of roses. She knew that he could ill afford the expense. When -he was ill, she had put aside his little purse containing his private -money, and had counted it, to make sure that none was lost or taken. -She knew that he was poor. Out of the small sum he owned he must have -paid a good deal for these roses. - -She had thrown her bunch away in angry scorn, under his eyes. She had -been greatly provoked; but—had she behaved in a ladylike and Christian -spirit? She might have left her roses in a tumbler in the parlour or -the hall. That would have been a courteous rebuff—but to fling them -away! - -There are as many conflicting currents in the human soul as in the -ocean; some run from east to west, and some from north to south, some -are sweet and some bitter, some hot and others cold. Only in the -Sargasso Sea are there no currents—and that is a sea of weeds. What we -believe to-day we reject to-morrow; we are resentful at one moment over -a wrong inflicted, and are repentant the next for having been ourselves -the wrong-doer. Barbara had been in fiery indignation at three o’clock -against Jasper; by five she was cooler, and by six reproached herself. - -As the sisters drove into the little quadrangle, Barbara turned her -head aside, and whilst she made as though she were unwinding the -knitted shawl that was wrapt about her head, she looked across the -turf, and saw lying, where she had cast it, the bunch of roses. - -The stable-boy came with his lantern to take the horse and carriage, -and the sisters dismounted. Jane appeared at the hall door to divest -them of their wraps. - -‘How is papa?’ asked Eve; then, without waiting for an answer, she -ran into her father’s room to kiss him and tell him of the party, and -show herself again in her pretty dress, and again receive his words of -praise and love. - -But Barbara remained at the door, leisurely folding her cloak. Then she -put both her own and her sister’s parasols together in the stand. Then -she stood brushing her soles on the mat—quite unnecessarily, as they -were not dirty. - -‘You may go away, Jane,’ said Barbara to the maid, who lingered at the -door. - -‘Please, Miss, I’m waiting for you to come in, that I may lock up.’ - -Then Barbara was obliged to enter. - -‘Has Mr. Babb been with my father?’ she asked. - -‘No, Miss. I haven’t seen him since you left.’ - -‘You may go to bed, Jane. It is washing-day to-morrow, and you will -have to be up at four. Has not Mr. Babb had his supper?’ - -‘No, Miss. He has not been here at all.’ - -‘That will do.’ She signed the maid to leave. - -She stood in the hall, hesitating. Should she unbar the door and go out -and recover the roses? Eve would leave her father’s room in a moment, -and ask questions which it would be inconvenient to answer. Let them -lie. She went upstairs with her sister, after having wished her father -good-night. - -‘Barbie, dear!’ said Eve, ‘did you observe Mr. Squash?’ - -‘Do not, Eve. That is not his name.’ - -‘I think he looked a little disconcerted. I repudiated.’ - -‘What do you mean?’ - -‘I refused to be bound by the engagements we had made for a quadrille -and a waltz. I did not want to dance with him, and I did not.’ - -‘Run back into your room, darling, and go to bed.’ - -When Barbara was alone she went to her window and opened it. The window -looked into the court. If she leaned her head out far, she could see -where the bunch of roses ought to be. But she could not see them, -though she looked, for the grass lay dusk in the shadows. The moon -was rising, and shone on the long roof like steel, and the light was -creeping down the wall. That long roof was over the washhouse, and -next morning at early dawn the maids would cross the quadrangle with -the linen and carry fuel, and would either trample on or pick up and -appropriate the bunch of yellow roses. - -Barbara remembered every word that she had said to Jasper. She could -not forget—and now could not forgive herself. Her words had been cruel; -how they must have wounded him! He had not been seen since. Perhaps -he was gone and would not return again. They and she would see him no -more. That would be well in one way, it would relieve her of anxiety -about Eve; but, on the other hand, Jasper had proved himself most -useful, and, above all—he was repentant. Her treatment of him might -make him desperate, and cause him to abandon his resolutions to amend. -Barbara knelt at the window, and prayed. - -The white owls were flying about the old house. They had their nests -in the great barn. The bats were squeaking as they whisked across the -quadrangle, hunting gnats. - -When Barbara rose from her knees her eyes were moist. She stood on -tiptoe and looked forth from the casement again. The moonlight had -reached the sward, drawing a sharp line of light across it, broken by -one brighter speck—the bunch of roses. - -Then Barbara, without her shoes, stole downstairs. There was sufficient -light in the hall for her to find her way across it to the main door. -She very softly unbarred it, and still in her stockings, unshod, went -out on the doorstep, over the gravel, the dewy grass, and picked up the -cold wet bunch. - -Then she slipped in again, refastened the door, and with beating heart -regained her room. - -Now that she had the roses, what should she do with them? She stood in -the middle of her room near the candle, looking at them. They were not -much faded. The sun had not reached them, and the cool grass had kept -them fresh. They were very delicately formed, lovely roses, and freshly -sweet. What should she do with them? If they were put in a tumbler they -would flourish for a few days, and then the leaves would fall off, and -leave a dead cluster of seedless rose-hearts. - -Barbara had a desk that had belonged to her mother, and this desk had -in it a secret drawer. In this drawer Barbara preserved a few special -treasures; a miniature of her mother, a silver cold-cream capsule with -the head of Queen Anne on it, that had belonged to her grandmother, the -ring of brilliants and sapphire that had come to her from her aunt, and -a lock of Eve’s hair when she was a baby. Barbara folded the roses in a -sheet of white paper, wrote in pencil on it the date, and placed them -in the secret drawer, there to wither along with the greatest treasures -she possessed. - -Barbara’s heart was no Sargasso Sea. In it ran currents strong and -contrary. What she cast away with scorn in the afternoon, she sought -and hid as a treasure in the night. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -LEAH AND RACHEL. - - -SUNDAY was a quiet day at Morwell. As the Jordans were Catholics they -did not attend their parish church, which was Tavistock, some four -miles distant. The servants went, or pretended to go. Morwell was quiet -on all days, it was most quiet of all on a bright Sunday, for then -there were fewest people about the old house. - -Jasper Babb had not run away, offended at Barbara’s rudeness. He went -about his work as usual, was as little seen of the sisters as might be, -and silent when in their company. - -On Sunday evening Barbara and Eve strolled out together; it was their -wont to do so on that day, when the weather permitted. Jane, the -housemaid, was at home with their father. - -They directed their steps as usual to the Raven Rock, which commanded -so splendid a view to the west, was so airy, and so sunny a spot that -they liked to sit there and talk. It was not often that Barbara had the -leisure for such a ramble; on Sundays she made a point of it. As the -two girls emerged from the wood, and came out on the platform of rock, -they were surprised to see Jasper seated there with a book on his knee. -He rose at once on hearing their voices and seeing them. If he had -wished to escape, escape was impossible, for the rock descends on all -sides sheer to great depths, except where the path leads to it. - -‘Do not let us disturb you,’ said Barbara; ‘we will withdraw if we -interrupt your studies.’ - -‘What is the book?’ asked Eve. ‘If it be poetry, read us something from -it.’ - -He hesitated a moment, then with a smile said, ‘It contains the noblest -poetry—it is my Bible.’ - -‘The Bible!’ exclaimed Barbara. She was pleased. He certainly was -sincere in his repentance. He would not have gone away to a private -spot to read the sacred volume unless he were in earnest. - -‘Let us sit down, Barbie!’ said Eve. ‘Don’t run away, Mr. Jasper.’ - -‘As Mr. Jasper was reading, and you asked him to give you something -from the book, I will join in the request.’ - -‘I thought it was perhaps—Byron,’ said Eve. - -‘As it is not Byron, but something better, we shall be all the better -satisfied to have it read to us,’ said Barbara. - -‘Well, then, some of the story part, please,’ asked Eve, screwing up -her mouth, ‘and not much of it.’ - -‘I should prefer a Psalm,’ said Barbara; ‘or a chapter from one of the -Epistles.’ - -‘I do not know what to read,’ Jasper said smiling, ‘as each of you asks -for something different.’ - -‘I have an idea,’ exclaimed Eve. ‘He shall hold the book shut. I will -close my eyes and open the volume at hap-hazard, and point with my -finger. He shall read that, and we can conjure from it, or guess our -characters, or read our fate. Then you shall do the same. Will that -please you?’ - -‘I do not know about guessing characters and reading our fate; our -characters we know by introspection, and the future is hidden from our -eyes by the same Hand that sent the book. But if you wish Mr. Jasper to -be guided by this method what to read, I do not object.’ - -‘Very well,’ said Eve, in glee; ‘that will be fun! You will promise, -Barbie, to shut your eyes when you open and put your finger on a page? -And, Mr. Jasper, you promise to read exactly what my sister and I -select?’ - -‘Yes,’ answered both to whom she appealed. - -‘But mind this,’ pursued the lively girl; ‘you must stop as soon as I -am tired.’ - -Then first, eager in all she did that promised entertainment or -diversion, she took the Bible from Mr. Babb’s hands, and closed her -eyes; a pretty smile played about her flexible lips as she sat groping -with her finger among the pages. Then she opened the book and her blue -orbs together. - -‘There!’ she exclaimed, ‘I have made my choice; yet—wait! I will mark -my place, and then pass the book to Bab—I mean, Barbie.’ She had a wild -summer rose in her bosom. She pulled off a petal, touched it with her -tongue, and put the leaf at the spot she had selected. - -Then she shut the Bible with a snap, laughed, and handed it to her -sister. - -‘I need not shut my eyes,’ said Barbara; ‘I will look you full in the -face, Eve.’ Then she took the book and felt for the end pages that she -might light on an Epistle; just as she saw that Eve had groped for an -early part of the book that she might have a story from the times of -the patriarchs. She did not know that Eve in handing her the book had -not turned it; consequently she held the Bible reversed. Barbara held a -buttercup in her hand. She was so accustomed to use her fingers, that -it was strange to her to have nothing to employ them. As they came -through the meadows she had picked a few flowers, broken the stalks and -thrown them away. There remained in her hand but one buttercup. - -Barbara placed the Bible on her lap; she, like Eve, had seated herself -on the rocky ledge. Then she opened near what she believed to be the -end of the book, and laid the golden cup on a page. - -Eve leaned towards her and looked, and uttered an exclamation. - -‘What is it?’ asked Barbara, and looked also. - -Behold! the golden flower of Barbara was shining on the pink petal of -Eve’s rose. - -‘We have chosen the same place. Now, Barbie, what do you say to this? -Is it a chance, or are we going to learn our fate, which is bound up -together, from the passage Mr. Jasper is about to read?’ - -‘There is no mystery in the matter,’ said Barbara quietly; ‘you did not -turn the book when you gave it to me, and it naturally opened where -your flower lay.’ - -‘Go on, Mr. Jasper,’ exhorted Eve. But the young man seemed -ill-disposed to obey. - -‘Yes,’ said Barbara; ‘begin. We are ready.’ - -Then Jasper began to read:— - -‘Jacob went on his journey, and came into the land of the people of the -east. And he looked, and behold a well in a field, and, lo, there were -flocks of sheep lying by it.’ - -‘I am glad we are going to have this story,’ said Eve; ‘I like it. It -is a pretty one. Jacob came to that house of Laban just as you, Mr. -Babb, have come to Morwell.’ - -Jasper read on:— - -‘And Laban had two daughters: now the name of the elder was Leah, and -the name of the younger was Rachel. Leah was tender eyed; but Rachel -was beautiful and well-favoured.’ - -Barbara was listening, but as she listened she looked away into the -blue distance over the vast gulf of the Tamar valley towards the -Cornish moors, the colour of cobalt, with a salmon sky above them. -Something must at that moment have struck the mind of Jasper, for he -paused in his reading, and his eyes sought hers. - -She said in a hard tone, ‘Go on.’ - -Then he continued in a low voice, ‘And Jacob loved Rachel; and said, I -will serve thee seven years for Rachel, thy younger daughter. And Laban -said, It is better that I give her to thee, than that I should give her -to another man: abide with me. And Jacob served seven years for Rachel; -and they seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he had to her.’ - -The reader again paused; and again with a hard voice Barbara bade him -proceed. - -‘And Jacob said unto Laban, Give me my wife, for my days are -fulfilled. And Laban gathered together all the men of the place, and -made a feast. And it came to pass in the evening, that he took Leah his -daughter, and brought her to Jacob.’ - -‘That will do,’ said Eve, ‘I am tired.’ - -‘It seems to me,’ said Barbara, in a subdued tone, ‘that Leah was a -despicable woman, a woman without self-respect. She took the man, -though she knew his heart was set on Rachel, and that he did not care a -rush for her. No!—I do not like the story. It is odious.’ She stood up -and, beckoning to Eve, left the platform of rock. - -Jasper remained where he had been, without closing the book, without -reading further, lost in thought. Then a small head appeared above the -side of the rock where it jutted out of the bank of underwood, also a -pair of hands that clutched at the projecting points of stone; and in -another moment a boy had pulled himself on to the platform, and lay on -it with his feet dangling over the edge, his head and breast raised on -his hands. He was laughing. - -‘What! dreaming, Master Jasper Jacob? Of which? Of the weak-eyed Leah -or the blue-orbed Rachel?’ - -The young man started as if he had been stung. - -‘What has brought you here, Watt? No good, I fear.’ - -‘O my dear Jasper, there you are out. Goodness personified has brought -me here—even your own pious self, sitting Bible-reading to two pretty -girls. How happy could I be with either! Eh, Jasper?’ - -‘What do you want with me?’ asked Jasper, reddening; ‘I detest your -fun.’ - -‘Which is it?’ taunted the mischievous boy. ‘Which—the elder, plain -and dark; or the younger, beautiful as dawn? or—like the patriarch -Jacob—both?’ - -‘Enough of this, Watt. What has brought you here?’ - -‘To see you, of course. I know you think me void of all Christianity, -but I have that in me yet, I like to know the whereabouts of my -brother, and how he is getting on. I am still with Martin—ever on the -move, like the sun, like the winds, like the streams, like everything -that does not stagnate.’ - -‘It is a hard thing for me to say,’ said Jasper, ‘but it is true. Poor -Martin would be better without you. He would be another man, and his -life not blighted, had it not been for your profane and mocking tongue. -He was a generous-hearted fellow, thoughtless, but not wicked; you, -however, have gained complete power over him, and have used it for -evil. Your advice is for the bad, your sneers for what is good.’ - -‘I do not know good from bad,’ said the boy, with a contemptuous grin. - -‘Watt, you have scoffed at every good impulse in Martin’s heart, you -have drowned the voice of his conscience by your gibes. It is you who -have driven him with your waspish tongue along the road of ruin.’ - -‘Not at all, Jasper; there you wrong me. It was you who had the undoing -of Martin. You have loved him and screened him since he was a child. -You have taken the punishment and blame on you which he deserved by his -misconduct. Of course he is a giddypate. It is you who have let him -grow up without dread of the consequences of wrong-doing, because the -punishment always fell on you. You, Jasper, have spoiled Martin, not I.’ - -‘Well, Watt, this may be so. Father was unduly harsh. I had no one -else to love at home but my brother Martin. You were such a babe as to -be no companion. And Martin I did—I do love. Such a noble, handsome, -frank-hearted brother! All sunshine and laughter! My childhood had -been charged with grief and shadow, and I did my best to screen him. -One must love something in this world, or the heart dies. I loved my -brother.’ - -‘Love, love!’ laughed Watt. ‘Now you have that heart so full that -it is overflowing towards two nice girls. I suppose that, enthralled -between blue eyes and brown, you have no thought left for Martin, none -for father—who, by the way, is dying.’ - -‘Dying!’ exclaimed Jasper, springing to his feet. - -‘There, now!’ said the boy; ‘don’t in your astonishment topple over the -edge of the precipice into kingdom come.’ - -‘How do you know this, Watt?’ asked Jasper in great agitation. - -‘Because I have been to Buckfastleigh and seen the beastly old hole, -and the factory, and the grey rat in his hole, curled up, gnawing his -nails and squealing with pain.’ - -‘For shame of you, Watt! you have no reverence even for your father.’ - -‘Reverence, Jasper! none in the world for anybody or anything. -Everything like reverence was killed out of me by my training.’ - -‘What is the matter with father?’ - -‘How should I tell? I saw him making contortions and yowling. I did not -approach too near lest he should bite.’ - -‘I shall go at once,’ said Jasper earnestly. - -‘Of course you will. You are the heir. Eh! Jasper! When you come in for -the house and cloth mill, you will extend to us the helping hand. O you -saint! Why don’t you dance as I do? Am I taken in by your long face? -Ain’t I sure that your heart is beating because now at last you will -come in for the daddy’s collected money? Poor Martin! He can’t come and -share. You won’t be mean, but divide, Jasper? I’ll be the go-between.’ - -‘Be silent, you wicked boy!’ said Jasper angrily; ‘I cannot endure your -talk. It is repugnant to me.’ - -‘Because I talk of sharing. You, the saint! He sniffs filthy mammon -and away he flies like a crow to carrion. Good-bye, Jasper! Away you -go like an arrow from the bow. Don’t let that old housekeeper rummage -the stockings stuffed with guineas out of the chimney before you get to -Buckfastleigh!’ - -Jasper left the rock and strode hastily towards Morwell, troubled at -heart at the news given him. Had he looked behind him as he entered the -wood, he would have seen the boy making grimaces, capering, clapping -his hands and knees, whistling, screaming snatches of operatic tunes, -laughing, and shouting ‘Which is it to be, Rachel or Leah?’ - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -AN IMP OF DARKNESS. - - -JASPER went immediately to Mr. Jordan. He found Eve with her father. -Jane, the housemaid, had exhibited signs of restlessness and impatience -to be off. Joseph Woodman, the policeman from Tavistock, a young and -sleepy man who was paying her his addresses, had appeared at the -kitchen window and coughed. He was off duty, and Jane thought it hard -that she should be on when he was off. So Eve had let her depart with -her lover. - -‘Well,’ said Mr. Jordan, who was still in bed, ‘what is it? Do you want -me?’ - -‘I have come to ask your permission to leave for a few days. I must go -to my father, who is dying. I will return as soon as I can.’ - -Eve’s great blue eyes opened with amazement. ‘You said nothing about -this ten minutes ago.’ - -‘I did not know it then.’ - -‘What!’ exclaimed Mr. Jordan, trying to rise on his elbow, and his eyes -brightening, ‘Ezekiel Babb dying! Is justice overtaking him at last?’ - -‘I hear that he is dying,’ said Jasper; ‘it is my duty to go to him.’ - -‘If he dies,’ said Mr. Jordan, ‘to whom will his property go?’ - -‘Probably to me; but it is premature to inquire.’ - -‘Not at all. My Eve has been robbed——’ - -‘Sir!’ said Jasper gravely, ‘I undertook to repay that sum as soon as -it should be in my power to do so, principal and interest. I have your -permission, sir?’ He bowed and withdrew. - -At supper Barbara looked round, and noticed the absence of Jasper Babb, -but she said nothing. - -‘You need not look at that empty chair,’ said Eve; ‘Mr. Jasper will not -be here. He is gone.’ - -‘Gone where?’ - -‘Called away suddenly. His father is dying.’ - -Barbara raised her eyebrows. She was greatly puzzled. She sat playing -with her fork, and presently said, ‘This is very odd—who brought the -news?’ - -‘I saw no one. He came in almost directly after we left him on the -Raven Rock.’ - -‘But no one came up to the house.’ - -‘Oh, yes—Joseph Woodman, Jane’s sweetheart, the policeman.’ - -‘He cannot have brought the news.’ - -‘I do not think Mr. Jasper saw him, but I cannot say.’ - -‘I cannot understand it, Eve,’ mused Barbara. ‘What is more, I do not -believe it.’ - -Barbara was more puzzled and disturbed than she chose to show. How -could Jasper have received news of his father? If the old man had sent -a messenger, that messenger would have come to the house and rested -there, and been refreshed with a glass of cider and cake and cold beef. -No one had been to the house but the policeman, and a policeman was not -likely to be made the vehicle of communication between old Babb and -his son, living in concealment. More probably Jasper had noticed that -a policeman was hovering about Morwell, had taken alarm, and absented -himself. - -Then that story of Jacob serving for Rachel and being given Leah came -back on her. Was it not being in part enacted before her eyes? Was not -Jasper there acting as steward to her father, likely to remain there -for some years, and all the time with the love of Eve consuming his -heart? ‘And the seven years seemed unto him but a few days for the love -that he had to her.’ What of Eve? Would she come to care for him, and -in her wilfulness insist on having him? It could not be. It must not -be. Please God, now that Jasper was gone, he would not return. Then, -again, her mind swung back to the perplexing question of the reason of -Jasper’s departure. He _could_ not go home. It was out of the question -his showing his face again at Buckfastleigh. He would be recognised and -taken immediately. Why did he invent and pass off on her father such a -falsehood as an excuse for his disappearance? If he were made uneasy -by the arrival of the Tavistock policeman at the house, he might have -found some other excuse, but to deliberately say that his father was -dying and that he must attend his deathbed, this was monstrous. - -Eve remained till late, sitting in the parlour without a light. The -servant maids were all out. Their eagerness to attend places of -worship on Sunday—especially Sunday evenings—showed a strong spirit of -devotion; and the lateness of the hour to which those acts of worship -detained them proved also that their piety was of stubborn and enduring -quality. Generally, one of the maids remained at home, but on this -occasion Barbara and Eve had allowed Jane to go out when she had laid -the table for supper, because her policeman had come, and there was to -be a love-feast at the little dissenting chapel which Jane attended. -The lover having turned up, the love-feast must follow. - -As the servants had not returned, Barbara remained below, waiting till -she heard their voices. Her father was dozing. She looked in at him -and then returned to her place by the latticed window. The room was -dark, but there was silvery light in the summer sky, becoming very -white towards the north. Outside the window was a jessamine; the scent -it exhaled at night was too strong. Barbara shut the window to exclude -the fragrance. It made her head ache. A light air played with the -jessamine, and brushed some of the white flowers against the glass. -Barbara was usually sharp with the servants when they returned from -their revivals, and love-feasts, and missionary meetings, late; but -this evening she felt no impatience. She had plenty to occupy her mind, -and the time passed quickly with her. All at once she heard a loud -prolonged hoot of an owl, so near and so loud that she felt sure the -bird must be in the house. Next moment she heard her father’s voice -calling repeatedly and excitedly. She ran to him and found him alarmed -and agitated. His window had been left open, as the evening was warm. - -‘I heard an owl!’ he said. ‘It was at my ear; it called, and roused -me from my sleep. It was not an owl—I do not know what it was. I saw -something, I am not sure what.’ - -‘Papa dear, I heard the bird. You know there are several about. They -have their nests in the barn and old empty pigeon-house. One came by -the window hooting. I heard it also.’ - -‘I saw something,’ he said. - -She took his hand. It was cold and trembling. - -‘You were dreaming, papa. The owl roused you, and dreams mixed with -your waking impressions, so that you cannot distinguish one from -another.’ - -‘I do not know,’ he said, vacantly, and put his hand to his head. ‘I do -see and hear strange things. Do not leave me alone, Barbara. Kindle a -light, and read me one of Challoner’s Meditations. It may compose me.’ - -Eve was upstairs, amusing herself with unfolding and trying on the -yellow and crimson dress she had found in the garret. She knew that -Barbara would not come upstairs yet. She would have been afraid to -masquerade before her. She put her looking-glass on a chair, so that -she might see herself better in it. Then she took the timbrel, and -poised herself on one foot, and held the instrument over her head, and -lightly tingled the little bells. She had put on the blue turquoise -ring. She looked at it, kissed it, waved that hand, and rattled the -tambourine, but not so loud that Barbara might hear. Eve was quite -happy thus amusing herself. Her only disappointment was that she had -not more such dresses to try on. - -All at once she started, stood still, turned and uttered a cry of -terror. She had been posturing hitherto with her back to the window. A -noise at it made her look round. She saw, seated in it, with his short -legs inside, and his hands grasping the stone mullions—a small dark -figure. - -‘Well done, Eve! Well done, Zerlina! - - Là ci darem la mano, - Là mi dirai di si!’ - -Then the boy laughed maliciously; he enjoyed her confusion and alarm. - -‘The weak-eyed Leah is away, quieting Laban,’ he said; ‘Leah shall have -her Jacob, but Rachel shall get Esau, the gay, the handsome, whose hand -is against every man, or rather one against whom every man’s hand is -raised. I am going to jump into your room.’ - -‘Keep away!’ cried Eve in the greatest alarm. - -‘If you cry out, if you rouse Leah and bring her here, I will make such -a hooting and howling as will kill the old man downstairs with fear.’ - -‘In pity go. What do you want?’ asked Eve, backing from the window to -the farthest wall. - -‘Take care! Do not run out of the room. If you attempt it, I will jump -in, and make my fiddle squeal, and caper about, till even the sober -Barbara—Leah I mean—will believe that devils have taken possession, -and as for the old man, he will give up his ghost to them without a -protest.’ - -‘I entreat you—I implore you—go!’ pleaded Eve, with tears of alarm in -her eyes, cowering back against the wall, too frightened even to think -of the costume she wore. - -‘Ah!’ jeered the impish boy. ‘Run along down into the room where your -sister is reading and praying with the old man, and what will they -suppose but that a crazy opera-dancer has broken loose from her caravan -and is rambling over the country.’ - -He chuckled, he enjoyed her terror. - -‘Do you know how I have managed to get this little talk with you -uninterrupted? I hooted in at the window of your father, and when he -woke made faces at him. Then he screamed for help, and Barbara went to -him. Now here am I; I scrambled up the old pear-tree trained against -the wall. What is it, a Chaumontel or a Jargonelle? It can’t be a Bon -Chrétien, or it would not have borne me.’ - -Eve’s face was white, her eyes were wide with terror, her hands behind -her scrabbled at the wall, and tore the paper. ‘Oh, what do you want? -Pray, pray go!’ - -‘I will come in at the window, I will caper and whistle, and scream and -fiddle. I will jump on the bed and kick all the clothes this way, that -way. I will throw your Sunday frock out of the window; I will smash -the basin and water-bottle, and glass and jug. I will throw the mirror -against the wall; I will tear down the blinds and curtains, and drive -the curtain-pole through the windows; I will throw your candle into -the heap of clothes and linen and curtain, and make a blaze which will -burn the room and set the house flaming, unless you make me a solemn -promise. I have a message for you from poor Martin. Poor Martin! his -heart is breaking. He can think only of lovely Eve. As soon as the sun -sets be on the Raven Rock to-morrow.’ - -‘I cannot. Do leave the window.’ - -‘Very well,’ said the boy, ‘in ten minutes the house will be on fire. -I am coming in; you run away. I shall lock you out, and before you have -got help together the room will be in a blaze.’ - -‘What do you want? I will promise anything to be rid of you.’ - -‘Promise to be on the Raven Rock to-morrow evening.’ - -‘Why must I be there?’ - -‘Because I have a message to give you there.’ - -‘Give it me now.’ - -‘I cannot; it is too long. That sister of yours will come tumbling in -on us with a Roley-poley, gammon and spinach, Heigh-ho! says Anthony -Roley, oh!’ - -‘Yes, yes! I will promise.’ - -Instantly he slipped his leg out, she saw only the hands on the bottom -of the window. Then up came the boy’s queer face again, that he might -make grimaces at her and shake his fist, and point to candle, and bed, -and garments, and curtains: and then, in a moment, he was gone. - -Some minutes elapsed before Eve recovered courage to leave her place, -shut her window, and take off the tawdry dress in which she had -disguised herself. - -She heard the voices of the servant maids returning along the lane. -Soon after Barbara came upstairs. She found her sister sitting on the -bed. - -‘What is it, Eve? You look white and frightened.’ - -Eve did not answer. - -‘What is the matter, dear? Have you been alarmed at anything?’ - -‘Yes, Bab,’ in a faint voice. - -‘Did you see anything from your window?’ - -‘I think so.’ - -‘I cannot understand,’ said Barbara. ‘I also fancied I saw a dark -figure dart across the garden and leap the wall whilst I was reading to -papa. I can’t say, because there was a candle in our room.’ - -‘Don’t you think,’ said Eve, in a faltering voice, ‘it may have been -Joseph Woodman parting with Jane?’ Eve’s cheeks coloured as she said -this; she was false with her sister. - -Barbara shook her head, and went into her own room. ‘He has gone,’ -she thought, ‘because the house is watched, his whereabouts has -been discovered. I am glad he is gone. It is best for himself, for -Eve’—after a pause—’and for me.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -POOR MARTIN. - - -EVE was uneasy all next day—at intervals—she could do nothing -continuously—because of her promise. The recollection that she had -bound herself to meet Watt on the Raven Rock at sundown came on her -repeatedly during the day, spoiling her happiness. She would not have -scrupled to fail to keep her promise, but that the horrible boy would -be sure to force himself upon her, and in revenge do some dreadful -mischief. She was so much afraid of him, that she felt that to keep her -appointment was the lesser evil. - -As the sun declined her heart failed her, and just before the orb set -in bronze and gold, she asked Jane, the housemaid, to accompany her -through the fields to the Raven Rock. - -Timid Eve dare not trust herself alone on the dangerous platform with -that imp. He was capable of any devilry. He might scare her out of her -wits. - -Jane was a good-natured girl, and she readily obliged her young -mistress. Jane Welsh’s mother, who was a widow, lived not far from -Morwell, in a cottage on the banks of the Tamar, higher up, where a -slip of level meadow ran out from the cliffs, and the river made a loop -round it. - -As Eve walked through the fields towards the wood, and neared the trees -and rocks, she began to think that she had made a mistake. It would not -do for Jane to see Watt. She would talk about him, and Barbara would -hear, and question her. If Barbara asked her why she had gone out at -dusk to meet the boy, what answer could she make? - -When Eve came to the gate into the wood, she stood still, and holding -the gate half open, told Jane she might stay there, for she would go on -by herself. - -Jane was surprised. - -‘Please, Miss, I’ve nothing to take me back to the house.’ Eve hastily -protested that she did not want her to return: she was to remain at -the gate—’And if I call—come on to me, Jane, not otherwise. I have a -headache, and I want to be alone.’ - -‘Very well, Miss.’ - -But Jane was puzzled, and said to herself, ‘There’s a lover, sure as -eggs in April.’ - -Then Eve closed the gate between herself and Jane, and went on. Before -disappearing into the shade of the trees, she looked back, and saw the -maid where she had left her, plaiting grass. - -A lover! A lover is the philosopher’s stone that turns the sordid alloy -of life into gold. The idea of a lover was the most natural solution of -the caprice in Miss Eve’s conduct. As every road loads to Rome, so in -the servant-maid mind does every line of life lead to a sweetheart. - -Jane, having settled that her young mistress had gone on to meet a -lover, next questioned who that lover could be, and here she was -utterly puzzled. Sure enough Miss Eve had been to a dance at the -Cloberrys’, but whom she had met there, and to whom lost her heart, -that Jane did not know, and that also Jane was resolved to ascertain. - -She noiselessly unhasped the gate, and stole along the path. The -burnished brazen sky of evening shone between the tree trunks, but the -foliage had lost its verdure in the gathering dusk. The honeysuckles -poured forth their scent in waves. The air near the hedge and deep into -the wood was honeyed with it. White and yellow speckled currant moths -were flitting about the hedge. Jane stole along, stealthily, from tree -to tree, fearful lest Eve should turn and catch her spying. A large -Scotch pine cast a shadow under it like ink. On reaching that, Jane -knew she could see the top of the Raven Rock. - -As she thus advanced on tiptoe she heard a rustling, as of a bird in -the tree overhead. Her heart stood still. Then, before she had time -to recover herself, with a shrill laugh, a little black figure came -tumbling down before her out of the tree, capered, leaped at her, threw -his arms round her neck, and screamed into her face, ‘Carry me! Carry -me! Carry me!’ - -Then his arms relaxed, he dropped off, shrieking with laughter, and -Jane fled, as fast as her limbs could bear her, back to the gate, -through the gate and away over the meadows to Morwell House. - -Eve had gone on to the platform of rock; she stood there irresolute, -hoping that the detested boy would not appear, when she heard his laugh -and shout, and the scream of Jane. She would have fainted with terror, -had not at that moment a tall man stepped up to her and laid his hand -on her arm. ‘Do not be afraid, sweet fairy Eve! It is I—your poor slave -Martin,—perfectly bewitched, drawn back by those loadstone eyes. Do -not be frightened, Watt is merely giving a scare to the inquisitive -servant.’ - -Eve was trembling violently. This was worse than meeting the ape of -a boy. She had committed a gross indiscretion. What would Barbara -say?—her father, if he heard of it, how vexed he would be! - -‘I must go back,’ she said, with a feeble effort at dignity. ‘This is -too bad; I have been deceived.’ Then she gave way to weakness, and -burst into tears. - -‘No,’ he said carelessly, ‘you shall not go. I will not suffer you -to escape now that I have a chance of seeing you and speaking with -you. To begin at the beginning—I love you. There! you are all of a -tremble. Sit down and listen to what I have to say. You will not? Well, -consider. I run terrible risks by being here; I may say that I place my -life in your delicate hands.’ - -She looked up at him, still too frightened to speak, even to comprehend -his words. - -‘I do not know you!’ she whispered, when she was able to gather -together the poor remnants of her strength. - -‘You remember me. I have your ring, and you have mine. We are, in a -manner, bound to each other. Be patient, dear love; listen to me. I -will tell you all my story.’ - -He saw that she was in no condition to be pressed. If he spoke of love -she would make a desperate effort to escape. Weak and giddy though she -was, she would not endure that from a man of whom she knew nothing. He -saw that. He knew he must give her time to recover from her alarm, so -he said, ‘I wish, most beautiful fairy, you would rest a few minutes -on this piece of rock. I am a poor, hunted, suffering, misinterpreted -wretch, and I come to tell you my story, only to entreat your sympathy -and your prayers. I will not say a rude word, I will not lay a finger -on you. All I ask is: listen to me. That cannot hurt you. I am a -beggar, a beggar whining at your feet, not asking for more alms than a -tear of pity. Give me that, that only, and I go away relieved.’ - -She seemed somewhat reassured, and drew a long breath. - -‘I had a sister of your name.’ - -She raised her head, and looked at him with surprise. - -‘It is an uncommon name. My poor sister is gone. I suppose it is your -name that has attracted me to you, that induces me to open my heart to -you. I mean to confide to you my troubles. You say that you do not know -me. I will tell you all my story, and then, sweet Eve, you will indeed -know me, and, knowing me, will shower tears of precious pity, that -will infinitely console me.’ - -She was still trembling, but flattered, and relieved that he asked for -nothing save sympathy. That of course she was at liberty to bestow on -a deserving object. She was wholly inexperienced, easily deceived by -flattery. - -‘Have I frightened you?’ asked Martin. ‘Am I so dreadful, so unsightly -an object as to inspire you with aversion and terror?’ He drew himself -up and paused. Eve hastily looked at him. He was a strikingly handsome -man, with dark hair, wonderful dark eyes, and finely chiselled features. - -‘I said that I put my life in your hands. I spoke the truth. You have -but to betray me, and the police and the parish constables will come in -a _posse_ after me. I will stand here with folded arms to receive them; -but mark my words, as soon as they set foot on this rock, I will fling -myself over the edge and perish. If _you_ sacrifice me, my life is not -worth saving.’ - -‘I will not betray you,’ faltered Eve. - -‘I know it. You are too noble, too true, too heroic to be a traitress. -I knew it when I came here and placed myself at your mercy.’ - -‘But,’ said Eve timidly, ‘what have you done? You have taken my ring. -Give it back to me, and I will not send the constables after you.’ - -‘You have mine.’ - -‘I will return it.’ - -‘About that hereafter,’ said Martin grandly, and he waved his hand. -‘Now I answer your question, What have I done? I will tell you -everything. It is a long story and a sad one. Certain persons come -out badly in it whom I would spare. But it may not be otherwise. -Self-defence is the first law of nature. You have, no doubt, heard a -good deal about me, and not to my advantage. I have been prejudiced in -your eyes by Jasper. He is narrow, does not make allowances, has never -recovered the straitlacing father gave him as a child. His conscience -has not expanded since infancy.’ - -Eve looked at Martin with astonishment. - -‘Mr. Jasper Babb has not said anything—’ - -‘Oh, there!’ interrupted Martin, ‘you may spare your sweet lips the -fib. I know better than that. He grumbles and mumbles about me to -everyone who will open an ear to his tales. If he were not my brother——’ - -Now Eve interrupted him. ‘Mr. Jasper your brother!’ - -‘Of course he is. Did he not tell you so?’ He saw that she had not -known by the expression of her face, so, with a laugh, he said, ‘Oh -dear, no! Of course Jasper was too grand and sanctimonious a man to -confess to the blot in the family. I am that blot—look at me!’ - -He showed his handsome figure and face by a theatrical gesture and -position. ‘Poor Martin is the blot, to which Jasper will not confess, -and yet—Martin survives this neglect and disrespect.’ - -The overweening vanity, the mock humility, the assurance of the man -passed unnoticed by Eve. She breathed freely when she heard that he was -the brother of Jasper. There could have been no harm in an interview -with Jasper, and consequently very little in one with his brother. So -she argued, and so she reconciled herself to the situation. Now she -traced a resemblance between the brothers which had escaped her before; -they had the same large dark expressive eyes, but Jasper’s face was not -so regular, his features not so purely chiselled as those of Martin. He -was broader built; Martin had the perfect modelling of a Greek statue. -There was also a more manly, self-confident bearing in Martin than in -the elder brother, who always appeared bowed as with some burden that -oppressed his spirits, and took from him self-assertion and buoyancy, -that even maimed his vigour of manhood. - -‘I dare say you have had a garbled version of my story, continued -Martin, seating himself; and Eve, without considering, seated herself -also. Martin let himself down gracefully, and assumed a position where -the evening light, still lingering in the sky, could irradiate his -handsome face. ‘That is why I have sought this interview. I desired -to put myself right with you. No doubt you have heard that I got into -trouble.’ - -She shook her head. - -‘Well, I did. I was unlucky. In fact, I could stay with my father no -longer. I had already left him for a twelvemonth, but I came back, and, -in Scriptural terms, such as he could understand, asked him to give me -the portion of goods that fell to me. He refused, so I took it.’ - -‘Took—took what?’ - -‘My portion of goods, not in stock but in money. For my part,’ said -Martin, folding his arms, ‘it has ever struck me that the Prodigal Son -was far the nobler of the brothers. The eldest was a mean fellow, the -second had his faults—I admit it—but he was a man of independence of -action; he would not stand being bullyragged by his father, so he went -away. I got into difficulties over that matter. My father would not -overlook it, made a fuss, and so on. My doctrine is: Let bygones be -bygones, and accept what comes and don’t kick. That my father could not -see, and so I got locked up.’ - -‘Locked up—where?’ - -‘In a pill-box. I managed, however, to escape; I am at large, and at -your feet—entreating you to pity me.’ - -He suited the action to the word. In a moment he was gracefully -kneeling before her on one knee, with his hand on his heart. - -‘Oh, Miss Eve,’ he said, ‘since I saw your face in the moonlight I have -never forgotten it. Wherever I went it haunted me. I saw these great -beautiful eyes looking timidly into mine; by day they eclipsed the sun. -Whatever I did I thought only of you. And now—what is it that I ask of -you? Nothing but forgiveness. The money—the portion of goods that fell -to me—was yours. My father owed it to you. It was intended for you. But -now, hear me, you noble, generous-spirited girl; I have borrowed the -money, it shall be returned—or its equivalent. If you desire it, I will -swear.’ He stood up and assumed an attitude. - -‘Oh, no!’ said Eve; ‘you had my money?’ - -‘As surely as I had your ring.’ - -‘Much in the same way,’ she said, with a little sharpness. - -‘But I shall return one with the other. Trust me. Stand up; look me in -the face. Do I bear tho appearance of a cheat, a thief, a robber? Am I -base, villanous! No, I am nothing but a poor, foolish, prodigal lad, -who has got into a scrape, but will get out of it again. You forgive -me. Hark! I hear someone calling.’ - -‘It is Barbara. She is looking for me.’ - -‘Then I disappear.’ He put his hand to his lips, wafted her a kiss, -whispered ‘When you look at the ring, remember poor—poor Martin,’ and -he slipped away among the bushes. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -FATHER AND SON. - - -BARBARA was mistaken. Jasper had gone to Buckfastleigh, gone openly to -his father’s house, in the belief that his father was dying. He knocked -at the blotched and scaled door under the dilapidated portico, but -received no answer. He tried the door. It was locked and barred. Then -he went round to the back, noting how untidy the garden was, how out of -repair was the house; and in the yard of the kitchen he found the deaf -housekeeper. His first question, shouted into her ear, naturally was an -inquiry after his father. He learned to his surprise that the old man -was not ill, but was then in the factory. Thinking that his question -had been misunderstood, he entered the house, went into his father’s -study, then up to his bedroom, and through the dirty window-panes saw -the old man leaving the mill on his way back to the house. - -What, then, had Watt meant by sending him to the old home on false -tidings? The boy was indeed mischievous, but this was more than common -mischief. He must have sent him on a fool’s errand for some purpose of -his own. That the boy wanted to hear news of his father was possible, -but not probable. The only other alternative Jasper could suggest to -explain Watt’s conduct was the disquieting one that he wanted to be rid -of Jasper from Morwell for some purpose of his own. What could that -purpose be? - -Jasper’s blood coursed hot through his veins. He was angry. He was a -forbearing man, ready always to find an excuse for a transgressor, but -this was a transgression too malicious to be easily forgiven. Jasper -determined, now that he was at home, to see his father, and then to -return to the Jordans as quickly as he could. He had ridden his own -horse, that horse must have a night’s rest, but to-morrow he would -return. - -He was thus musing when Mr. Babb came in. - -‘You here!’ said the old man. ‘What has brought you to Buckfastleigh -again? Want money, of course.’ Then snappishly, ‘You shan’t get it.’ - -‘I am come,’ said his son, ‘because I had received information that you -were ill. Have you been unwell, father?’ - -‘I—no! I’m never ill. No such luck for you. If I were ill and helpless, -you might take the management, you think. If I were dead, that would be -nuts to you.’ - -‘My father, you wrong me. I left you because I would no longer live -this wretched life, and because I hate your unforgiving temper.’ - -‘Unforgiving!’ sneered the old manufacturer. ‘Martin was a thief, and -he deserved his fate. Is not Brutus applauded because he condemned -his own son? Is not David held to be weak because he bade Joab spare -Absalom?’ - -‘We will not squeeze old crushed apples. No juice will run from them,’ -replied Jasper. ‘The thing was done, and might have been forgiven. I -would not have returned now had I not been told that you were dying.’ - -‘Who told you that lie?’ - -‘Walter.’ - -‘He! He was ever a liar, a mocker, a blasphemer! How was he to know? I -thank heaven he has not shown his jackanapes visage here since he left. -I dying! I never was sounder. I am better in health and spirits since I -am quit of my sons. They vexed my righteous soul every day with their -ungodly deeds. So you supposed I was dying, and came here to see what -meat could be picked off your father’s bones?’ - -Jasper remembered Watt’s sneer. It was clear whence the boy had -gathered his mean views of men’s motives. - -‘I’ll trouble you to return whence you came,’ said Ezekiel Babb. ‘No -blessing has rested on me since I brought the strange blood into the -house. Now that all of you are gone—you, Eve number one, and Eve number -two, Martin and Walter—I am well. The Son of Peace has returned to -this house; I can read my Bible and do my accounts in quiet, without -fears of what new bit of mischief or devilry my children have been up -to, without any more squeaking of fiddles and singing of profane songs -all over the house. Come now!’—the old man raised his bushy brows and -flashed a cunning, menacing glance at his son—’come now! if you had -found me dead—in Abraham’s bosom—what would you have done? I know what -Walter would have done: he would have capered up and down all over the -house, fiddling like a devil, like a devil as he is.’ He looked at -Jasper again, inquisitively. ‘Well, what would you have done?—fiddled -too?’ - -‘My father, as you desire to know, I will tell you. I would at once -have realised what I could, and have cleared off the debt to Mr. -Jordan.’ - -‘Well, you may do that when the day comes,’ said the old manufacturer, -shrugging his shoulders. ‘It is nothing to me what you do with the -mill and the house and the land after I am’—he turned up his eyes to -the dirty ceiling—’where the wicked cease from fiddling and no thieves -break in and steal. I am not going to pay the money twice over. My -obligation ended when the money went out of this house. I did more than -I was required. I chastised my own son for taking it. What was seven -years on Dartmoor? A flea-bite. Under the old law the rebellious son -was stoned till he died. I suppose, now, you are hungry. Call the old -crab; kick her, pinch her, till she understands, and let her give you -something to eat. There are some scraps, I know, of veal-pie and cold -potatoes. I think, by the way, the veal-pie is done. Don’t forget to -ask a blessing before you fall-to on the cold potatoes.’ Then he rubbed -his forehead and said, ‘Stay, I’ll go and rouse the old toad myself; -you stay here. You are the best of my children. All the rest were a bad -lot—too much of the strange blood in them.’ - -Whilst Mr. Babb is rousing his old housekeeper to produce some food, we -will say a few words of the past history of the Babb family. - -Eve the first, Mr. Babb’s wife, had led a miserable life. She did not -run away from him: she remained and poured forth the fiery love of her -heart upon her children, especially on her eldest, a daughter, Eve, -to whom she talked of her old life—its freedom, its happiness, its -attractions. She died of a broken spirit on the birth of her third son, -Walter. Then Eve, the eldest, a beautiful girl, unable to endure the -bad temper of her father, the depressing atmosphere of the house, and -the cares of housekeeping imposed on her, ran away after a travelling -band of actors. - -Jasper, the eldest son, grew up to be grave and resigned. He was of -use in the house, managing it as far as he was allowed, and helping -his father in many ways. But the old man, who had grumbled at and -insulted his wife whilst she was alive, could not keep his tongue from -the subject that still rankled in his heart. This occasioned quarrels; -the boy took his mother’s side, and refused to bear his father’s -gibes at her memory. He was passionately attached to his next brother -Martin. The mother had brought a warm, loving spirit into the family, -and Jasper had inherited much of it. He stood as a screen between -his brother and father, warding off from the former many a blow and -angry reprimand. He did Martin’s school tasks for him; he excused his -faults; he admired him for his beauty, his spirit, his bearing, his -lively talk. There was no lad, in his opinion, who could equal Martin; -Watt was right when he said that Jasper had contributed to his ruin by -humouring him, but Jasper humoured him because he loved him, and pitied -him for the uncongeniality of his home. Martin displayed a talent for -music, and there was an old musician at Ashburton, the organist of the -parish church, who developed and cultivated his talent, and taught him -both to play and sing. Jasper had also an instinctive love of music, -and he also learned the violin and surpassed his brother, who had not -the patience to master the first difficulties, and who preferred to -sing. - -The father, perhaps, saw in Martin a recrudescence of the old -proclivities of his mother; he tried hard to interfere with his visits -to the musician, and only made Martin more set on his studies with him. -But the most implacable, incessant state of war was that which raged -between the old father and his youngest son, Walter, or Watt as his -brothers called him. This boy had no reverence in him. He scouted the -authority of his father and of Jasper. He scoffed at everything the -old man held sacred. He absolutely refused to go to the Baptist Chapel -frequented by his father, he stopped his ears and made grimaces at his -brothers and the servants during family worship, and the devotions were -not unfrequently concluded with a rush of the old man at his youngest -son and the administration of resounding clouts on the ears. - -At last a quarrel broke out between them of so fierce a nature that -Watt was expelled the house. Then Martin left to follow Watt, who had -joined a travelling dramatic company. After a year, however, Martin -returned, very thin and woe-begone, and tried to accommodate himself to -home-life once more. But it was not possible; he had tasted of the sort -of life that suited him—one rambling, desultory, artistic. He robbed -his father’s bureau and ran away. - -Then it was that he was taken, and in the same week sent to the -assizes, and condemned to seven years’ penal labour in the convict -establishment at Prince’s Town. Thence he had escaped, assisted by -Jasper and Watt, whilst the former was on his way to Morwell with the -remnant of the money recovered from Martin. - -The rest is known to the reader. - -Whilst Jasper ate the mean meal provided for him, his father watched -him. - -‘So,’ said the old man, and the twinkle was in his cunning eyes, ‘so -you have hired yourself to Mr. Ignatius Jordan at Morwell as his -steward?’ - -‘Yes, father. I remain there as pledge to him that he shall be repaid, -and I am doing there all I can to put the estate into good order. It -has been shockingly neglected.’ - -‘Who for?’ asked Mr. Babb. - -‘I do not understand.’ - -‘For whom are you thus working?’ - -‘For Mr. Jordan, as you said!’ - -The manufacturer chuckled. - -‘Jasper,’ said he, ‘some men look on a pool and see nothing but water. -I put my head in, open my eyes, and see what is at the bottom. That -girl did not come here for nothing. I put my head under water and -opened my eyes.’ - -‘Well?’ said Jasper, with an effort controlling his irritation. - -‘Well! I saw it all under the surface. I saw you. She came here because -she was curious to see the factory and the house, and to know if all -was as good as you had bragged about. I gave her a curt dismissal; I do -not want a daughter-in-law thrusting her feet into my shoes till I cast -them off for ever.’ - -Jasper started to his feet and upset his chair. He was very angry. -‘You utterly wrong her,’ he said. ‘You open your eyes in mud, and see -only dirt. Miss Jordan came here out of kindness towards me, whom she -dislikes and despises in her heart.’ - -Mr. Babb chuckled. - -‘Well, I won’t say that you have not acted wisely. Morwell will go to -that girl, and it is a pretty property.’ - -‘I beg your pardon, you are wrong. It is left to the second—Eve.’ - -‘So, so! It goes to Eve! That is why the elder girl came here, to see -if she could fit herself into Owlacombe.’ - -Jasper’s face burnt, and the muscles of his head and neck quivered, but -he said nothing. He dared not trust himself to speak. He had all his -life practised self-control, but he never needed it more than at this -moment. - -‘I see it all,’ pursued the old man, his crafty face contracting with a -grin; ‘Mr. Jordan thought to provide for both his daughters. Buckfast -mill and Owlacombe for the elder, Morwell for the younger—ha, ha! The -elder to take you so as to get this pretty place. And she came to look -at it and see if it suited her. Well! It is a pretty place—only,’ he -giggled, ‘it ain’t vacant and to be had just yet.’ - -Jasper took his hat; his face was red as blood, and his dark eyes -flashed. - -‘Don’t go,’ said the old manufacturer; ‘you did not see their little -trap and walked into it, eh? One word of warning I must give you. -Don’t run after the younger; Eve is your niece.’ - -‘Father!’ - -‘Ah! that surprises you, does it? It is true. Eve’s mother was your -sister. Did Mr. Jordan never tell you that?’ - -‘Never!’ - -‘It is true. Sit down again to the cold potatoes. You shall know all, -but first ask a blessing.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -HUSH-MONEY. - - -‘YES,’ said Mr. Babb, settling himself on a chair; then finding he had -sat on the tails of his coat, he rose, held a tail in each hand, and -reseated himself between them; ‘yes.’ - -‘Do you mean seriously to tell me that Mr. Jordan’s second wife was my -sister?’ - -‘Well—in a way. That is, I don’t mean your sister in a way, but his -wife in a way.’ - -‘I have heard nothing of this; what do you mean?’ - -‘I mean that he did not marry her.’ - -Jasper Babb’s face darkened. ‘I have been in his house and spoken to -him, and not known that. What became of my sister?’ - -The old man fidgeted on his chair. It was not comfortable. ‘I’m sure I -don’t know,’ he said. - -‘Did she die?’ - -‘No,’ said Mr. Babb, ‘she ran off with a play-actor.’ - -‘Well—and after that?’ - -‘After what? After the play-actor? I do not know, I have not heard of -her since. I don’t want to. Was not that enough?’ - -‘And Mr. Jordan—does he know nothing?’ - -‘I cannot tell. If you are curious to know you can ask.’ - -‘This is very extraordinary. Why did not Mr. Jordan tell me the -relationship? He knew who I was.’ - -The old man laughed, and Jasper shuddered at his laugh, there was -something so base and brutal in it. - -‘He was not so proud of how he behaved to Eve as to care to boast of -the connection. You might not have liked it, might have fizzed and gone -pop.’ - -Jasper’s brow was on fire, his eyebrows met, and a sombre sparkle was -in his eye. - -‘You have made no effort to trace her?’ - -Mr. Babb shrugged his shoulders. - -‘Tell me,’ said Jasper, leaning his elbow on the table, and putting -his hand over his eyes to screen them from the light, and allow him to -watch his father’s face—’tell me everything, as you undertook. Tell me -how my poor sister came to Morwell, and how she left it.’ - -‘There is not much to tell,’ answered the father; ‘you know that she -ran away from home after her mother’s death; you were then nine or ten -years old. She hated work, and lusted after the pomps and vanities of -this wicked world. After a while I heard where she was, that she was -ill, and had been taken into Morwell House to be nursed, and that there -she remained after her recovery.’ - -‘Strange,’ mused Jasper; ‘she fell ill and was taken to Morwell, and -I—it was the same. Things repeat themselves; the world moves in a -circle.’ - -‘Everything repeats itself. As in Eve’s case the sickness led up to -marriage, or something like it, so will it be in your case. This is -what Mr. Jordan and Eve did: they went into the little old chapel, -and took each other’s hands before the altar, and swore fidelity to -each other; that was all. Mr. Jordan is a Catholic, and would not have -the knot tied by a church parson, and Eve would not confess to her -name, she had that sense of decency left in her. They satisfied their -consciences but it was no legal marriage. I believe he would have done -what was right, but she was perverse, and refused to give her name, and -say both who she was and whence she came.’ - -‘Go on,’ said Jasper. - -‘Well, then, about a year after this I heard where she was, and I -went after her to Morwell, but I did not go openly—I had no wish to -encounter Mr. Jordan. I tried to persuade Eve to return with me to -Buckfastleigh. Who can lay to my charge that I am not a forgiving -father? Have I not given you cold potato, and would have furnished you -with veal pie if the old woman had not finished the scraps? I saw Eve, -and I told her my mind pretty freely, both about her running away and -about her connection with Jordan. I will say this for her—she professed -to be sorry for what she had done, and desired my forgiveness. That, -I said, I would give her on one condition only, that she forsook her -husband and child, and came back to keep house for me. I could not -bring her to a decision, so I appointed her a day, and said I would -take her final answer on that. But I was hindered going; I forget just -now what it was, but I couldn’t go that day.’ - -‘Well, father, what happened?’ - -‘As I could not keep my appointment—I remember now how it was, I was -laid up with a grip of lumbago at Tavistock—I sent one of the actors -there, from whom I had heard about her, with a message. I had the -lumbago in my back that badly that I was bent double. When I was able -to go, on the morrow, it was too late; she was gone.’ - -‘Gone! Whither?’ - -‘Gone off with the play-actor,’ answered Mr. Babb, grimly. ‘It runs in -the blood.’ - -‘You are sure of this?’ - -‘Mr. Jordan told me so.’ - -‘Did you not pursue her?’ - -‘To what end? I had done my duty. I had tried my utmost to recover my -daughter, and when for the second time she played me false, I wiped -off the dust of my feet as a testimony against her.’ - -‘She left her child?’ - -‘Yes, she deserted her child as well as her husband—that is to say, Mr. -Ignatius Jordan. She deserted the house that had sheltered her, to run -after a homeless, bespangled, bepainted play-actor. I know all about -it. The life at Morwell was too dull for her, it was duller there than -at Buckfastleigh. Here she could see something of the world; she could -watch the factory hands coming to their work and leaving it; but there -she was as much out of the world as if she were in Lundy Isle. She had -a hankering after the glitter and paint of this empty world.’ - -‘I cannot believe this. I cannot believe that she would desert the man -who befriended her, and forsake her child.’ - -‘You say that because you did not know her. You know Martin; would -he not do it? You know Watt; has he any scruples and strong domestic -affections? She was like them; had in her veins the same boiling, -giddy, wanton blood.’ - -Jasper knew but too well that Martin and Watt were unscrupulous, and -followed pleasure regardless of the calls of duty. He had been too -young when his sister left home to know anything of her character. It -was possible that she had the same light and careless temperament as -Martin. - -‘A horse that shies once will shy again,’ said the old man. ‘Eve ran -away from home once, and she ran away from the second home. If she did -not run away from home a third time it probably was that she had none -to desert.’ - -‘And Mr. Jordan knows nothing of her?’ - -‘He lives too far from the stream of life to see the broken dead things -that drift down it.’ - -Jasper considered. The flush of anger had faded from his brow; an -expression of great sadness had succeeded. His hand was over his brow, -but he was no longer intent on his father’s face; his eyes rested on -the table. - -‘I must find out something about my sister. It is too horrible to think -of our sister, our only sister, as a lost, sunk, degraded thing.’ - -He thought of Mr. Jordan, of his strange manner, his abstracted look, -his capricious temper. He did not believe that the master of Morwell -was in his sound senses. He seemed to be a man whose mind had preyed -on some great sorrow till all nerve had gone out of it. What was that -sorrow? Once Barbara had said to him, in excuse for some violence and -rudeness in her father’s conduct, that he had never got over the loss -of Eve’s mother. - -‘Mr. Jordan was not easy about his treatment of my daughter,’ said old -Babb. ‘From what little I saw of him seventeen years ago I take him to -be a weak-spirited man. He was in a sad take-on then at the loss of -Eve, and having a baby thrown on his hands unweaned. He offered me the -money I wanted to buy those fields for stretching the cloth. You may be -sure when a man presses money on you, and is indifferent to interest, -that he wants you to forgive him something. He desired me to look over -his conduct to my daughter, and drop all inquiries. I dare say they had -had words, and then she was ready in her passion to run away with the -first vagabond who offered.’ - -Then Jasper removed his hand from his face, and laid one on the other -upon the table. His face was now pale, and the muscles set. His eyes -looked steadily and sternly at the mean old man, who averted his eyes -from those of his son. - -‘What is this? You took a bribe, father, to let the affair remain -unsifted! For the sake of a few acres of meadow you sacrificed your -child!’ - -‘Fiddlesticks-ends,’ said the manufacturer. ‘I sacrificed nothing. What -could I do? If I ran after Eve and found her in some harlequin and -columbine booth, could I force her to return? She had made her bed, -and must lie on it. What could I gain by stirring in the matter? Let -sleeping dogs lie.’ - -‘Father,’ said Jasper, very gravely, ‘the fact remains that you took -money that looks to me very much like a bribe to shut your eyes.’ - -‘Pshaw! pshaw! I had made up my mind. I was full of anger against Eve. -I would not have taken her into my house had I met her. Fine scandals -I should have had with her there! Better let her run and disappear in -the mud, than come muddy into my parlour and besmirch all the furniture -and me with it, and perhaps damage the business. These children of -mine have eaten sour grapes, and the parent’s teeth are set on edge. -It all comes’—the old man brought his fist down on the table—’of my -accursed folly in bringing strange blood into the house, and now the -chastisement is on me. Are you come back to live with me, Jasper? Will -you help me again in the mill?’ - -‘Never again, father, never,’ answered the young man, standing up. -‘Never, after what I have just heard. I shall do what I can to find my -poor sister, Eve Jordan’s mother. It is a duty—a duty your neglect has -left to me; a duty hard to take up after it has been laid aside for -seventeen years; a duty betrayed for a sum of money.’ - -‘Pshaw!’ The old man put his hands in his pockets, and walked about the -room. He was shrunk with age; his eagle profile was without beauty or -dignity. - -Jasper followed him with his eye, reproachfully, sorrowfully. - -‘Father,’ he said, ‘it seems to me as if that money was hush-money, and -that you, by taking it, had brought the blood of your child on your own -head.’ - -‘Blood! Fiddlesticks! Blood! There is no blood in the case. If she -chose to run, how was I to stop her? Blood, indeed! Red raddle!’ - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -BETRAYAL. - - -BARBARA came out on the platform of rock. Eve stood before her -trembling, with downcast eyes, conscious of having done wrong, and of -being put in a position from which it was difficult to escape. - -Barbara had walked fast. She was hot and excited, and her temper was -roused. She loved Eve dearly, but Eve tried her. - -‘Eve,’ she said sharply, ‘what is the meaning of this? Who has been -here with you?’ - -The young girl hung her head. - -‘What is the meaning of this?’ she repeated, and her tone of voice -showed her irritation. Barbara had a temper. - -Eve murmured an inarticulate reply. - -‘What is it? I cannot understand. Jane came tearing home with a -rhodomontade about a boy jumping down on her from a tree, and I saw -him just now at the gate making faces at me. He put his fingers into -his mouth, hooted like an owl, and dived into the bushes. What is the -meaning of this?’ - -Eve burst into tears, and hid her face on her sister’s neck. - -‘Come, come,’ said Barbara, somewhat mollified, ‘I must be told all. -Your giddiness is leading you into a hobble. Who was that on the rock -with you? I caught a glimpse of a man as I passed the Scotch fir, and I -thought the voice I heard was that of Jasper.’ - -The girl still cried, cried out of confusion, because she did not know -how to answer her sister. She must not tell the truth; the secret had -been confided to her. Poor Martin’s safety must not be jeopardised by -her. Barbara was so hot, impetuous, and frank, that she might let out -about him, and so he might be arrested. What was she to say and do? - -‘Come back with me,’ said Barbara, drawing her sister’s hand through -her arm. ‘Now, then, Eve, there must be no secrets with me. You have no -mother; I stand to you in the place of mother and sister in one. Was -that Jasper?’ - -Eve’s hand quivered on her sister’s arm; in a faint voice she answered, -‘Yes, Barbara.’ Had Miss Jordan looked round she would have seen her -sister’s face crimson with shame. But Barbara turned her eyes away to -the far-off pearly range of Cornish mountains, sighed, and said nothing. - -The two girls walked together through the wood without speaking till -they came to the gate, and there they entered the atmosphere of -honeysuckle fragrance. - -‘Perhaps that boy thought he would scare me as he scared Jane,’ said -Barbara. ‘He was mistaken. Who was he?’ - -‘Jasper’s brother,’ answered Eve in a low tone. She was full of sorrow -and humiliation at having told Barbara an untruth, her poor little soul -was tossed with conflicting emotions, and Barbara felt her emotion -through the little hand resting on her arm. Eve had joined her hands, -so that as she walked she was completely linked to her dear elder -sister. - -Presently Eve said timidly, ‘Bab, darling, it was not Mr. Jasper.’ - -‘Who was the man then?’ - -‘I cannot, I must not, tell.’ - -‘That will do,’ said Barbara decidedly; ‘say no more about it, Eve; I -know that you met Jasper Babb and no one else.’ - -‘Well,’ whispered Eve, ‘don’t be cross with me. I did not know he was -there. I had no idea.’ - -‘It _was_ Mr. Babb?’ asked Barbara, suddenly turning and looking -steadily at her. - -Here was an opportunity offered a poor, weak creature. Eve trembled, -and after a moment’s vacillation fell into the pitfall unconsciously -dug for her by her sister. ‘It was Mr. Babb, dear Barbara.’ - -Miss Jordan said no more, her bosom was heaving. Perhaps she could -not speak. She was angry, troubled, distracted; angry at the gross -imposition practised by Jasper in pretending to leave the place, whilst -lurking about it to hold secret meetings with her sister; troubled she -was because she feared that Eve had connived at his proceedings, and -had lost her heart to him—troubled also because she could not tell to -what this would lead; distracted she was, because she did not know what -steps to take. Before she reached home she had made up her mind, and on -reaching Morwell she acted on it with promptitude, leaving Eve to go to -her room or stay below as suited her best. - -She went direct to her father. He was sitting up, looking worse and -distressed; his pale forehead was beaded with perspiration; his shaking -hand clutched the table, then relaxed its hold, then clutched again. - -‘Are you feeling worse, papa?’ - -‘No,’ he answered, without looking at her, but with his dazed eyes -directed through the window. ‘No—only for black thoughts. They come -flying to me. If you stand at evening under a great rock, as soon as -the sun sets you see from all quarters the ravens flying towards it, -uttering doleful cries, and they enter into the clefts and disappear -for the night. The whole rock all night is alive with ravens. So is -it with me. As my day declines the sorrows and black thoughts come -back to lodge in me, and torment me with their clawing and pecking and -croaking. There is no driving them away. They come back.’ - -‘Dear papa,’ said Barbara, ‘I am afraid I must add to them. I have -something very unpleasant to communicate.’ - -‘I suppose,’ said Mr. Jordan peevishly, ‘you are out of coffee, or the -lemons are mouldy, or the sheets have been torn on the thorn hedge. -These matters do not trouble me.’ He signed with his finger. ‘They are -like black spots in the air, but instead of floating they fly, and they -all fly one way—towards me.’ - -‘Father, I am afraid for Eve!’ - -‘What?’ His face was full of terror. ‘What of her? What is there to -fear? Is she ill?’ - -‘It is, dearest papa, as I foresaw. She has set her heart on Mr. -Jasper, and she meets him secretly. He asked leave of you yesterday to -go home to Buckfastleigh; but he has not gone there. He has not left -this neighbourhood. He is secreting himself somewhere, and this evening -he met darling Eve on the Raven Rock, when he knew you were here ill, -and I was in the house with you.’ - -‘I cannot believe it,’ said Mr. Jordan, with every token of distress, -wiping his wet brow with his thin hands, clasping his hands, plucking -at his waistcoat, biting his quivering lips. - -‘It is true, dearest papa. Eve took Jane with her as far as the gate, -and there an ugly boy, who, Eve tells me, is Jasper’s brother, scared -the girl away. I hurried off to the Rock as soon as told of this, and I -saw through an opening of the trees someone with Eve, and heard a voice -like that of Mr. Jasper. When I charged Eve with having met him, she -could not deny it.’ - -‘What does he want? Why did he ask to leave?’ - -‘I can put but one interpretation on his conduct. I have for some time -suspected a growing attachment between him and Eve. I suppose he knows -that you never would consent——’ - -‘Never, never!’ He clenched his hands, raised them over his head, -uttered a cry, and dropped them. - -‘Do be careful, dear papa,’ said Barbara. ‘You forget your wound; you -must not raise your right arm.’ - -‘It cannot be! It cannot be! Never, never!’ He was intensely moved, -and paid no heed to his daughter’s caution. She caught his right hand, -held it between her own firmly, and kissed it. ‘My God!’ cried the -unhappy man. ‘Spare me this! It cannot be! The black spots come thick -as rain.’ He waved his left hand as though warding off something. ‘Not -as rain—as bullets.’ - -‘No, papa, as you say, it never, never can be.’ - -‘Never!’ he said eagerly, his wild eyes kindling with a lambent terror. -‘There stands between them a barrier that must cut them off the one -from the other for ever. But of that you know nothing.’ - -‘It is so,’ said Barbara; ‘there does stand an impassable barrier -between them. I know more than you suppose, dear papa. Knowing what I -do I have wondered at your permitting his presence in this house.’ - -‘You know?’ He looked at her, and pressed his brow. ‘And Eve, does she -know?’ - -‘She knows nothing,’ answered Barbara; ‘I alone—that is, you and I -together—alone know all about him. I found out when he first came here, -and was ill.’ - -‘From anything he said?’ - -‘No—I found a bundle of his clothes.’ - -‘I do not understand.’ - -‘It came about this way. There was a roll on the saddle of his horse, -and when I came to undo it, that I might put it away, I found that -it was a convict suit.’ Mr. Jordan stared. ‘Yes!’ continued Barbara, -speaking quickly, anxious to get the miserable tale told. ‘Yes, papa, I -found the garments which betrayed him. When he came to himself I showed -them to him, and asked if they were his. Afterwards I heard all the -particulars: how he had robbed his own father of the money laid by to -repay you an old loan, how his father had prosecuted him, and how he -had been sent to prison; how also he had escaped from prison. It was as -he was flying to the Tamar to cross it, and get as far as he could from -pursuit, that he met with his accident, and remained here.’ - -‘Merciful heaven!’ exclaimed Mr. Jordan; ‘you knew all this, and never -told me!’ - -‘I told no one,’ answered Barbara, ‘because I promised him that I would -not betray him, and even now I would have said nothing about it but -that you tell me that you know it as well as I. No,’ she added, after -having drawn a long breath, ‘no, not even after all the provocation he -has given would I betray him.’ - -Mr. Jordan looked as one dazed. - -‘Where then are these clothes—this convict suit?’ - -‘In the garret. I hid them there.’ - -‘Let me see them. I cannot yet understand.’ - -Barbara left the room, and shortly returned with the bundle. She -unfolded it, and spread the garments before her father. He rubbed his -eyes, pressed his knuckles against his temples, and stared at them with -astonishment. - -‘So, then, it was he—Jasper Babb—who stole Eve’s money?’ - -‘Yes, papa.’ - -‘And he was taken and locked up for doing so—where?’ - -‘In Prince’s Town prison.’ - -‘And he escaped?’ - -‘Yes, papa. As I was on my way to Ashburton, I passed through Prince’s -Town, and thus heard of it.’ - -‘Barbara! why did you keep this secret from me? If I had known it, I -would have run and taken the news myself to the police and the warders, -and have had him recaptured whilst he was ill in bed, unable to escape.’ - -It was now Barbara’s turn to express surprise. - -‘But, dear papa, what do you mean? You have told me yourself that you -knew all about Mr. Jasper.’ - -‘I knew nothing of this. My God! How thick the black spots are, and how -big and pointed!’ - -‘Papa dear, what do you mean? You assured me you knew everything.’ - -‘I knew nothing of this. I had not the least suspicion.’ - -‘But, papa’—Barbara was sick with terror—’you told me that this stood -as a bar between him and Eve?’ - -‘No—Barbara. I said that there was a barrier, but not this. Of this I -was ignorant.’ - -The room swam round with Barbara. She uttered a faint cry, and put the -back of her clenched hands against her mouth to choke another rising -cry. ‘I have betrayed him! My God! My God! What have I done?’ - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -CALLED TO ACCOUNT. - - -‘GO,’ said Mr. Jordan, ‘bring Eve to me.’ - -Barbara obeyed mechanically. She had betrayed Jasper. Her father would -not spare him. The granite walls of Prince’s Town prison rose before -her, in the midst of a waste as bald as any in Greenland or Siberia. -She called her sister, bade her go into her father’s room, and then, -standing in the hall, placed her elbows on the window ledge, and -rested her brow and eyes in her palms. She was consigning Jasper back -to that miserable jail. She was incensed against him. She knew that -he was unworthy of her regard, that he had forfeited all right to her -consideration, and yet—she pitied him. She could not bring herself to -believe that he was utterly bad; to send him again to prison was to -ensure his complete ruin. - -‘Eve,’ said Mr. Jordan, when his youngest daughter came timidly into -the room, ‘tell me, whom did you meet on the Raven Rock?’ - -The girl hung her head and made no reply. She stood as a culprit before -a judge, conscious that his case is hopeless. - -‘Eve,’ he said again, ‘I insist on knowing. Whom did you meet?’ - -She tried to speak, but something rose in her throat, and choked her. -She raised her eyes timidly to her father, who had never, hitherto, -spoken an angry word to her. Tears and entreaty were in her eyes, but -the room was dark, night had fallen, and he could not see her face. - -‘Eve, tell me, was it Babb?’ - -She burst into a storm of sobs, and threw herself on her knees. ‘O -papa! sweetest, dearest papa! Do not ask me! I must not tell. I -promised him not to say. It is as much as his life is worth. He says he -never will be taken alive. If it were known that he was here the police -would be after him. Papa dear!’ she clasped and fondled, and kissed his -hand, she bathed it in her tears, ‘do not be angry with me. I can bear -anything but that. I do love you so, dear, precious papa!’ - -‘My darling,’ he replied, ‘I am not angry. I am troubled. I am on a -rock and hold you in my arms, and the black sea is rising—I can feel -it. Leave me alone, I am not myself.’ - -An hour later Barbara came in. - -‘What, papa—without a light?’ - -‘Yes—it is dark everywhere, within as without. The black spots have run -one into another and filled me. It will be better soon. When Jasper -Babb shows his face again, he shall be given up.’ - -‘O papa, let him escape this time. All we now want is to get him away -from this place, away from Eve.’ - -‘All we now want!’ repeated Mr. Jordan. ‘Let the man off who has -beggared Eve!’ - -‘Papa, Eve will be well provided for.’ - -‘He has robbed her.’ - -‘But, dear papa, consider. He has been your guest. He has worked for -you, he has eaten at your table, partaken of your salt. When you were -hurt, he carried you to your bed. He has been a devoted servant to -you.’ - -‘We are quits,’ said Mr. Jordan. ‘He was nursed when he was ill. That -makes up for all the good he has done me. Then there is that other -account which can never be made up.’ - -‘I am sure, papa, he repents.’ - -‘And tries to snatch away Eve, as he has snatched away her fortune?’ - -‘Papa, there I think he may be excused. Consider how beautiful Eve -is. It is quite impossible for a man to see her and not love her. I -do not myself know what love is, but I have read about it, and I have -fancied to myself what it is—a kind of madness that comes on one, and -obscures the judgment. I do not believe that Mr. Jasper had any thought -of Eve at first, but little by little she won him. You know, papa, -how she has run after him, like a kitten; and so she has stolen his -heart out of his breast before he knew what she was about. Then, after -that, everything—honour, duty went. I dare say it is very hard for one -who loves to think calmly and act conscientiously! Would you like the -lights brought in, papa?’ - -He shook his head. - -‘You must not remain up longer than you can bear,’ she said. She took a -seat on a stool, and leaned her head on her hand, her elbow resting on -her knee. ‘Papa, whilst I have been waiting in the hall, I have turned -the whole matter over and over in my mind. Papa, I suppose that Eve’s -mother was very, very beautiful?’ - -He sighed in the dark and put his hands together. The pale twilight -through the window shone on them; they were white and ghost-like. - -‘Papa dear, I suppose that you saw her when she was ill every day, and -got to love her. I dare say you struggled against the feeling, but your -heart was too strong for your head and carried your resolutions away, -just as I have seen a flood on the Tamar against the dam at Abbotswear; -it has burst through all obstructions, and in a moment every trace of -the dam has disappeared. You were under the same roof with her. Then -there came a great ache here’—she touched her heart—’allowing you no -rest. Well, dear papa, I think it must have been so with Mr. Babb, he -saw our dear sweet Eve daily, and love for her swelled in his heart; he -formed the strongest resolutions, and platted them with the toughest -considerations, and stamped and wedged them in with vigorous effort, -but all was of no avail—the flood rose and burst over it and carried -all away.’ - -Mr. Jordan was touched by the allusion to his dead or lost wife, but -not in the manner Barbara intended. - -‘I have heard,’ continued Barbara, ‘that Eve’s mother was brought to -this house very ill, and that you cared for her till she was recovered. -Was it in this room? Was it in this bed?’ - -She heard a low moan, and saw the white hands raised in deprecation, or -in prayer. - -‘Then you sat here and watched her; and when she was in fever you -suffered; when her breath came so faint that you thought she was dying, -your very soul stood on tiptoe, agonised. When her eyes opened with -reason in them, your heart leaped. When she slept, you sat here with -your eyes on her face and could not withdraw them. Perhaps you took her -hand in the night, when she was vexed with horrible dreams, and the -pulse of your heart sent its waves against her hot, tossing, troubled -heart, and little by little cooled that fire, and brought peace to that -unrest. Papa, I dare say that somehow thus it came about that Eve got -interested in Mr. Jasper and grew to love him. I often let her take my -place when he was ill. You must excuse dearest Eve. It was my fault. -I should have been more cautious. But I thought nothing of it then. I -knew nothing of how love is sown, and throws up its leaves, and spreads -and fills the whole heart with a tangle of roots.’ - -In this last half hour Barbara had drawn nearer to her father than in -all her previous life. For once she had entered into his thoughts, -roused old recollections, both sweet and bitter—inexpressibly sweet, -unutterably bitter—and his heart was full of tears. - -‘Was Eve’s mother as beautiful as our darling?’ - -‘O yes, Barbara!’ His voice shook, and he raised his white hands to -cover his eyes. ‘Even more beautiful.’ - -‘And you loved her with all your heart?’ - -‘I have never ceased to love her. It is that, Barbara, which’—he put -his hands to his head, and she understood him—which disturbed his brain. - -‘But,’ he said, suddenly as waking from a dream, ‘Barbara, how do you -know all this? Who told you?’ - -She did not answer him, but she rose, knelt on the stool, put her arms -round his neck, and kissed him. Her cheeks were wet. - -‘You are crying, Barbara.’ - -‘I am thinking of your sorrows, dear papa.’ - -She was still kneeling on one knee, with her arms round her father. -‘Poor papa! I want to know really what became of Eve’s mother.’ - -The door was thrown open. - -‘Yes; that is what I have come to ask,’ said Jasper, entering the room, -holding a wax candle in each hand. He had intercepted the maid, Jane, -with the candles, taken them from her, and as she opened the door -entered, to hear Barbara’s question. The girl turned, dropped one arm, -but clung with the other to her father, who had just placed one of his -hands on her head. Her eyes, from having been so long in the dark, were -very large. She was pale, and her cheeks glistened with tears. - -She was too astonished to recover herself at once, dazzled by the -strong light; she could not see Jasper but she knew his voice. - -He put the candlesticks—they were of silver—on the table, shut the door -behind him, and standing before Mr. Jordan with bowed head, his earnest -eyes fixed on the old man’s face, he said again, ‘Yes, that is what I -have come to ask. Where is Eve’s mother?’ - -No one spoke. Barbara recovered herself first; she rose from the stool, -and stepped between her father and the steward. - -‘It is not you,’ she said, ‘who have a right to ask questions. It is we -who have to call you to account.’ - -‘For what, Miss Jordan?’ He spoke to her with deference—a certain tone -of reverence which never left him when addressing her. - -‘You must give an account of yourself,’ she said. - -‘I am just returned from Buckfastleigh,’ he answered. - -‘And, pray, how is your father who was dying?’ she asked, with a curl -of her lip and a quiver of contempt in her voice. - -‘He is well,’ replied Jasper. ‘I was deceived about his sickness. He -has not been ill. I was sent on a fool’s errand.’ - -‘Then,’ said Mr. Jordan, who had recovered himself, ‘what about the -money?’ - -‘The recovery of that is as distant as ever, but also as certain.’ - -‘Mr. Jasper Babb,’ exclaimed Ignatius Jordan, ‘you have not been to -Buckfastleigh at all. You have not seen your father; you have deceived -me with——’ - -Barbara hastily interrupted him, saying with beating heart, and with -colour rising to her pale checks, ‘I pray you, I pray you, say no more. -We know very well that you have not left this neighbourhood.’ - -‘I do not understand you, Miss Jordan. I am but just returned. My horse -is not yet unsaddled.’ - -‘Not another word,’ exclaimed the girl, with pain in her voice. ‘Not -another word if you wish us to retain a particle of regard for you. I -have pitied you, I have excused you but if you _lie_—I have said the -word, I cannot withdraw it—I give you up.’ Fire was in her heart, tears -in her throat. - -‘I will speak,’ said Jasper. ‘I value your regard, Miss Jordan, above -everything that the world contains. I cannot tamely lose that. There -has been a misapprehension. How it has arisen I do not know, but arisen -it has, and dissipated it shall be. It is true, as I said, that I was -deceived about my father’s condition, wilfully, maliciously deceived. -I rode yesterday to Buckfastleigh, and have but just returned. If my -father had been dying you would not have seen me here so soon.’ - -‘We cannot listen to this. We cannot endure this,’ cried Barbara. ‘Will -you madden me, after all that has been done for you? It is cruel, -cruel!’ Then, unable to control the flood of tears that rose to her -eyes, she left the room and the glare of candles. - -Jasper approached Mr. Jordan. He had not lost his self-restraint. ‘I do -not comprehend this charge of falsehood brought against me. I can bring -you a token that I have seen my father, a token you will not dispute. -He has told me who your second wife was. She was my sister. Will you do -me the justice to say that you believe me?’ - -‘Yes,’ answered the old man, faintly. - -‘May I recall Miss Jordan? I cannot endure that she should suppose me -false.’ - -‘If you will.’ - -‘One word more. Do you wish our kinship to be known to her, or is it to -be kept a secret, at least for a while?’ - -‘Do not tell her.’ - -Then Jasper went out into the hall. Barbara was there, in the window, -looking out into the dusk through the dull old glass of the lattice. - -‘Miss Jordan,’ said he, ‘I have ventured to ask you to return to your -father, and receive his assurance that I spoke the truth.’ - -‘But,’ exclaimed Barbara, turning roughly upon him, ‘you were on the -Raven Rock with my sister at sunset, and had your brother planted at -the gate to watch against intruders.’ - -‘My brother?’ - -‘Yes, a boy.’ - -‘I do not understand you.’ - -‘It is true. I saw him, I saw you. Eve confessed it. What do you say to -that?’ - -Jasper bit his thumb. - -Barbara laughed bitterly. - -‘I know why you pretended to go away—because a policeman was here on -Sunday, and you were afraid. Take care! I have betrayed you. Your -secret is known. You are not safe here.’ - -‘Miss Jordan,’ said the young man quietly, ‘you are mistaken. I did not -meet your sister. I would not deceive you for all the world contains. I -warn you that Miss Eve is menaced, and I was sent out of the way lest I -should be here to protect her.’ - -Barbara gave a little contemptuous gasp. - -‘I cannot listen to you any longer,’ she said angrily. ‘Take my -warning. Leave this place. It is no longer safe. I tell you—I, yes, I -have betrayed you.’ - -‘I will not go,’ said Jasper, ‘I dare not. I have the interest of your -family too near my heart to leave.’ - -‘You will not go!’ exclaimed Barbara, trembling with anger and scorn. -‘I neither believe you, nor trust you. I’—she set her teeth and said -through them, with her heart in her mouth—’Jasper, I _hate_ you!’ - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -WANDERING LIGHTS. - - -NO sooner was Mr. Jordan left alone than his face became ghastly, and -his eyes were fixed with terror, as though he saw before him some -object of infinite horror. He put his quivering thin hands on the -elbows of his armchair and let himself slide to his knees, then he -raised his hollow eyes to heaven, and clasped his hands and wrung them; -his lips moved, but no vocal prayers issued from them. He lifted his -hands above his head, uttered a cry and fell forward on his face upon -the oak floor. Near his hand was his stick with which he rapped against -the wall or on the floor when he needed assistance. He laid hold of -this, and tried to raise himself, but faintness came over him, and he -fell again and lost all consciousness. - -When he recovered sufficiently to see what and who were about him, he -found that he had been lifted on to his bed by Jasper and Barbara, -and that Jane was in the room. His motion with his hands, his strain -to raise himself, had disturbed the bandages and reopened his wound, -which was again bleeding, and indeed had soaked through his clothes and -stained the floor. - -He said nothing, but his eyes watched and followed Jasper with a -mixture of hatred and fear in them. - -‘He irritates me,’ he whispered to his daughter; ‘send him out. I -cannot endure to see him.’ - -Then Barbara made an excuse for dismissing Jasper. - -When he was gone, Mr. Jordan’s anxiety instead of being allayed was -increased. He touched his daughter, and drew her ear to him, and -whispered, ‘Where is he now? What is he doing?’ - -‘I do not know, papa. He is probably in his room.’ - -‘Go and see.’ - -‘Papa dear, I cannot do that. Do you want him?’ - -‘Do _I_ want him? No, Barbara, but I do not choose that he shall -escape. Go and look if there is a light in his window.’ - -She was about to send Jane, when her father impatiently insisted on her -going herself. Wondering at his caprice she obeyed. - -No sooner was the door closed behind her, than the old man signed Jane -Welsh to come near him. - -‘Jane,’ he said in a whisper, ‘I want you to do something for me. -No one must know about it. You have a sweetheart, I’ve heard, the -policeman, Joseph Woodman, at Tavistock.’ - -The girl pulled at the ends of her apron, and looking down, said, -‘Lawk! How folks do talk!’ - -‘Is it true, Jane?’ - -‘Well, sir, I won’t deny us have been keeping company, and on Sunday -went to a love-feast together.’ - -‘That is well,’ said Mr. Jordan earnestly, with his wild eyes gleaming. -‘Quick, before my daughter comes. Stand nearer. No one must hear. Would -you do Joseph a good turn and get him a sergeantry?’ - -‘O please, sir!’ - -‘Then run as fast as you can to Tavistock.’ - -‘Please, sir, I durstn’t. It be night and it’s whisht[2] over the moor.’ - -‘Then leave it, and I will send someone else, and you will lose your -lover.’ - -‘What do you want me to do, sir? I wouldn’t have that neither.’ - -‘Then run to Tavistock, and tell Joseph Woodman to communicate at once -with the warder of the Prince’s Town jail, and bid him bring sufficient -men with him, and come here, and I will deliver into their hands a -runaway convict, a man who broke out of jail not long ago.’ - -‘Please, sir, where is he? Lawk, sir! What if he were on the moor as I -went over it?’ - -‘Never mind where he is. I will produce him at the right moment. Above -all—Jane—remember this, not a word of what I have said to Mr. Jasper or -to Miss Barbara. Go secretly, and go at once. Hush! Here she comes.’ - -Barbara entered. ‘A light is in his window,’ she said. Then her father -laughed, and shut his hands. - -‘So,’ he muttered, ‘so I shall snap him. - -When her father was composed, and seemed inclined to sleep, Barbara -left his room, and went out of the house. She needed to be by herself. -Her bosom heaved. She had so much to think of, so many troubles had -come upon her, the future was dark, the present uncertain. - -If she were in the house she would not be able to enjoy that quiet for -which she craved, in which to compose the tumult of her heart, and -arrange her ideas. There she was sure to be disturbed: a maid would -ask for a duster, or another bunch of candles; the cook would send to -announce that the chimney of the kitchen was out of order, the soot -or mortar was falling down it; the laundrymaid would ask for soap; -Eve would want to be amused. Every other minute she would have some -distracting though trifling matter forced on her. She must be alone. -Her heart yearned for it. She would not go to the Rock, the association -with it was painful. It was other with the moor, Morwell Down, open to -every air, without a tree behind which an imp might lurk and hoot and -make mows. - -Accordingly, without saying a word to anyone, Barbara stole along the -lane to the moor. - -That was a sweet summer night. The moon was not yet risen, the stars -were in the sky, not many, for the heaven was not dark, but suffused -with lost sunlight. To the east lay the range of Dartmoor mountains, -rugged and grey; to the west, peaked and black against silver, the -Cornish tors. But all these heights on this night were scintillating -with golden moving spots of fire. The time had come for what is locally -called ‘swaling,’ that is, firing the whinbrakes. In places half a -hill side was flaked with red flame, then it flared yellow, then died -away. Clouds of smoke, tinged with fire reflection from below, rolled -away before the wind. When the conflagration reached a dense and tall -tree-like mass of gorse the flame rose in a column, or wavered like a -golden tongue. Then, when the material was exhausted and no contiguous -brake continued the fire, the conflagration ended, and left only a -patch of dull glowing scarlet ember. - -Barbara leaned against the last stone hedge which divided moor from -field, and looked at the moving lights without thinking of the beauty -and wildness of the spectacle. She was steeped in her own thoughts, and -was never at any time keenly alive to the beautiful and the fantastic. - -She thought of Jasper. She had lost all faith in him. He was false and -deceitful. What could she believe about that meeting on the Raven Rock? -He might have convinced her father that he was not there. He could not -convince her. What was to be done? Would her father betray the man? He -was ill now and could do nothing. Why was Jasper so obstinate as to -refuse to leave? Why? Because he was infatuated with Eve. - -On that very down it was that Jasper had been thrown and nearly -killed. If only he had been killed outright. Why had she nursed him so -carefully? Far better to have left him on the moor to die. How dare he -aspire to Eve? The touch of his hand carried a taint. Her brain was -dark, yet, like that landscape, full of wandering sparks of fire. She -could not think clearly. She could not feel composedly. Those moving, -wavering fires, now rushing up in sheaves of flame, now falling into -a sullen glow burnt on the sides of solid mountains, but her fiery -thoughts, that sent a blaze into her cheek and eye, and then died -into a slow heat, moved over tossing billows of emotion. She put her -hand to her head as if by grasping it she could bring her thoughts to -a standstill; she pressed her hands against her bosom, as if by so -doing she could fix her emotions. The stars in the serene sky burned -steadily, ever of one brightness. Below, these wandering fires flared, -glowed, and went out. Was it not a picture of the contrast between life -on earth and life in the settled celestial habitations? Barbara was not -a girl with much fancy, but some such a thought came into her mind, -and might have taken form had not she at the moment seen a dark figure -issue from the lane. - -‘Who goes there?’ she called imperiously. - -The figure stopped, and after a moment answered: ‘Oh, Miss! you have -a-given me a turn. It be me, Jane.’ - -‘And pray,’ said Barbara, ‘what brings you here at night? Whither are -you going?’ - -The girl hesitated, and groped in her mind for an excuse. Then she -said: ‘I want, miss, to go to Tavistock.’ - -‘To Tavistock! It is too late. Go home to bed.’ - -‘I must go, Miss Barbara. I’m sure I don’t want to. I’m scared of my -life, but the master have sent me, and what can I do? He’ve a-told me -to go to Joseph Woodman.’ - -‘It is impossible, at this time. It must not be.’ - -‘But, Miss, I promised I’d go, and sure enough I don’t half like -it, over those downs at night, and nobody knows what one may meet. -I wouldn’t be caught by the Whish Hounds and Black Copplestone, not -for’—the girl’s imagination was limited, so she concluded, ‘well, Miss, -not for nothing.’ - -Barbara considered a moment, and then said, ‘I have no fear. I will -accompany you over the Down, till you come to habitations. I am not -afraid of returning alone.’ - -‘Thank you, Miss Barbara, you be wonderfully good.’ - -The girl was, indeed, very grateful for her company. She had had her -nerves sorely shaken by the encounter with Watt, and now in the fulness -of her thankfulness she confided to her mistress all that Mr. Jordan -had said, concluding with her opinion that probably ‘It was naught but -a fancy of the Squire; he do have fancies at times. Howsomever, us must -humour ‘m.’ - -Jasper also had gone forth. In his breast also was trouble, and a sharp -pain, that had come with a spasm when Barbara told him how she hated -him. - -But Jasper did not go to Morwell Down. He went towards the Raven Rock -that lay on the farther side of the house. He also desired to be alone -and under the calm sky. He was stifled by the air of a house, depressed -by the ceiling. - -The words of Barbara had wounded him rather than stung him. She had not -only told him that she hated him, but had given the best proof of her -sincerity by betraying him. Suspecting him of carrying on an unworthy -intrigue with Eve, she had sacrificed him to save her sister. He could -not blame her, her first duty was towards Eve. One comfort he had that, -though Barbara had betrayed him, she did not seek his punishment, she -sought only his banishment from Morwell. - -Once—just once—he had half opened her heart, looked in, and fancied he -had discovered a tender regard for him lurking in its bottom. Since -then Barbara had sought every opportunity of disabusing his mind of -such an idea. And now, this night, she had poured out her heart at his -feet, and shown him hatred, not love. - -Jasper’s life had been one of self-denial. There had been little joy in -it. Anxieties had beset him from early childhood; solicitude for his -brother, care not to offend his father. By nature he had a very loving -heart, but he had grown up with none to love save his brother, who had -cruelly abused his love. A joyous manhood never ensues on a joyless -boyhood. Jasper was always sensible of an inner sadness, even when he -was happy. His brightest joys were painted on a sombre background, but -then, how much brighter they seemed by the contrast—alas, only, that -they were so few! The circumstances of his rearing had driven him in -upon himself, so that he lived an inner life, which he shared with no -one, and which was unperceived by all. Now, as he stood on the Rock, -with an ache at his heart, Jasper uncovered his head, and looked into -the softly lighted vault, set with a few faint stars. As he stood thus -with his hands folded over his hat, and looked westward at the clear, -cold, silvery sky behind and over the Cornish moors, an unutterable -yearning strained his heart. He said no word, he thought no thought. -He simply stood uncovered under the summer night sky, and from his -heart his pain exhaled. - -Did he surmise that at that same time Barbara was standing on the moor, -also looking away beyond the horizon, also suffering, yearning, without -knowing for what she longed? No, he had no thought of that. - -And as both thus stood far removed in body, but one in sincerity, -suffering, fidelity, there shot athwart the vault of heaven a brilliant -dazzling star. - -Mr. Coyshe at his window, smoking, said: ‘By Ginger! a meteor!’ - -But was it not an angel bearing the dazzling chalice of the sangreal -from highest heaven, from the region of the still stars, down to this -world of flickering, fading, wandering fires, to minister therewith -balm to two distressed spirits? - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -THE OWLS. - - -BARBARA had been interrupted in her meditations, so was Jasper. As he -stood lost in a painful dream, but with a dew from heaven falling on -his parched soul, suddenly he was startled out of his abstraction by a -laugh and an exclamation at his elbow. - -‘Well, Jasper, composing verses to the weak-eyed Leah or the blue-orbed -Rachel?’ - -‘What brings you here, Watt?’ asked Jasper, disguising his annoyance. - -‘Or, my sanctimonious fox, are you waiting here for one of the silly -geese to run to you?’ - -‘You have come here bent on mischief,’ said Jasper, disdaining to -notice his jokes. - -The evening, the still scene, the solitary platform raised so high -above the land beyond, had seemed holy, soothing as a church, and now, -at once, with the sound of Walter’s voice, the feeling was gone, all -seemed desecrated. - -‘Watt,’ said Jasper, sternly, ‘you sent me away to Buckfastleigh by a -lie. Why did you do that? It is utterly false that my father is ill and -dying.’ - -‘Is it so? Then I dreamed it, Jasper. Morning dreams come true, folks -say. There, my brother, you are a good, forgiving fellow. You will -pardon me. The fact is that Martin and I wanted to know how matters -went at home. I did not care to go myself, Martin could not go, so—I -sent you, my good simpleton.’ - -‘You told me a lie.’ - -‘If I had told you the truth you would not have gone. What was that -we were taught at school? “Magna est veritas, et prævalebit.” I don’t -believe it; experience tells me the contrary. Long live lies; they win -the day all the world over.’ - -‘What brings you here?’ - -‘Have I not told you? I desired to see you and to have news of my -father. You have been quick about it, Jasper. I could scarce believe my -eyes when I saw you riding home.’ - -‘You have been watching?’ - -‘Of course I have. My eyes are keen. Nothing escapes them.’ - -‘Walter, this will not do. I am not deceived; you did not come here for -the purpose you say. You want something else, what is it?’ - -The boy laughed, snapped his fingers, and began to dance, whistling a -tune, on the rock; approaching, then backing from Jasper. - -‘Oh, you clever old Jasper!’ he laughed, ‘now you begin to see—like the -puppy pitched into the water-butt, who opened his eyes when too late.’ - -Jasper folded his arms. He said nothing, but waited till the boy’s mad -pranks came to an end. At last Watt, seeing that he could not provoke -his brother, desisted, and came to him with affected humility. - -‘There, Jasper—Saint Jasper, I mean—I will be quiet and go through my -catechism.’ - -‘Then tell me why you are here.’ - -‘Well, now, you shall hear our scheme. Martin and I thought that you -had better patch up your little quarrel with father, and then we knew -we should have a good friend at his ear to prompt forgiveness, and so, -perhaps, as his conscience stirred, his purse-strings might relax, and -you would be able to send us a trifle in money. Is not this reasonable?’ - -Yes, there could be no denying it, this was reasonable and consistent -with the characters of the two, who would value their father’s favour -only by what it would profit them. Nevertheless Jasper was unsatisfied. -Watt was so false, so unscrupulous, that his word never could be -trusted. - -Jasper considered for a few minutes, then he asked, ‘Where is Martin—is -he here?’ - -‘Here!’ jeered the boy, ‘Martin here, indeed! not he. He is in safe -quarters. Where he is I will blab to no one, not even to you. He sends -me out from his ark of refuge as the dove, or rather as the raven, to -bring him news of the world from which he is secluded.’ - -‘Walter, answer me this. Who met Miss Eve this evening on this very -rock? Answer me truly. More depends on this than you are aware of.’ - -‘Miss Eve! What do you mean? My sister who is dead and gone? I do not -relish the company of ghosts.’ - -‘You know whom I mean. This is miserable evasion. I mean the younger of -the daughters of Mr. Jordan. She was here at sundown this evening and -someone was with her. I conjure you by all that you hold sacred——’ - -‘I hold nothing sacred,’ said the boy. - -‘I conjure you most solemnly to tell me the whole truth, as brother to -brother.’ - -‘Well, then—as brother to brother—I did.’ - -‘For what purpose, Watt?’ - -‘My dear Jasper, can we live on air? Here am I hopping about the woods, -roosting in the branches, and there is poor Martin mewed up in his ark. -I must find food for him and myself. You know that I have made the -acquaintance of the young lady who, oddly enough, bears the name of our -dear departed mother and sister. I have appealed to her compassion, and -held out my hat for money. I offered to dance on my head, to turn a -wheel all round the edge of this cliff, in jeopardy of my life for half -a guinea, and she gave me the money to prevent me from risking broken -bones.’ - -‘Oh, Watt, you should not have done this!’ - -‘We must live. We must have money.’ - -‘But, Watt, where is all that which was taken from my pocket?’ - -‘Gone,’ answered the boy. ‘Gone as the snow before south-west wind. -Nothing melts like money, not even snow, no, nor butter, no, nor -a girl’s heart.’ Then with a sly laugh, ‘Jasper, where does old -addle-brains keep his strong box?’ - -‘Walter!’ exclaimed Jasper, indignantly. - -‘Ah!’ laughed the boy, ‘if I knew where it was I would creep to it by a -mouse hole, and put my little finger into the lock, and when I turned -that, open flies the box.’ - -‘Walter, forbear. You are a wicked boy.’ - -‘I confess it. I glory in it. Father always said I was predestined to——’ - -‘Be silent,’ ordered Jasper, angrily; ‘you are insufferable.’ - -‘There, do not ruffle your feathers over a joke. Have you some money to -give me now?’ - -‘Watt,’ said Jasper, very sternly, ‘answer me frankly, if you can. I -warn you.’ He laid his hand on the boy’s arm. ‘A great deal depends on -your giving me a truthful answer. Is Martin anywhere hereabouts? I fear -he is, in spite of your assurances, for where you are he is not often -far away. The jackal and the lion hunt together.’ - -‘He is not here. Good-bye, old brother Grave-airs.’ Then he ran away, -but before he had gone far turned and hooted like an owl, and ran on, -and was lost in the gloom of the woods, but still as he ran hooted -at intervals, and owls answered his cry from the rocks, and flitted -ghost-like about in the dusk, seeking their brother who called them and -mocked at them. - -Now that he was again alone, Jasper in vain sought to rally his -thoughts and recover his former frame of mind. But that was not -possible. Accordingly he turned homewards. - -He was very tired. He had had two long days’ ride, and had slept little -if at all the previous night. Though recovered after his accident he -was not perfectly vigorous, and the two hard days and broken rest had -greatly tired him. On reaching Morwell he did not take a light, but -cast himself, in his clothes, on his bed, and fell into a heavy sleep. - -Barbara walked quietly back after having parted with Jane. She hoped -that Jasper had on second thoughts taken the prudent course of -escaping. It was inconceivable that he should remain and allow himself -to be retaken. She was puzzled how to explain his conduct. Then all at -once she remembered that she had left the convict suit in her father’s -room; she had forgotten to remove it. She quickened her pace and -arrived breathless at Morwell. - -She entered her father’s apartment on tiptoe. She stood still and -listened. A night-light burned on the floor, and the enclosing iron -pierced with round holes cast circles of light about the walls. The -candle was a rushlight of feeble illuminating power. - -Barbara could see her father lying, apparently asleep, in bed, with his -pale thin hands out, hanging down, clasped, as if in prayer; one of the -spots of light danced over the finger tips and nails. She heard him -breathe, as in sleep. - -Then she stepped across the room to where she had cast the suit of -clothes. They lay in a grey heap, with the spots of light avoiding -them, dancing above them, but not falling on them. - -Barbara stooped to pick them up. - -‘Stay, Barbara,’ said her father. ‘I hear you. I see what you are -doing. I know your purpose. Leave those things where they lie.’ - -‘O papa! dear papa, suffer me to put them away.’ - -‘Let them lie there, where I can see them.’ - -‘But, papa, what will the maids think when they come in? Besides it is -untidy to let them litter about the floor.’ - -He made an impatient gesture with his hand. - -‘May I not, at least, fold them and lay them on the chair?’ - -‘You may not touch them at all,’ he said in a tone of irritation. She -knew his temper too well to oppose him further. - -‘Good night, dear papa. I suppose Eve is gone to bed?’ - -‘Yes; go also.’ - -She was obliged, most reluctantly, to leave the room. She ascended -the stairs, and entered her own sleeping apartment. From this a door -communicated with that of her sister. She opened this door and with her -light entered and crossed it. - -Eve had gone to bed, and thrown all her clothes about on the floor. -Barbara had some difficulty in picking her way among the scattered -articles. When she came to the bedside, she stood, and held her candle -aloft, and let the light fall over the sleeping girl. - -How lovely she was, with her golden hair in confusion on the pillow! -She was lying with her cheek on one rosy palm, and the other hand -was out of bed, on the white sheet—and see! upon the finger, Barbara -recognised the turquoise ring. Eve did not venture to wear this by -day. At night, in her room, she had thrust the golden hoop over her -finger, and had gone to sleep without removing it. - -Barbara stooped, and kissed her sister’s cheek. Eve did not awake, but -smiled in slumber; a dimple formed at the corner of her mouth. - -Then Barbara went to her own room, opened her desk, and the secret -drawer, and looked at the bunch of dry roses. They were very yellow -now, utterly withered and worthless. The girl took them, stooped her -face to them—was it to discover if any scent lingered in the faded -leaves? Then she closed the drawer and desk again, with a sigh. - -Was Barbara insensible to what is beautiful, inappreciative of the -poetry of life? Surely not. She had been forced by circumstances to be -practical, to devote her whole thought to the duties of the house and -estate; she had said to herself that she had no leisure to think of -those things that make life graceful; but through her strong, direct, -and genuine nature ran a ‘Leitmotif’ of sweet, pure melody, kept under -and obscured by the jar and jangle of domestic cares and worries, but -never lost. There is no nature, however vulgar, that is deficient in -its musical phrase, not always quite original and unique, and only the -careless listener marks it not. The patient, attentive ear suspects its -presence first, listens for it, recognises it, and at last appreciates -it. - -In poor faithful Barbara now the sweet melody, somewhat sad, was -rising, becoming articulate, asserting itself above all other sounds -and adventitious strains—but, alas! there was no ear to listen to it. - -Barbara went to her window and opened it. - -‘How the owls are hooting to-night!’ she said. ‘They, like myself, are -full of unrest. To-whit! To-whoo!’ - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -THE DOVES. - - -BARBARA had no thought of going to bed. She could not have slept had -she gone. There was a clock in the tower, a noisy clock that made its -pulsations heard through the quadrangle, and this clock struck twelve. -By this time Jane had roused the young policeman, and he was collecting -men to assist him in the capture. Perhaps they were already on their -way,—or were they waiting for the arrival of warders from Prince’s -Town? Those warders were more dangerous men than the constables, for -they were armed with short guns, and prepared to fire should their game -attempt to break away. - -She looked across the court at Jasper’s window. No light was in it. Was -he there, asleep? or had he taken her advice and gone? She could not -endure the thought of his capture, the self-reproach of having betrayed -him was more than she could bear. Barbara, usually so collected and -cool, was now nervous and hot. - -More light was in the sky than had been when she was on the down. The -moon was rising over the roof. She could not see it, but she saw the -reflection in Jasper’s window, like flakes of silver. - -What should she do? Her distress became insupportable, and she felt she -must be doing something to relieve her mind. The only thing open to her -was to make another attempt to recover the prison suit. If she could -destroy that, it would be putting out of the way one piece of evidence -against him—a poor piece, still a piece. She was not sure that it would -avail him anything, but it was worth risking her father’s anger on the -chance. - -She descended the stairs once more to her father’s room. The door -was ajar, with a feeble yellow streak issuing from it. She looked -in cautiously. Then with the tread of a thief she entered and passed -through a maze of quivering bezants of dull light. She stooped, but, -as she touched the garments, heard her father’s voice, and started -upright. He was speaking in his sleep—’De profundis clamavi ad te;’ -then he tossed and moaned, and put up his hand and held it shaking -in the air. ‘_Si iniquitates_’—he seemed troubled in his sleep, -unable to catch the sequence of words, and repeated ‘_Si iniquitates -observaveris_,’ and lay still on his pillow again; whilst Barbara stood -watching him, with her finger to her lip, afraid to move, afraid of the -consequences, should he wake and see her in her disobedience. - -Then he mumbled, and she heard him pulling at his sheet. ‘Out of love, -out of the deeps of love, I have sinned.’ Then suddenly he cried out, -‘_Si iniquitates observaveris, Domine, quis sustinebit?_’—he had the -sentence complete, or nearly so, and it appeased him. Barbara heard him -sigh, she stole to his side, bowed over his ear, and said, ‘_Apud te -propitiatio est: speravit anima mea in Domino._’ Whether he heard or -not she did not know; he breathed thenceforth evenly in sleep, and the -expression of distress left his face. - -Then Barbara took up the bundle of clothes and softly withdrew. She was -risking something for Jasper—the loss of her father’s regard. She had -recently drawn nearer to his heart than ever before, and he had allowed -her to cling round his neck and kiss him. Yet now she deliberately -disobeyed him. He would be very angry next morning. - -When she was in the hall she turned over in her mind what was best to -be done with the clothes. She could not hide them in the house. Her -father would insist on their reproduction. They must be destroyed. She -could not burn them: the fire in the kitchen was out. The only way she -could think of getting rid of them was to carry them to the Raven Rock -and throw them over the precipice. This, accordingly, she did. She -left the house, and in the moonlight walked through the fields and wood -to the crag and hurled the bundle over the edge. - -Now that this piece of evidence against Jasper was removed, it was -expedient that he should escape without further delay—if he were still -at Morwell. - -Barbara had a little money of her own. When she unlocked her desk -and looked at the withered flowers, she drew from it her purse, that -contained her savings. There were several pounds in it. She drew the -knitted silk purse from her pocket, and, standing in the moonlight, -counted the sovereigns in her hand. She was standing before the -gatehouse near the old trees, hidden by their shadow. She looked up at -Jasper’s other window—that which commanded the entrance and was turned -from the moon. Was he there? How could she communicate with him, give -him the money, and send him off? Then the grating clock in the tower -tolled one. Time was passing, danger drew on apace. Something must be -done. Barbara picked up some pebbles and threw them at Jasper’s window, -but her aim was bad or her arm shook, and they scattered without -touching the glass. - -All at once she heard feet—a trampling in the lane—and she saw also -that lights were burning on the down. The lights were merely gorse -blazes, for Morwell Moor was being ‘swaled,’ and the flames were -creeping on; and the trampling was of young colts and bullocks that fed -on the down, which were escaping before the fires; but to Barbara’s -nervous fear the lights and the tramp betokened the approach of a body -of men to capture Jasper Babb. Then, without any other thought but to -save him, she ran up the stair, struck at his door, threw it open, and -entered. He started from his bed, on which he had cast himself fully -dressed, and from dead weariness had dropped asleep. - -‘For God’s dear sake,’ said Barbara, ‘come away! They are after you; -they are close to the house. Here is money—take it, and go by the -garden.’ - -She stood in the door, holding it, trembling in all her limbs, and the -door she held rattled. - -He came straight towards her. - -‘Miss Jordan!’ he exclaimed. ‘Oh, Miss Jordan I shall never forgive -myself. Go down into the garden—I will follow at once. I will speak to -you; I will tell you all.’ - -‘I do not wish you to speak. I insist on your going.’ - -He came to her, took her hand from the door, and led her down the -stairs. As they came out into the gateway they heard the tramp of many -feet, and a rush of young cattle debouched from the lane upon the open -space before the gate. - -Barbara was not one to cry, but she shivered and shrank before her eyes -told her what a mistake she had made. - -‘Here,’ she said, ‘I give you my purse. Go!’ - -‘No,’ answered Jasper. ‘There is no occasion for me to go. I have acted -wrongly, but I did it for the best. You see, there is no occasion for -fear. These ponies have been frightened by the flames, and have come -through the moor-gate, which has been left open. I must see that they -do not enter the court and do mischief.’ - -‘Never mind about the cattle, I pray you. Go! Take this money; it is -mine. I freely give it you. Go!’ - -‘Why are you so anxious about me if you hate me?’ asked Jasper. ‘Surely -it would gratify hate to see me handcuffed and carried off!’ - -‘No, I do not hate you—that is, not so much as to desire that. I have -but one desire concerning you—that we should never see your face again.’ - -‘Miss Jordan, I shall not be taken.’ - -She flared up with rage, disappointment, shame. ‘How dare you!’ she -cried. ‘How dare you stand here and set me at naught, when I have done -so much for you—when I have even ventured to rouse you in the depth of -night! My God! you are enough to madden me. I will not have the shame -come on this house of having you taken here. Yes—I recall my words—I do -hate you.’ - -She wrung her hands; Jasper caught them and held them between his own. - -‘Miss Barbara, I have deceived you. Be calm.’ - -‘I know only too well that you have deceived me—all of us,’ she said -passionately. ‘Let go my hands.’ - -‘You misunderstand me. I shall not be taken, for I am not pursued. I -never took your sister’s money. I have never been in jail.’ - -She plucked her hands away. - -‘I do not comprehend.’ - -‘Nevertheless, what I say is simple. You have supposed me to be a thief -and an escaped convict. I am neither.’ - -Barbara shook her head impatiently. - -‘I have allowed you to think it for reasons of my own. But now you must -be undeceived.’ - -The young cattle were galloping about in front, kicking, snorting, -trying the hedges. Jasper left Barbara for a while that he might drive -them into a field where they could do no harm. She remained under the -great gate in the shadow, bewildered, hoping that what he now said was -true, yet not daring to believe his words. - -Presently he returned to her. He had purposely left her that she might -have time to compose herself. When he returned she was calm and stern. - -‘You cannot blind me with your falsehoods,’ she said. ‘I know that -Mr. Ezekiel Babb was robbed by his own son. I know the prison suit -was yours. You confessed it when I showed it you on your return -to consciousness: perhaps before you were aware how seriously you -committed yourself. I know that you were in jail at Prince’s Town, and -that you escaped.’ - -‘Well, Miss Jordan, what you say is partly true, and partly incorrect.’ - -‘Are you not Mr. Babb’s son?’ she asked imperiously. - -He bowed; he was courtly in manner. - -‘Was not his son found guilty of robbing him?’ - -He bowed again. - -‘Was he not imprisoned for so doing?’ - -‘He was so.’ - -‘Did he not escape from prison?’ - -‘He did.’ - -‘And yet,’ exclaimed Barbara angrily, ‘you dare to say with one breath -that you are innocent, whilst with the next you confess your guilt! -Like the satyr in the fable, I would drive you from my presence, you -blower of true and false!’ - -He caught her hands again and held her firmly, whilst he drew her out -of the shadow of the archway into the moonlight of the court. - -‘Do you give it up?’ he asked; and, by the moon, the sickle moon, on -his pale face, she saw him smile. By that same moon he saw the frown on -her brow. ‘Miss Barbara, I am not Ezekiel Babb’s _only_ son!’ - -Her heart stood still; then the blood rushed through her veins like the -tidal bore in the Severn. The whole of the sky seemed full of daylight. -She saw all now clearly. Her pride, her anger fell from her as the -chains fell from Peter when the angel touched him. - -‘No, Miss Jordan, I am guiltless in this matter—guiltless in everything -except in having deceived you.’ - -‘God forgive you!’ she said in a low tone as her eyes fell and tears -rushed to them. She did not draw her hands from his. She was too much -dazed to know that he held them. ‘God forgive you!—you have made me -suffer very much!’ - -She did not see how his large earnest eyes were fixed upon her, how he -was struggling with his own heart to refrain from speaking out what he -felt; but had she met his eye then in the moonlight, there would have -been no need of words, only a quiver of the lips, and they would have -been clasped in each other’s arms. - -She did not look up; she was studying, through a veil of tears, some -white stones that caught the moonlight. - -‘This is not the time for me to tell you the whole sad tale,’ he -went on. ‘I have acted as I thought my duty pointed out—my duty to a -brother.’ - -‘Yes,’ said Barbara, ‘you have a brother—that strange boy.’ - -A laugh, jeering and shrill, close in their ears. From behind the great -yew appeared the shoulders and face of the impish Walter. - -‘Oh, the pious, the proper Jasper! Oh, ho, ho! What frail men these -saints are who read their Bibles to weak-eyed Leahs and blooming -Rachels, and make love to both! - -He pointed jeeringly at them with his long fingers. - -‘I set the down on fire for a little fun. I drove the ponies along this -lane; and see, I have disturbed a pair of ring-doves as well. I won’t -hoot any more; but—coo! coo! coo!’ He ran away, but stopped every now -and then and sent back to them his insulting imitations of the call of -wood-pigeons—’Coo! coo! coo!’ - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - -THE ALARM BELL. - - -NEXT morning Barbara entered the hall after having seen about the -duties of the house, ordered dinner, weighed out spices and groats, -made the under-servant do the work of Jane, who was absent; she moved -about her usual duties with her usual precision and order, but without -her usual composure. - -When she came into the hall on her way to her father’s room, she found -Eve there engaged and hard at work on some engrossing occupation. - -‘Oh, Bab! do come and see how bright and beautiful I am making this,’ -said the girl in overflowing spirits and pride. ‘I found it in the -chest in the garret, and I am furbishing it up.’ She held out a sort -of necklace or oriental carcanet, composed of chains of gold beads and -bezants. ‘It was so dull when I found it, and now it shines like pure -gold!’ Her innocent, childish face was illumined with delight. ‘I am -become really industrious.’ - -‘Yes, dear; hard at work doing nothing.’ - -‘I should like to wear this,’ she sighed. - -That she had deceived her sister, that she had given her occasion to be -anxious about her, had quite passed from her mind, occupied only with -glittering toys. - -Barbara hesitated at her father’s door. She knew that a painful -scene awaited her. He was certain to be angry and reproach her for -having disobeyed him. But her heart was relieved. She believed in -the innocence of Jasper. Strengthened by this faith, she was bold to -confront her father. - -She tapped at the door and entered. - -She saw at once that he had heard her voice without, and was expecting -her. There was anger in his strange eyes, and a hectic colour in his -hollow cheeks. He was partly dressed, and sat on the side of the bed. -In his hand he held the stick with which he was wont to rap when he -needed assistance. - -‘Where are the clothes that lay on the floor last night?’ was his -salutation, pointing with the stick to the spot whence Barbara had -gathered them up. - -‘They are gone, papa; I have taken them away.’ - -She looked him firmly in the face with her honest eyes, unwincing. He, -however, was unable to meet her steadfast gaze. His eyes flickered and -fell. His mouth was drawn and set with a hard, cruel expression, such -as his face rarely wore; a look which sometimes formed, but was as -quickly effaced by a wave of weakness. Now, however, the expression was -fixed. - -‘I forbade you to touch them. Did you hear me?’ - -‘Yes, dear papa, I have disobeyed you, and I am sorry to have offended -you; but I cannot say that I repent having taken the clothes away. I -found them, and I had a right to remove them.’ - -‘Bring them here immediately.’ - -‘I cannot do so. I have destroyed them.’ - -‘You have dared to do that!’ His eyes began to kindle and the colour -left his cheeks, which became white as chalk. Barbara saw that he had -lost command over himself. His feeble reason was overwhelmed by passion. - -‘Papa,’ she said, in her calmest tones, ‘I have never disobeyed you -before. Only on this one occasion my conscience——’ - -‘Conscience!’ he cried. ‘I have a conscience in a thornbush, and yours -is asleep in feathers. You have dared to creep in here like a thief in -the night and steal from me what I ordered you to leave.’ - -He was playing with his stick, clutching it in the middle and turning -it. With his other hand he clutched and twisted and almost tore the -sheets. Barbara believed that he would strike her, but when he said -‘Come here,’ she approached him, looking him full in the face without -shrinking. - -She knew that he was not responsible for what he did, yet she did not -hesitate about obeying his command to approach. She had disobeyed him -in the night in a matter concerning another, to save that other; she -would not disobey now to save herself. - -His face was ugly with unreasoning fury, and his eyes wilder than she -had seen them before. He held up the stick. - -‘Papa,’ she said, ‘not your right arm, or you will reopen the wound.’ - -Her calmness impressed him. He changed the stick into his left hand, -and, gathering up the sheet into a knot, thrust it into his mouth and -bit into it. - -Was the moment come that Barbara had long dreaded? And was she to be -the one on whom his madness first displayed itself? - -‘Papa,’ she said, ‘I will take any punishment you think fit, but, pray, -do not strike me, I cannot bear that—not for my own sake, but for -yours.’ - -He paid no attention to her remonstrance, but raised the stick, holding -it by the ferule. - -Steadily looking into his sparkling eyes, Barbara repeated the words -he had muttered and cried in his sleep, ‘_De profundis clamavi ad te, -Domine. Si iniquitates observaveris, quis sustinebit?_’ - -Then, as in a dissolving view on a sheet one scene changes into -another, so in his wild eyes the expression of rage shifted to one of -fear; he dropped the stick, and Jasper, who at that moment entered, -took it and laid it beyond his reach. - -Mr. Jordan fell back on his pillow and moaned, and put his hands over -his brow, and beat his temples with his palms. He would not look at his -daughter again, but peevishly turned his face away. - -Now Barbara’s strength deserted her; she felt as if the floor under her -feet were rolling and as if the walls of the room were contracting upon -her. - -‘I must have air,’ she said. Jasper caught her arm and led her through -the hall into the garden. - -Eve, alarmed to see her sister so colourless, ran to support her on the -other side, and overwhelmed her with inconsiderate attentions. - -‘You must allow her time to recover herself,’ said Jasper. ‘Miss Jordan -has been up a good part of the night. The horses on the down were -driven on the premises by the fire and alarmed her and made her rise. -She will be well directly.’ - -‘I am already recovered,’ said Barbara, with affected cheerfulness. -‘The room was close. I should like to be left a little bit in the sun -and air, by myself, and to myself.’ - -Eve readily ran back to her burnishing of the gold beads and bezants, -and Jasper heard Mr. Jordan calling him, so he went to his room. He -found the sick gentleman with clouded brow and closed lips, and eyes -that gave him furtive glances but could not look at him steadily. - -‘Jasper Babb,’ said Mr. Jordan, ‘I do not wish you to leave the house -or its immediate precincts to-day. Jane has not returned, Eve is -unreliable, and Barbara overstrained.’ - -‘Yes, sir, I will do as you wish.’ - -‘On no account leave. Send Miss Jordan to me when she is better.’ - -When, about half-an-hour after, Barbara entered the room, she went -direct to her father to kiss him, but he repelled her. - -‘What did you mean,’ he asked, without looking at her, ‘by those words -of the Psalm?’ - -‘Oh, papa! I thought to soothe you. You are fond of the _De -Profundis_—you murmur it in your sleep.’ - -‘You used the words significantly. What are the deeds I have done amiss -for which you reproach me?’ - -‘We all need pardon—some for one thing, some for another. And, dearest -papa, we all need to say ‘_Apud te propitiatio est: speravit anima mea -in Domino._’ - -‘_Propitiatio!_’ repeated Mr. Jordan, and resumed his customary trick -of brushing his forehead with his hand as though to sweep cobwebs from -it which fell over and clouded his eyes. ‘For what? Say out plainly -of what you accuse me. I am prepared for the worst. I cannot endure -these covert stabs. You are always watching me. You are ever casting -innuendos. You cut and pierce me worse than the scythe. That gashed my -body, but you drive your sharp words into my soul.’ - -‘My dear papa, you are mistaken.’ - -‘I am not mistaken. Your looks and words have meaning. Speak out.’ - -‘I accuse you of nothing, darling papa, but of being perhaps just a -little unjust to me.’ - -She soon saw that her presence was irritating him, her protestations -unavailing to disabuse his mind of the prejudice that had taken hold of -it, and so, with a sigh, she left him. - -Jane Welsh did not return all day. This was strange. She had promised -Barbara to return the first thing in the morning. She was to sleep in -Tavistock, where she had a sister, married. - -Barbara went about her work, but with abstracted mind, and without her -usual energy. - -She was not quite satisfied. She tried to believe in Jasper’s -innocence, and yet doubts would rise in her mind in spite of her -efforts to keep them under. - -Whom had Eve met on the Raven Rock? Jasper had denied that he was the -person: who, then, could it have been? The only other conceivable -person was Mr. Coyshe, and Barbara at once dismissed that idea. Eve -would never make a mystery of meeting Doctor Squash, as she called him. - -At last, as evening drew on, Jane arrived. Barbara met her at the door -and remonstrated with her. - -‘Please, miss, I could not help myself. I found Joseph Woodman last -night, and he said he must send for the warders to identify the -prisoner. Then, miss, he said I was to wait till he had got the warders -and some constables, and when they was ready to come on I might come -too, but not before. I slept at my sister’s last night.’ - -‘Where are the men now?’ - -‘They are about the house—some behind hedges, some in the wood, some on -the down.’ - -Barbara shuddered. - -‘Please miss, they have guns. And, miss, I were to come on and tell the -master that all was ready, and if he would let them know where the man -was they’d trap him.’ - -‘There is no man here but Mr. Babb.’ - -Jane’s face fell. - -‘Lawk, miss! If Joseph thought us had been making games of he, I -believe he’d never marry me—and after going to a Love Feast with him, -too! ‘Twould be serious that, surely.’ - -‘Joseph has taken a long time coming.’ - -‘Joseph takes things leisurely, miss—’tis his nature. Us have been -courting time out o’ mind; and, please, miss, if the man were here, -then the master was to give the signal by pulling the alarm-bell. Then -the police and warders would close in on the house and take him.’ - -Barbara was as pale now as when nearly fainting in the morning. This -was not the old Barbara with hale cheeks, hearty eyes, and ripe lips, -tall and firm, and decided in all her movements. No! This was not at -all the old Barbara. - -‘Well, Miss Jordan, what is troubling you?’ asked Jasper. ‘The house -is surrounded. Men are stationed about it. No one can leave it without -being challenged.’ - -‘Yes,’ said Barbara quickly. ‘By the Abbot’s Well there runs a path -down between laurels, then over a stile into the wood. It is still -possible—will you go?’ - -‘You do not trust me?’ - -‘I wish to—but——’ - -‘Will you do one thing more for me?’ - -She looked timidly at him. - -‘Peal the alarm-bell.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - -CONFESSIONS. - - -AS the bell clanged Mr. Jordan came out of his door. He had been -ordered to remain quiet and take no exercise; but now, leaning on his -stick and holding the door jamb, he came forth. - -‘What is this?’ he asked, and Jasper put his hand to the rope to arrest -the upward cast. ‘Why are you ringing, Barbara? Who told you to do so?’ - -‘I bade her ring,’ said Jasper, ‘to call these,’ he pointed to the door. - -Several constables were visible; foremost came Joseph and a prison -warder. - -‘Take him!’ cried Mr. Jordan: ‘arrest the fellow. Here he is—he is -unarmed.’ - -‘What! Mr. Jasper!’ asked Joseph. Among the servants and labourers the -young steward was only known as Mr. Jasper. ‘Why, sir, this is—this -is—Mr. Jasper!’ - -‘This is the man,’ said Ignatius Jordan, clinging to the door-jamb and -pointing excitedly with his stick,—’this is the man who robbed his own -father of money that was mine. This is the man who was locked up in -jail and broke out, and, by the mercy and justice of Heaven, was cast -at my door.’ - -‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Joseph, ‘I don’t understand. This is -your steward, Mr. Jasper.’ - -‘Take him, handcuff him before my eyes. This is the fellow you have -been in search of; I deliver him up.’ - -‘But, sir,’ said the warder, ‘you are wrong. This is not our escaped -convict.’ - -‘He is, I tell you I know he is.’ - -‘I am sorry to differ from you, sir, but this is not he. I know which -is which. Why, this chap’s hair have never been cut. If he’d been with -us he’d have a head like a mole’s back.’ - -‘Not he!’ cried Mr. Jordan frantically. ‘I say to you this is Jasper -Babb.’ - -‘Well, sir,’ said the warder, ‘sorry to differ, sir, but our man ain’t -Jasper at all—he’s Martin.’ - -Then Joseph turned his light blue eyes round in quest of Jane. ‘I’ll -roast her! I’ll eat her,’ he muttered, ‘at the next Love Feast.’ - -The men went away much disappointed, grumbling, swearing, ill-appeased -by a glass of cider each; Jane sulked in the kitchen, and said to -Barbara, ‘This day month, please, miss.’ - -Mr. Jordan, confounded, disappointed, crept back to his room and cast -himself on his bed. - -The only person in the house who could have helped them out of their -disappointment was Eve, who knew something of the story of Martin, and -knew, moreover, or strongly suspected, that he was not very far off. -But no one thought of consulting Eve. - -When all the party of constables was gone, Barbara stood in the garden, -and Jasper came to her. - -‘You will tell me all now?’ she said, looking at him with eyes full of -thankfulness and trust. - -‘Yes, Miss Jordan, everything. It is due to you. May I sit here by you -on the garden seat?’ - -She seated herself, with a smile, and made room for him, drawing her -skirts to her. - -The ten-week stocks, purple and white, in a bed under the window filled -the air with perfume; but a sweeter perfume than ten-week stocks, to -Barbara, charged the atmosphere—the perfume of perfect confidence. Was -Barbara plain? Who could think that must have no love for beauty of -expression. She had none of her sister’s loveliness, but then Eve had -none of hers. Each had a charm of her own,—Eve the charm of exquisite -physical perfection, Barbara that of intelligence and sweet faith -and complete self-devotion streaming out of eye and mouth—indeed, out -of every feature. Which is lovelier—the lantern, or the light within? -There was little of soul and character in frivolous Eve. - -When Jasper seated himself beside Miss Jordan neither spoke for full -ten minutes. She folded her hands on her lap. Perhaps their souls were, -like the ten-week stocks, exhaling sweetness. - -‘Dear Miss Jordan,’ said Jasper, ‘how pleasantly the thrushes are -singing!’ - -‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘but I want to hear your story—I can always listen -to the thrushes.’ - -He was silent after this for several minutes. She did not further press -him. She knew he would tell her all when he had rallied his courage to -do so. They heard Eve upstairs in her room lightly singing a favourite -air from ‘Don Giovanni.’ - -‘It is due to you,’ said Jasper at last. ‘I will hide nothing from you, -and I know your kind heart will bear with me if I am somewhat long.’ - -She looked round, smiled, just raised her fingers on her lap and let -them fall again. - -When Jasper saw that smile he thought he had never seen a sweeter -sight. And yet people said that Barbara was plain! - -‘Miss Jordan, as you have heard, my brother Martin took the money. Poor -Martin! Poor, dear Martin! His is a broken life, and it was so full of -promise!’ - -‘Did you love Martin very dearly?’ - -‘I do love him dearly. I have pitied him so deeply. He has had a hard -childhood. I will tell you all, and your good kind soul will pity, not -condemn him. You have no conception what a bright handsome lad he was. -I love to think of him as he was—guileless, brimming with spirits. -Unfortunately for us, our father had the idea that he could mould -his children’s character into whatever shape he desired, and he had -resolved to make of Martin a Baptist minister, so he began to write on -his tender heart the hard tenets of Calvinism, with an iron pen dipped -in gall. When my brother and I played together we were happy—happy as -butterflies in the sun. When we heard our father’s voice or saw him, -we ran away and hid behind bushes. He interfered with our pursuits, he -sneered at our musical tastes, he tried to stop our practising on the -violin. We were overburdened with religion, had texts rammed into us as -they ram groats down the throats of Strasburg geese. Our livers became -diseased like these same geese—our moral livers. Poor Martin could -least endure this education: it drove him desperate. He did what was -wrong through sheer provocation. By nature he is good. He has a high -spirit, and that led him into revolt.’ - -‘I have seen your brother Martin,’ said Barbara. ‘When you were brought -insensible to this house he was with you.’ - -‘What did you think of him?’ asked Jasper, with pride in his tone. - -‘I did not see his face, he never removed his hat.’ - -‘Has he not a pleasant voice! and he is so grand and generous in his -demeanour!’ - -Barbara said nothing. Jasper waited, expecting some word of praise. - -‘Tell me candidly what you thought of him,’ said Jasper. - -‘I do not like to do so. I did form an opinion of him, but—it was not -favourable.’ - -‘You saw him for too short a time to be able to judge,’ said the young -man. ‘It never does to condemn a man off-hand without knowing his -circumstances. Do you know, Miss Jordan, that saying of St. Paul about -premature judgments? He bids us not judge men, for the Great Day will -reveal the secrets of all hearts, and then—what is his conclusion? “All -men will be covered with confusion and be condemned of men and angels”? -Not so—”Then shall every man have praise of the Lord.” Their motives -will show better than their deeds.’ - -‘How sweetly the thrushes are singing!’ said Barbara now; then—’So also -Eve may be misunderstood.’ - -‘Oh, Miss Jordan! when I consider what Martin might have become in -better hands, with more gentle and sympathetic treatment, it makes my -heart bleed. I assure you my boyhood was spent in battling with the -fatal influences that surrounded him. At last matters came to a head. -Our father wanted to send Martin away to be trained for a preacher, -and Martin took the journey money provided him, and joined a company -of players. He had a good voice, and had been fairly taught to sing. -Whether he had any dramatic talent I can hardly say. After an absence -of a twelvemonth or more he returned. He was out of his place, and -professed penitence. I dare say he really was sorry. He remained a -while at home, but could not get on with our father, who was determined -to have his way with Martin, and Martin was equally resolved not to -become a Dissenting minister. To me it was amazing that my father -should persevere, because it was obvious that Martin had no vocation -for the pastorate; but my father is a determined man. Having made up -his mind that Martin was to be a preacher, he would not be moved from -it. In our village a couple of young men resolved to go to America. -They were friends of Martin, and persuaded him to join them. He -asked my father to give him a fit-out and let him go. But no—the old -gentleman was not to be turned from his purpose. Then a temptation came -in poor Martin’s way, and he yielded to it in a thoughtless moment, or, -perhaps, when greatly excited by an altercation with his father. He -took the money and ran away.’ - -‘He did not go to America?’ - -‘No, Miss Jordan. He rejoined the same dramatic company with which he -had been connected before. That was how he was caught.’ - -‘And the money?’ - -‘Some of it was recovered, but what he had done with most of it no one -knows; the poor thriftless lad least of all. I dare say he gave away -pounds right and left to all who made out a case of need to him.’ - -Then these two, sitting in the garden perfumed with stocks, heard Eve -calling Barbara. - -‘It is nothing,’ said Barbara; ‘Eve is tired of polishing her spangles, -and so wants me. I cannot go to her now: I must hear the end of your -story.’ - -‘I was on my way to this place,’ Jasper continued, ‘when I had to -pass through Prince’s Town. I found my other brother there, Walter, -who is also devoted to our poor Martin; Walter had found means of -communicating with his brother, and had contrived plans of escape. He -had a horse in readiness, and one day, when the prisoners were cutting -turf on the moor, his comrades built a turf-stack round Martin, and -the warders did not discover that he was missing till he had made off. -Walter persuaded me to remain a day or two in the place to assist in -carrying out the escape, which was successfully executed. We got away -off Dartmoor, avoided Tavistock, and lost ourselves on these downs, but -were making for the Tamar, that we might cross into Cornwall by bridge -or ferry, or by swimming our horses; and then we thought to reach -Polperro and send Martin out of the kingdom in any ship that sailed.’ - -‘Why did you not tell me this at once, when you came to our house?’ -asked Barbara, with a little of her old sharpness. - -‘Because I did not know you then, Miss Jordan; I could not be sure that -you might be trusted.’ - -She shook her head. ‘Oh, Mr. Jasper! I am not trustworthy. I did betray -what I believed to be your secret.’ - -‘Your very trustiness made you a traitor,’ he answered courteously. -‘Your first duty was to your sister.’ - -‘Why did you allow me to suppose that you were the criminal?’ - -‘You had found the prison clothes, and at first I sought to screen my -brother. I did not know where Martin was; I wished to give him ample -time for escape by diverting suspicion to myself.’ - -‘But afterwards? You ought, later, to have undeceived me,’ she said, -with a shake in her voice, and a little accent of reproach. - -‘I shrank from doing that. I thought when you visited Buckfastleigh you -would have found out the whole story; but my father was reticent, and -you came away without having learned the truth. Perhaps it was pride, -perhaps a lingering uneasiness about Martin, perhaps I felt that I -could not tell of my dear brother’s fall and disgrace. You were cold, -and kept me at a distance——’ - -Then, greatly agitated, Barbara started up. - -‘Oh, Mr. Jasper!’ she said with quivering voice, ‘what cruel words I -have spoken to you—to you so generous, so true, so self-sacrificing! -You never can forgive me; and yet from the depth of my heart I desire -your pardon. Oh, Jasper! Mr.’—a sob broke the thread of her words—’Mr. -Jasper, when you were ill and unconscious, I studied your face hour -after hour, trying to read the evil story of your life there, and all I -read was pure, and noble, and true. How can I make you amends for the -wrong I have done you!’ - -As she stood, humbled, with heaving bosom and throat choking—Eve came -with skips and laugh along the gravel walk. ‘I have found you!’ she -exclaimed, and clapped her hands. - -‘And I—and I——’ gasped Barbara—’I have found how I may reward the best -of men. There! there!’ she said, clasping Eve’s hand and drawing her -towards Jasper. ‘Take her! I have stood between you too long; but, on -my honour, only because I thought you unworthy of her.’ - -She put Eve’s hand in that of Jasper, then before either had recovered -from the surprise occasioned by her words and action, she walked back -into the house, gravely, with erect head, dignified as ever. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - -THE PIPE OF PEACE. - - -BARBARA went to her room. She ran up the stairs: her stateliness was -gone when she was out of sight. She bolted her door, threw herself on -her knees beside her bed, and buried her face in the counterpane. - -‘I am so happy!’ she said; but her happiness can hardly have been -complete, for the bed vibrated under her weight—shook so much that it -shook down a bunch of crimson carnations she had stuck under a sacred -picture at the head of the bed, and the red flowers fell about her dark -hair, and strewed themselves on the counterpane round her head. She did -not see them. She did not feel them. - -If she had been really and thoroughly happy when at last she rose from -her knees, her cheeks would not have shone with tears, nor would her -handkerchief have been so wet that she hung it out of her window to dry -it, and took another from her drawer. - -Then she went to her glass and brushed her hair, which was somewhat -ruffled, and she dipped her face in the basin. - -After that she was more herself. She unlocked her desk and from it took -a small box tied round with red ribbon. Within this box was a shagreen -case, and in this case a handsome rosewood pipe, mounted in silver. - -This pipe had belonged to her uncle, and it was one of the little items -that had come to her. Indeed, in the division of family relics, she -had chosen this. Her cousins had teased her, and asked whether it was -intended for her future husband. She had made no other reply than -that she fancied it, and so she had kept it. When she selected it, she -had thought of Jasper. He smoked occasionally. Possibly, she thought -she might some day give it him, when he had proved himself to be truly -repentant. - -Now he was clear from all guilt, she must make him the present—a token -of complete reconciliation. She dusted the pretty bowl with her clean -pocket-handkerchief, and looked for the lion and head to make sure that -the mounting was real silver. Then she took another look at herself in -the glass, and came downstairs, carrying the calumet of peace enclosed -in its case. - -She found Jasper sitting with Eve on the bench where she had left them. -They at once made way for her. He rose, and refused to sit till she had -taken his place. - -‘Mr. Jasper,’ she said, and she had regained entire self-command, ‘this -is a proud and happy day for all of us—for you, for Eve, and for me. I -have been revolving in my mind how to mark it and what memorial of it -to give to you as a pledge of peace established, misunderstandings done -away. I have been turning over my desk as well as my mind, and have -found what is suitable. My uncle won this at a shooting-match. He was a -first-rate shot.’ - -‘And the prize,’ said Jasper, ‘has fallen into hands that make very bad -shots.’ - -‘What do you mean? Oh!’ Barbara laughed and coloured. ‘You led me into -that mistake about yourself.’ - -‘This is the bad shot I mean,’ said Jasper: ‘you have brought Miss Eve -here to me, and neither does Eve want me, nor do I her.’ - -Barbara opened her eyes very wide. ‘Have you quarrelled?’ she inquired, -turning to see the faces of Jasper and her sister. Both were smiling -with a malicious humour. - -‘Not at all. We are excellent friends.’ - -‘You do not love Eve?’ - -‘I like Eve, I love someone else.’ - -The colour rushed into Barbara’s face, and then as suddenly deserted -it. What did he mean? A sensation of vast happiness overspread her, and -then ebbed away. Perhaps he loved someone at Buckfastleigh. She, plain, -downright Barbara—what was she for such a man as Jasper had approved -himself? She quickly recovered herself, and said, ‘We were talking -about the pipe.’ - -‘Quite so,’ answered Jasper. ‘Let us return to the pipe. You give it -me—your uncle’s prize pipe?’ - -‘Yes, heartily. I have kept it in my desk unused, as it has been -preserved since my uncle’s death; but you must use it; and I hope the -tobacco will taste nice through it.’ - -‘Miss Jordan,’ said Jasper, ‘you have shown me such high honour, that I -feel bound to honour the gift in a special manner. I can only worthily -do so by promising to smoke out of no other pipe so long as this -remains entire, and should an accident befall it, to smoke out of no -other not replaced by your kind self.’ - -Eve clapped her hands. - -‘A rash promise,’ said Barbara. ‘You are at liberty to recall it. If -I were to die, and the pipe were broken, you would be bound to abjure -smoking.’ - -‘If you were to die, dear Miss Jordan, I should bury the pipe in your -grave, and something far more precious than that.’ - -‘What?’ - -‘Can you ask?’ He looked her in the eyes, and again her colour came, -deep as the carnations that had strewed her head. - -‘There, there!’ he said, ‘we will not talk of graves, and broken pipes, -and buried hearts; we will get the pipe to work at once, if the ladies -do not object.’ - -‘I will run for the tinder-box,’ said Eve eagerly. - -‘I have my amadou and steel with me, and tobacco,’ Jasper observed; -‘and mind, Miss Barbara is to consecrate the pipe for ever by drawing -out of it the first whiff of smoke.’ - -Barbara laughed. She would do that. Her heart was wonderfully light, -and clear of clouds as that sweet still evening sky. - -The pipe was loaded; Eve ran off to the kitchen to fetch a stick out -of the fire with glowing end, because, she said, ‘she did not like the -smell of the burning amadou.’ - -Jasper handed the pipe to Barbara, who, with an effort to be demure, -took it. - -‘Are you ready?’ asked Jasper, who was whirling the stick, making a -fiery ring in the air. - -Barbara had put the pipe between her lips, precisely in the middle of -her mouth. - -‘No, that will not do,’ said the young man; ‘put the pipe in the side -of your mouth. Where it is now I cannot light it without burning the -tip of your nose.’ - -Barbara put her little finger into the bowl to assure herself that it -was full. Eve was on her knees at her sister’s feet, her elbows on her -lap, looking up amused and delighted. Barbara kept her neck and back -erect, and her chin high in the air. A smile was on her face, but no -tremor in her lip. Eve burst into a fit of laughter. ‘Oh, Bab, you look -so unspeakably droll!’ But Barbara did not laugh and let go the pipe. -Her hands were down on the bench, one on each side of her. She might -have been sitting in a dentist’s chair to have a tooth drawn. She was a -little afraid of the consequences; nevertheless, she had undertaken to -smoke, and smoke she would—one whiff, no more. - -‘Ready?’ asked Jasper. - -She could not answer, because her lips grasped the pipe with all the -muscular force of which they were capable. She replied by gravely and -slowly bowing her head. - -‘This is our calumet of peace, is it not, Miss Jordan? A lasting peace -never to be broken—never?’ - -She replied again only by a serious bow, head and pipe going down and -coming up again. - -‘Ready?’ Jasper brought the red-hot coal in contact with the tobacco -in the bowl. The glow kindled Barbara’s face. She drew a long, a -conscientiously long, breath. Then her brows went up in query. - -‘Is it alight?’ asked Eve, interpreting the question. - -‘Wait a moment——Yes,’ answered Jasper. - -Then a long spiral of white smoke, like a jet of steam from a kettle -that is boiling, issued from Barbara’s lips, and rose in a perfect -white ring. Her eyes followed the ring. - -At that moment—bang! and again—bang!—the discharge of firearms. - -The pipe fell into her lap. - -‘What is that?’ asked Eve, springing to her feet. They all hurried out -of the garden, and stood in front of the house, looking up and down the -lane. - -‘Stay here and I will see,’ said Jasper. ‘There may be poachers near.’ - -‘In pity do not leave us, or I shall die of fear,’ cried Eve. - -The darkness had deepened. A few stars were visible. Voices were -audible, and the tread of men in the lane. Then human figures were -visible. It was too dark at first to distinguish who they were, and the -suspense was great. - -As, however, they drew nearer, Jasper and the girls saw that the party -consisted of Joseph, the warder, and a couple of constables, leading a -prisoner. - -‘We have got him,’ said Joseph Woodman, ‘the right man at last.’ - -‘Whom have you got?’ asked Barbara. - -‘Whom!—why, the escaped felon, Martin Babb.’ - -A cry. Eve had fainted. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - -TAKEN! - - -WE must go back in time, something like an hour and a half or two -hours, and follow the police and warders after they left Morwell, to -understand how it happened that Martin fell into their hands. They had -retired sulky and grumbling. They had been brought a long way, the two -warders a very long way, for nothing. When they reached the down, one -of the warders observed that he was darned if he had not turned his -ankle on the rough stones of the lane. The other said he reckoned they -had been shabbily treated, and it was not his ankle but his stomach had -been turned by a glass of cider sent down into emptiness. Some cold -beef and bread was what he wanted. Whereat he was snapped at by the -other, who advised him to kill one of the bullocks on the moor and make -his meal on that. - -‘Hearken,’ said Joseph; ‘brothers, an idea has struck me. We have not -captured the man, and so we shan’t have the reward.’ - -‘Has it taken you half an hour to discover that?’ - -‘Yes,’ answered Joseph simply. ‘Thinking and digesting are much the -same. I ain’t a caterpillar that can eat and digest at once.’ - -‘I wish I’d had another glass of cider,’ said one of the constables, -‘but these folk seemed in a mighty haste to get rid of us.’ - -‘There is the “Hare and Hounds” at Goatadon,’ said Joseph. - -‘That is a long bit out of the road,’ remonstrated the constable. - -‘What is time to us police!’ answered Joseph. ‘It is made to be killed, -like a flea.’ - -‘And hops away as fast,’ said another. - -‘Let us get back to Tavistock,’ said a warder. - -‘Oh, if you wish it,’ answered Joseph; ‘only it do seem a cruel pity.’ - -‘What is a pity?’ - -‘Why, that you should ha’ come so far and not seen the greatest wonder -of the world.’ - -‘What may that be?’ - -‘The fat woman,’ answered Joseph Woodman. ‘The landlady of the “Hare -and Hounds.” You might as well go to Egypt and not see the pyramids, or -to Rome and not see the Pope, or to London and not see the Tower.’ - -‘I don’t make any account of fat women,’ said the warder, who had -turned his ankle. - -‘But this,’ argued Joseph, ‘is a regular marvel. She’s the fattest -woman out of a caravan—I believe the fattest in England; I dare say the -very fattest in the known world. What there be in the stars I can’t -say.’ - -‘Now,’ said the warder, who had turned his stomach, ‘what do _you_ call -fat?’ He was in a captious mood. - -‘What do I call fat?’ repeated Joseph; ‘why, that woman. Brother, if -you and I were to stretch our arms at the farthest, taking hold of each -other with one hand, we couldn’t compass her and take hold with the -other.’ - -‘I don’t believe it,’ said the warder emphatically. - -‘’Tain’t possible a mortal could be so big,’ said the other warder. - -‘I swear it,’ said Joseph with great earnestness. - -‘There is never a woman in the world,’ said the warder with the bad -ankle, ‘whose waist I couldn’t encircle, and I’ve tried lots.’ - -‘But I tell you this woman is out of the common altogether.’ - -‘Have you ever tried?’ sneered the warder with the bad stomach. - -‘No, but I’ve measured her with my eye.’ - -‘The eye is easy deceived as to distances and dimensions. Why, Lord -bless you! I’ve seen in a fog a sheep on the moor look as big as a -hippopotamus.’ - -‘But the landlady is not on the moor nor in a fog,’ persisted Joseph. -‘I bet you half-a-guinea, laid out in drink, that ‘tis as I say.’ - -‘Done!’ said both warders. ‘Done!’ said the constables, and turning to -their right, they went off to the ‘Hare and Hounds,’ two miles out of -their way, to see the fat woman and test her dimensions. - -Now this change in the destination of the party led to the capture of -Martin, and to the wounding of the warder who complained of his stomach. - -The party reached the little tavern—a poor country inn built where -roads crossed—a wretched house, tarred over its stone face as -protection against the driving rains. They entered, and the hostess -cheerfully consented to having her girth tested. She was accustomed to -it. Her fatness was part of her stock-in-trade: it drew customers to -the ‘Hare and Hounds’ who otherwise would have gone on to Beer Alston, -where was a pretty and pert maid. - -Whilst the officers were refreshing themselves, and one warder had -removed his boot to examine his ankle, the door of the room where they -sat was opened and Martin came in, followed by Watt. His eyes were -dazzled, as the room was strongly lighted, and he did not at first -observe who were eating and drinking there. It was in this lonely inn -that he and Walter were staying and believed themselves quite safe. A -few miners were the only persons they met there. - -As Martin stood in the doorway looking at the party, whilst his eyes -accustomed themselves to the light, one of the warders started up. -‘That is he! Take him! Our man!’ - -Instantly all sprang to their feet except Joseph, who was leisurely in -all his movements, and the warder with bare foot, without considering -fully what he did, threw his boot at Martin’s head. - -Martin turned at once and ran, and the men dashed out of the inn after -him, both warders catching up their guns, and he who was bootless -running, forgetful of his ankle, with bare foot. - -The night was light enough for Martin to be seen, with the boy running -beside him, across the moor. The fires were still flickering and -glowing; the gorse had been burnt and so no bushes could be utilised as -a screen. His only chance of escape was to reach the woods, and he ran -for Morwell. - -But Martin, knowing that there were firearms among his pursuers, dared -not run in a direct line; he swerved from side to side, and dodged, -to make it difficult for them to take aim. This gave great facilities -to the warder who had both boots on, and who was a wiry, long-legged -fellow, to gain on Martin. - -‘Halt!’ shouted he, ‘halt, or I fire!’ - -Then Martin turned abruptly and discharged a pistol at him. The man -staggered, but before he fell he fired at Martin, but missed. - -Almost immediately Martin saw some black figures in front of him, and -stood, hesitating what to do. The figures were those of boys who were -spreading the fires among the furze bushes, but he thought that his -course was intercepted by his pursuers. Before he had decided where to -run he was surrounded and disarmed. - -The warder was so seriously hurt that he was at once placed on a -gate and carried on the shoulders of four of the constables to Beer -Alston, to be examined by Mr. Coyshe and the ball extracted. This left -only three to guard the prisoner, one of whom was the warder who had -sprained his ankle, and had been running with that foot bare, and who -was now not in a condition to go much farther. - -‘There is nothing for it,’ said Joseph, who was highly elated, ‘but -for us to go on to Morwell. We must lock the chap up there. In that -old house there are scores of strong places where the monks were -imprisoned. To-morrow we can take him to Tavistock.’ Joseph did not -say that Jane Welsh was at Morwell; this consideration, doubtless, had -something to do with determining the arrangement. On reaching Morwell, -which they did almost at once, for Martin had been captured on the down -near the entrance to the lane, the first inquiry was for a safe place -where the prisoner might be bestowed. - -Jane, hearing the noise, and, above all, the loved voice of Joseph, ran -out. - -‘Jane,’ said the policeman, ‘where can we lock the rascal up for the -night?’ - -She considered for a moment, and then suggested the corn-chamber. That -was over the cellar, the walls lined with slate, and the floor also of -slate. It had a stout oak door studded with nails, and access was had -to it from the quadrangle, up a flight of stone steps. There was no -window to it. ‘I’ll go ask Miss Barbara for the key,’ she said. ‘There -is nothing in it now but some old onions. But’—she paused—’if he be -locked up there all night, he’ll smell awful of onions in the morning.’ - -Reassured that this was of no importance, Jane went to her mistress for -the key. Barbara came out and listened to the arrangement, to which -she gave her consent, coldly. The warder could now only limp. She was -shocked to hear of the other having been shot. - -A lack of hospitality had been shown when the constables and warders -came first, through inadvertence, not intentionally. Now that they -desired to remain the night at Morwell and guard there the prisoner, -Barbara gave orders that they should be made comfortable in the -hall. One would have to keep guard outside the door where Martin -was confined, the other two would spend the night in the hall, the -window of which commanded the court and the stairs that led to the -corn-chamber. ‘I won’t have the men in the kitchen,’ said Barbara, ‘or -the maids will lose their heads and nothing will be done.’ Besides, -the kitchen was out of the way of the corn-chamber. - -‘We shall want the key of the corn-store,’ said Joseph, ‘if we may have -it, miss.’ - -‘Why not stow the fellow in the cellar?’ asked a constable. - -‘For two reasons,’ answered Joseph. ‘First, because he would drink the -cider; and second, because—no offence meant, miss—we hope that the -maids’ll be going to and fro to the cellar with the pitcher pretty -often.’ - -Joseph was courting the maid of the house, and therefore thought it -well to hint to Barbara what was expected of the house to show that it -was free and open. - -The corn-room was unlocked, a light obtained, and it was thoroughly -explored. It was floored with large slabs of slate, and the walls -were lined six feet high with slate, as a protection against rats and -mice. Joseph progged the walls above that. All sound, not a window. -He examined the door: it was of two-inch oak plank, and the hinges of -stout iron. In the corner of the room was a heap of onions that had -not been used the preceding winter. A bundle of straw was procured and -thrown down. - -‘Lie there, you dog, you murderous dog!’ said one of the men, casting -Martin from him. ‘Move at your peril!’ - -‘Ah!’ said the lame warder, ‘I only wish you would make another attempt -to escape that I might give you a leaden breakfast.’ He limped badly. -In running he had cut his bare foot and it bled, and he had trodden on -the prickles of the gorse, which had made it very painful. - -‘There’s a heap of onions for your pillow,’ said Joseph. ‘Folks say -they are mighty helpful to sleep—’ this was spoken satirically; then -with a moral air—’But, sure enough, there’s no sleeping, even on an -onion pillow, without a good conscience.’ - -As the men were to spend the night without sleep—one out of doors, -to be relieved guard by the other, the lame warder alone excused the -duty, as he was unable to walk—Barbara ordered a fire to be lighted in -the great hall. The nights were not cold, but damp; the sky was clear, -and the dew fell heavily. It would, moreover, be cheerful for the men -to sit over a wood fire through the long night, and take naps by it if -they so liked. Supper was produced and laid on the oak table by Jane, -who ogled Joseph every time she entered and left the hall. - -She placed a jug on the table. Joseph went after her. - -‘You are a dear maid,’ he said, ‘but one jug don’t go far. You must -mind the character of the house and maintain it. I see cold mutton. It -is good, but chops are better. This ain’t an inn. It’s a gentleman’s -house. I see cheese. Ain’t there anywhere a tart and cream? Mr. Jordan -is not a farmer: he’s a squire. I’d not have it said of me I was -courting a young person in an inferior situation.’ - -The fire was made up with a faggot. It blazed merrily. Joseph sat -before it with his legs outspread, smiling at the flames; he had his -hands on his knees. After having run hard and got hot he felt chilled, -and the fire was grateful. Moreover, his hint had been taken. Two jugs -stood on the table, and hot chops and potatoes had been served. He had -eaten well, he had drunk well. All at once he laughed. - -‘What is the joke, Joe?’ - -‘I’ve an idea, brother. If t’other warder dies I shall not have to pay -the half-guinea because I lost my bet. He was so confounded long in the -arm. That will be prime! And—we shall share the reward without him! -Beautiful!’ - -‘Umph! Has it taken you all this time to find that out? I saw it the -moment the shot struck. That’s why I ran on with a bad foot.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - -GONE! - - -NEITHER Jasper, Barbara, nor Eve appeared. Mr. Jordan was excited, and -had to be told what had taken place, and this had to be done by Jasper. -Barbara was with her sister. Eve had recovered, and had confessed -everything. Now all was clear to the eyes of Barbara. The meeting on -the Raven Rock had been the one inexplicable point, and now that was -explained. Eve hid nothing from her sister; she told her about the -first meeting with Martin, his taking the ring, then about the giving -of the turquoise ring, finally about the meeting on the Rock. The story -was disquieting. Eve had been very foolish. The only satisfaction to -Barbara was the thought that the cause of uneasiness was removed, and -about to be put beyond the power of doing further mischief. Eve would -never see Martin again. She had seen so little of him that he could -have produced on her heart but a light and transient impression. The -romance of the affair had been the main charm with Eve. - -When Jasper left the squire’s room, after a scene that had been -painful, Barbara came to him and said, ‘I know everything now. Eve met -your brother Martin on the Raven Rock. He has been trying to win her -affections. In this also you have been wrongly accused by me.’ Then -with a faint laugh, but with a timid entreating look, ‘I can do no more -than confess now, I have such a heavy burden of amends to make.’ - -‘Will it be a burden, Barbara?’ - -She put her hand lightly on his arm. - -‘No, Jasper—a delight.’ - -He stooped and kissed her hand. Little or nothing had passed between -them, yet they understood each other. - -‘Hist! for shame!’ said a sharp voice through the garden window. She -looked and saw the queer face of Watt. - -‘That is too cruel, Jasp—love-making when our poor Martin is in danger! -I did not expect it of you.’ - -Barbara was confused. The boy’s face could ill be discerned, as there -was no candle in the room, and all the light, such as there was—a -silvery summer twilight—flowed in at the window, and was intercepted by -his head. - -‘Selfish, Jasp! and you, miss—if you are going to enter the family, you -should begin to consider other members than Jasper,’ continued the boy. -All his usual mockery was gone from his voice, which expressed alarm -and anxiety. ‘There lies poor Martin in a stone box, on a little straw, -without a mouthful, and his keepers are given what they like!’ - -‘Oh, Jasper!’ said Barbara with a start, ‘I am so ashamed of myself. I -forgot to provide for him.’ - -‘You have not considered, I presume, what will become of poor Martin. -In self-defence he shot at a warder, and whether he wounded or killed -him I cannot say. Poor Martin! Seven years will be spread into -fourteen, perhaps twenty-one. What will he be when he comes out of -prison! What shall I do all these years without him!’ - -‘Walter,’ said Jasper, going to the window, and speaking in a subdued -voice, ‘what can be done? I am sorry enough for him, but I can do -nothing.’ - -‘Oh, you will not try.’ - -‘Tell me, what can I do?’ - -‘There! let _her_,’ he pointed to Barbara, ‘let her come over here and -speak with me. Everything now depends on her.’ - -‘On me!’ exclaimed Barbara. - -‘Ah, on you. But do not shout. I can hear if you whisper. Miss, that -poor fellow in the stone box is Jasper’s brother. If you care at all -for Jasper, you will not interfere. I do not ask you to move a finger -to help Martin: I ask you only not to stand in others’ way.’ - -‘What do you mean?’ - -‘Go into the hall, you and Jasper, instead of standing sighing and -billing here. Allow me to be there also. There are two more men -arrived—two of those who carried the winged snipe away. That makes four -inside and one outside; but one is lamed and without his boot. Feed -them all well. Don’t spare cider; and give them spirits-and-water. Help -to amuse them.’ - -‘For what end?’ - -‘That is no concern of yours. For what end! Hospitality, the most -ancient of virtues. Above all, do not interfere with the other one.’ - -‘What other one?’ - -‘You know—Miss Eve,’ whispered the boy. ‘Let the maidens in, the -housemaid certainly; she has a sweetheart among them, and the others -will make pickings.’ - -Then, without waiting for an answer, the queer boy ran along the gravel -path and leaped the dwarf wall into the stable yard, which lay at a -lower level. - -‘What does he mean?’ asked Barbara. - -‘He means,’ said Jasper, ‘that he is going to make an attempt to get -poor Martin off.’ - -‘But how can he?’ - -‘That I do not know.’ - -‘And whether we ought to assist in such a venture I do not know,’ said -Barbara thoughtfully. - -‘Nor do I,’ said Jasper; ‘my heart says one thing, my head the other.’ - -‘We will follow our hearts,’ said Barbara vehemently, and caught his -hands and pressed them. ‘Jasper, he is your brother; with me that is -a chief consideration. Come into the hall; we will give the men some -music.’ - -Jasper and Barbara went to the hall, and found that the warder had -his foot bandaged in a chair, and seemed to be in great pain. He was -swearing at the constables who had come from Beer Alston for not having -called at the ‘Hare and Hounds’ on their way for his boot. He tried to -induce one of them to go back for it; but the sight of the fire, the -jugs of cider, the plates heaped with cake, made them unwilling again -to leave the house. - -‘We ain’t a-going without our supper,’ was their retort. ‘You are -comfortable enough here, with plenty to eat and to drink.’ - -‘But,’ complained the man, ‘I can’t go for my boot myself, don’t you -see?’ But see they would not. Jane had forgotten all her duties about -the house in the excitement of having her Joseph there. She had stolen -into the hall, and got her policeman into a corner. - -‘When is it your turn to keep guard, Joe?’ she asked. - -‘Not for another hour,’ he replied. ‘I wish I hadn’t to go out at all.’ - -‘Oh, Joe, I’ll go and keep guard with you!’ - -Also the cook stole in with a bowl and a sponge, and a strong savour of -vinegar. She had come to bathe the warder’s foot, unsolicited, moved -only by a desire to do good, doubtless. Also the under-housemaid’s -beady eyes were visible at the door looking in to see if more fuel were -required for the fire. - -Clearly, there was no need for Barbara to summon her maids. As a dead -camel in the desert attracts all the vultures within a hundred miles, -so the presence of these men in the hall drew to them all the young -women in the house. - -When they saw their mistress enter, they exhibited some hesitation. -Barbara, however, gave them a nod, and more was not needed to encourage -them to stay. - -‘Jane,’ said Barbara, ‘here is the key. Fetch a couple of bottles -of Jamaica rum, or one of rum and one of brandy. Patience,’ to the -under-housemaid, ‘bring hot water, sugar, tumblers, and spoons.’ - -A thrill of delight passed through the hearts of the men, and their -eyes sparkled. - -Then in at the door came the boy with his violin, fiddling, capering, -dancing, making faces. In a moment he sprang on the table, seated -himself, and began to play some of the pretty ‘Don Giovanni’ dance -music. - -He signed to Barbara with his bow, and pointed to the piano in the -parlour, the door of which was open. She understood him and went in, -lit the candles, and took a ‘Don Giovanni’ which her sister had bought, -and practised with Jasper. Then he signed to his brother, and Jasper -also took down his violin, tuned it, and began to play. - -‘Let us bring the piano into the hall,’ said Barbara, and the men -started to fulfil her wish. Four of them conveyed it from the parlour. -At the same time the rum and hot water appeared, the spoons clinked in -the glasses. Patience, the under-housemaid, threw a faggot on the fire. - -‘What is that?’ exclaimed the lame warder, pointing through the window. - -It was only the guard, who had extended his march to the hall and -put his face to the glass to look in at the brew of rum-and-water, -and the comfortable party about the fire. ‘Go back on your beat, you -scoundrel!’ shouted the warder, menacing the constable with his fist. -Then the face disappeared; but every time the sentinel reached the hall -window, he applied his nose to the pane and stared in thirstily at the -grog that steamed and ran down the throats of his comrades, and cursed -the duty that kept him without in the falling dew. His appearance -at intervals at the glass, where the fire and candlelight illumined -his face, was like that of a fish rising to the surface of a pond to -breathe. - -‘Is your time come yet outside, Joe dear?’ whispered Jane. - -‘Hope not,’ growled Joseph, helping himself freely to rum; putting his -hand round the tumbler, so that none might observe how high the spirit -stood in the glass before he added the water. - -‘Oh, Joe duckie, don’t say that. I’ll go and keep you company on the -stone steps: we’ll sit there in the moonlight all alone, as sweet as -anything.’ - -‘You couldn’t ekal this grog’ answered the unromantic Joseph, ‘if you -was ever so sweet. I’ve put in four lumps of double-refined.’ - -‘You’ve a sweet tooth, Joe,’ said Jane. - -‘Shall I bathe your poor suffering foot again?’ asked the cook, casting -languishing eyes at the warder. - -‘By-and-by, when the liquor is exhausted,’ answered the warder. - -‘Would you like a little more hot water to the spirit?’ said Patience, -who was setting—as it is termed in dance phraseology—at the youngest of -the constables. - -‘No, miss, but I’d trouble you for a little more spirit,’ he answered, -‘to qualify the hot water.’ - -Then the scullery-maid, who had also found her way in, blocked the -other constable in the corner, and offered to sugar his rum. He was a -married man, middle-aged, and with a huge disfiguring mole on his nose; -but there was no one else for the damsel to ogle and address, so she -fixed upon him. - -All at once, whilst this by-play was going on, under cover of the -music, the door from the staircase opened, and in sprang Eve, with her -tambourine, dressed in the red-and-yellow costume she had found in the -garret, and wearing her burnished necklace of bezants. Barbara withdrew -her hands from the piano in dismay, and flushed with shame. - -‘Eve!’ she exclaimed, ‘go back! How can you!’ But the boy from the -table beckoned again to her, pointing to the piano, and her fingers; -Eve skipped up to her and whispered, ‘Let me alone, for Jasper’s sake,’ -then bounded into the middle of the hall, and rattled her tambourine -and clinked its jingles. - -The men applauded, and tossed off their rum-and-water; then, having -finished the rum, mixed themselves eagerly hot jorums of brandy. - -The face was at the window, with the nose flat and white against the -glass, like a dab of putty. - -Barbara’s forehead darkened, and she drew her lips together. Her -conscience was not satisfied. She suspected that this behaviour of Eve -was what Walter had alluded to when he begged her not to interfere. -Walter had seen Eve, and planned it with her. Was she right, Barbara -asked herself, in what she was doing to help a criminal to escape? - -The money he had taken was theirs—Eve’s; and if Eve chose to forgive -him and release him from his punishment, why should she object? Martin -was the brother of Jasper, and for Jasper’s sake she must go on with -what she had begun. - -So she put her fingers on the keys again, and at once Watt and Jasper -resumed their instruments. They played the music in ‘Don Giovanni,’ -in the last act, where the banquet is interrupted by the arrival of -the statue. Barbara knew that Eve was dancing alone in the middle of -the floor before these men, before him also who ought to be pacing up -and down in front of the corn-chamber; but she would not turn her head -over her shoulder to look at her, and her brow burnt, and her cheeks, -usually pale, flamed. As for Eve, she was supremely happy; the applause -of the lookers-on encouraged her. Her movements were graceful, her -beauty radiant. She looked like Zerlina on the boards. - -Suddenly the boy dropped his bow, and before anyone could arrest his -hand, or indeed had a suspicion of mischief, he threw a canister of -gunpowder into the blazing fire. Instantly there was an explosion. The -logs were flung about the floor, Eve and the maids screamed, the piano -and violins were hushed, doors were burst open, panes of glass broken -and fell clinking, and every candle was extinguished. Fortunately the -hall floor was of slate. - -The men were the first to recover themselves—all, that is, but the -warder, who shrieked and swore because a red-hot cinder had alighted on -his bad foot. - -The logs were thrust together again upon the hearth, and a flame sprang -up. - -No one was hurt, but in the doorway, white, with wild eyes, stood Mr. -Jordan, signing with his hand, but unable to speak. - -‘Oh, papa! dear papa!’ exclaimed Barbara, running to him, ‘do go back -to bed. No one is hurt. We have had a fright, that is all.’ - -‘Fools!’ cried the old man, brandishing his stick. ‘He is gone! I saw -him—he ran past my window.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XL. - -ANOTHER SACRIFICE. - - -WATT was no longer in the hall. Whither he had gone none knew; how he -had gone none knew. The man in the quadrangle was too alarmed by the -glass panes being blown out in his face, to see whether the boy had -passed that way. But, indeed, no one now gave thought to Watt; the men -ran to the corn-chamber to examine it. A lantern was lighted, the door -examined and found to be locked. It was unfastened, and Joseph and the -rest entered. The light penetrated every corner, fell on the straw and -the onion-heap. Martin Babb was not there. - -‘May I be darned!’ exclaimed Joseph, holding the lantern over his head. -‘I looked at the walls, at the floor, at the door: I never thought of -the roof, and it is by the roof he has got away.’ - -Indeed, the corn-chamber was unceiled. Martin, possibly assisted, had -reached the rafters, thence had crept along the roof in the attics, and -had entered the room that belonged to the girls, and descended from the -window by the old Jargonelle pear. - -Then the constables and Joseph turned on the sentinel, and heaped -abuse upon him for not having warned them of what was going on. It was -in vain for him to protest that from the outside he could not detect -what was in process of execution under the roof. Blame must attach to -someone, and he was one against four. - -Their tempers were not the more placable when it was seen that the -bottle of brandy had been upset and was empty, the precious spirit -having expended itself on the floor. - -Then the question was mooted whether the fugitive should not be pursued -at once, but the production by Barbara of another bottle of rum -decided them not to do so, but await the arrival of morning. Suddenly -it occurred to Joseph that the blame attached, not to any of those -present, who had done their utmost, but to the warder who had been -shot, and so had detached two of their number, and had reduced the body -so considerably by this fatality as to incapacitate them from drawing a -cordon round the house and watching it from every side. If that warder -were to die, then the whole blame might be shovelled upon him along -with the earth into his grave. - -The search was recommenced next day, but was ineffectual. In which -direction Martin had gone could not be found. Absolutely no traces of -him could be discovered. - -Presently Mr. Coyshe arrived, in a state of great excitement. He had -attended the wounded man, and had heard an account of the capture; on -his way to Morwell the rumour reached him that the man had broken away -again. Mr. Coyshe had, as he put it, an inquiring mind. He thirsted for -knowledge, whether of scientific or of social interest. Indeed, he took -a lively interest in other people’s affairs. So he came on foot, as -hard as he could walk, to Morwell, to learn all particulars, and at the -same time pay a professional visit to Mr. Jordan. - -Barbara at once asked Mr. Coyshe into the parlour; she wanted to have a -word with him before he saw her father. - -Barbara was very uneasy about Eve, whose frivolity, lack of ballast, -and want—as she feared—of proper self-respect might lead her into -mischief. How could her sister have been so foolish as to dress up and -dance last evening before a parcel of common constables! To Barbara -such conduct was inconceivable. She herself was dignified and stiff -with her inferiors, and would as soon have thought of acting before -them as Eve had done as of jumping over the moon. She did not consider -how her own love and that of her father had fostered caprice and vanity -in the young girl, till she craved for notice and admiration. Barbara -thought over all that Eve had told her: how she had lost her mother’s -ring, how she had received the ring of turquoise, how she had met -Martin on the Rock platform. Every incident proclaimed to her mind the -instability, the lack of self-respect, in her sister. The girl needed -to be watched and put into firmer hands. She and her father had spoiled -her. Now that the mischief was done she saw it. - -What better step could be taken to rectify the mistake than that of -bringing Mr. Coyshe to an engagement with Eve? - -She was a straightforward, even blunt, girl, and when she had an aim in -view went to her work at once. So, without beating about the bush, she -said to the young doctor— - -‘Mr. Coyshe, you did me the honour the other day of confiding to me -your attachment to Eve. I have been considering it, and I want to know -whether you intend at once to speak to her. I told my father your -wishes, and he is, I believe, not indisposed to forward them.’ - -‘I am delighted to hear it,’ said the surgeon; ‘I would like above -everything to have the matter settled, but Miss Eve never gives me a -chance of speaking to her alone.’ - -‘She is shy,’ said Barbara; then, thinking that this was not exactly -true, she corrected herself; ‘that is to say—she, as a young girl, -shrinks from what she expects is coming from you. Can you wonder?’ - -‘I don’t see it. I’m not an ogre.’ - -‘Girls have feelings which, perhaps, men cannot comprehend,’ said -Barbara. - -‘I do not wish to be precipitate,’ observed the young surgeon. -‘I’ll take a chair, please, and then I can explain to you fully my -circumstances and my difficulties.’ He suited his action to his word, -and graciously signed to Barbara to sit on the sofa near his chair. -Then he put his hat between his feet, calmly took off his gloves and -threw them into his hat. - -‘I hate precipitation,’ said Mr. Coyshe. ‘Let us thoroughly understand -each other. I am a poor man. Excuse me, Miss Jordan, if I talk in a -practical manner. You are long and clear headed, so—but I need not tell -you that—so am I. We can comprehend each other, and for a moment lay -aside that veil of romance and poetry which invests an engagement.’ - -Barbara bowed. - -‘An atmosphere surrounds a matrimonial alliance; let us puff it away -for a moment and look at the bare facts. Seen from a poetic standpoint, -marriage is the union of two loving hearts, the rapture of two souls -discovering each other. From the sober ground of common sense it means -two loaves of bread a day instead of one, a milliner’s bill at the -end of the year in addition to that of the tailor, two tons of coals -where one had sufficed. I need not tell you, being a prudent person, -that when I am out for the day my fire is not lighted. If I had a wife -of course a fire would have to burn all day. I may almost say that -matrimony means three tons of coal instead of one, and _you_ know how -costly coals come here.’ - -‘But, Mr. Coyshe——’ - -‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘I may be plain, but I am truthful. I am putting -matters before you in the way in which I am forced to view them myself. -When an ordinary individual looks on a beautiful woman he sees only her -beauty. I see more; I anatomise her mentally, and follow the bones, -and nerves, and veins, and muscles. So with this lovely matrimonial -prospect. I see its charms, but I see also what lies beneath, the -anatomy, so to speak, and that means increased coal, butcher’s, baker’s -bills, three times the washing, additional milliners’ accounts.’ - -‘You know, Mr. Coyshe,’ said Barbara, a little startled at the way he -put matters, ‘you know that eventually Morwell comes to Eve.’ - -‘My dear Miss Jordan, if a man walks in stocking soles, expecting -his father-in-law’s shoes, he is likely to go limpingly. How am I to -live so long as Mr. Jordan lives? I know I should flourish after his -death—but in the mean time—there is the rub. I’d marry Eve to-morrow -but for the expense.’ - -‘Is there not something sordid——’ began Barbara. - -‘I will not allow you to finish a sentence, Miss Jordan, which your -good sense will reproach you for uttering. I saw at a fair a booth with -outside a picture of a mermaid combing her golden hair, and with the -face of an angel. I paid twopence and went inside, to behold a seal -flopping in a tub of dirty water. All the great events of life—birth, -marriage, death—are idealised by poets, as that disgusting seal was -idealised on the canvas by the artist: horrible things in themselves -but inevitable, and therefore to be faced as well as we may. I need -not have gone in and seen that seal, but I was deluded to do so by the -ideal picture.’ - -‘Surely,’ exclaimed Barbara laughing, ‘you put marriage in a false -light?’ - -‘Not a bit. In almost every case it is as is described, a delusion and -a horrible disenchantment. It shall not be so with me, so I picture it -in all its real features. If you do not understand me the fault lies -with you. Even the blessed sun cannot illumine a room when the panes -of the window are dull. I am a poor man, and a poor man must look at -matters from what you are pleased to speak of as a sordid point of -view. There are plants I have seen suspended in windows said to live on -air. They are all pendulous. Now I am not disposed to become a drooping -plant. Live on air I cannot. There is enough earth in my pot for my own -roots, but for my own alone.’ - -‘I see,’ said Barbara, laughing, but a little irritated. ‘You are ready -enough to marry, but have not the means on which to marry.’ - -‘Exactly,’ answered Mr. Coyshe. ‘I have a magnificent future before me, -but I am like a man swimming, who sees the land but does not touch as -much as would blacken his nails. Lord bless you!’ said Mr. Coyshe, ‘I -support a wife on what I get at Beer Alston! Lord bless me!’ he stood -up and sat down again, ‘you might as well expect a cock to lay eggs.’ - -Barbara bit her lips. ‘I should not have thought you so practical,’ she -said. - -‘I am forced to be so. It is the fate of poor men to have to count -their coppers. Then there is another matter. If I were married, well, -of course, it is possible that I might be the founder of a happy -family. In the South Sea Islands the natives send their parents -periodically up trees and then shake the trunks. If the old people hold -on they are reprieved, if they fall they are eaten. We eat our parents -in England also, and don’t wait till they are old and leathery. We -begin with them when we are babes, and never leave off till nothing -is left of them to devour. We feed on their energies, consume their -substance, their time, their brains, their hearts piecemeal.’ - -‘Well!’ - -‘Well,’ repeated Mr. Coyshe, ‘if I am to be eaten I must have flesh on -my bones for the coming Coyshes to eat.’ - -‘You need not be alarmed as to the prospect,’ said Barbara gravely. ‘I -have been left a few hundred pounds by my aunt, they bring in about -fifty pounds a year. I will make it over to my sister.’ - -‘You see for yourself,’ said Mr. Coyshe, ‘that Eve is not a young lady -who can be made into a sort of housekeeper. She is too dainty for that. -Turnips may be tossed about, but not apricots.’ - -‘Yes,’ said Barbara, ‘I and my sister are quite different.’ - -‘You will not repent of this determination?’ asked Mr. Coyshe. ‘I -suppose it would not be asking you too much just to drop me a letter -with the expression of your intention stated in it? I confess to a -weakness for black and white. The memory is so treacherous, and I find -it very like an adhesive chest plaster—it sticks only on that side -which applies to self.’ - -‘Mr. Coyshe,’ said Barbara, ‘shall we go in and see papa? You shall be -satisfied. My memory will not play me false. My whole heart is wrapped -up in dear Eve, and the great ambition of my life is to see her happy. -Come, then, we will go to papa.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XLI. - -ANOTHER MISTAKE. - - -BARBARA saw Mr. Coyshe into her father’s room, and then went upstairs -to Eve, caught her by the arm, and drew her into her own room. Barbara -had now completely made up her mind that her sister was to become -Mrs. Coyshe. Eve was a child, never would be other, never capable of -deciding reasonably for herself. Those who loved her, those who had -care of her must decide for her. Barbara and her father had grievously -erred hitherto in humouring all Eve’s caprices, now they must be -peremptory with her, and arrange for her what was best, and force her -to accept the provision made for her. - -What are love matches but miserable disappointments? Not quite so -bad as pictured by Mr. Coyshe. The reality would not differ from the -ideal as thoroughly as the seal from the painted mermaid; but there -was truth in what he said. A love match was entered into by two young -people who have idealised each other, and before the first week is out -of the honeymoon they find the ideal shattered, and a very prosaic -reality standing in its place. Then follow disappointment, discontent, -rebellion. Far better the foreign system of parents choosing partners -for their children; they are best able to discover the real qualities -of the suitor because they study them dispassionately, and they know -the characters of their daughters. Who can love a child more than a -parent, and therefore who is better qualified to match her suitably? - -So Barbara argued with herself. Certainly Eve must not be left to -select her husband. She was a creature of impulse, without a grain of -common-sense in her whole nature. - -Barbara drew Eve down beside her on the sofa at the foot of her bed, -and put her arm round her waist. Eve was pouting, and had red eyes; for -her sister had scolded her that morning sharply for her conduct the -preceding night, and her father had been excited, and for the first -time in his life had spoken angrily to her, and bidden her cast off and -never resume the costume in which she had dressed and bedizened herself. - -Eve had retired to her room in a sulk, and in a rebellious frame -of mind. She cried and called herself an ill-treated girl, and was -overcome with immense pity for the hardships she had to undergo among -people who could not understand and would not humour her. - -Eve’s lips were screwed up, and her brow as nearly contracted into a -frown as it could be, and her sweet cheeks were kindled with fiery -temper-spots. - -‘Eve dear,’ said Barbara, ‘Mr. Coyshe is come.’ - -Eve made no answer, her lips took another screw, and her brows -contracted a little more. - -‘Eve, he is closeted now with papa, and I know he has come to ask for -the hand of the dearest little girl in the whole world.’ - -‘Stuff!’ said Eve peevishly. - -‘Not stuff at all,’ argued Barbara, ‘nor’—intercepting another -exclamation—’no, dear, nor fiddlesticks. He has been talking to me in -the parlour. He is sincerely attached to you. He is an odd man, and -views things in quite a different way from others, but I think I made -out that he wanted you to be his wife.’ - -‘Barbara,’ said Eve, with great emphasis, ‘nothing in the world would -induce me to submit to be called Mrs. Squash.’ - -‘My dear, if the name is the only objection, I think he will not mind -changing it. Indeed, it is only proper that he should. As he and you -will have Morwell, it is of course right that a Jordan should be here, -and—to please the Duke and you—he will, I feel sure, gladly assume our -name. I agree with you that, though Coyshe is not a bad name, it is not -a pretty one. It lends itself to corruption.’ - -‘Babb is worse,’ said Eve, still sulky. - -‘Yes, darling, Babb is ugly, and it is the pet name you give me, as -short for Barbara. I have often told you that I do not like it.’ - -‘You never said a word against it till Jasper came.’ - -‘Well, dear, I may not have done so. When he did settle here, and we -knew his name, it was not, of course, seemly to call me by it. That is -to say,’ said Barbara, colouring, ‘it led to confusion—in calling for -me, for instance, he might have thought you were addressing him.’ - -‘Not at all,’ said Eve, still filled with a perverse spirit. ‘I never -called him Babb at all, I always called him Jasper.’ Then she took up -her little apron and pulled at the embroidered ends, and twisted and -tortured them into horns. ‘It would be queer, sister, if you were to -marry Jasper, you would become double Babb.’ - -‘Don’t,’ exclaimed Barbara, bridling; ‘this is unworthy of you, Eve; -you are trying to turn your arms against me, when I am attacking you.’ - -‘May I not defend myself?’ - -Then Barbara drew her arm tighter round her sister, kissed her pretty -neck under the delicate shell-like ear, and said, ‘Sweetest! we never -fight. I never would raise a hand against you. I would run a pair of -scissors into my own heart rather than snip a corner off this dear -little ear. There, no more fencing even with wadded foils. We were -talking of Mr. Coyshe.’ - -Eve shrugged her shoulders. - -‘_Revenons à nos moutons_,’ she said, ‘though I cannot say old Coyshe -is a sheep; he strikes me rather as a jackdaw.’ - -‘Old Coyshe! how can you exaggerate so, Eve! He is not more than five -or six-and-twenty.’ - -‘He is wise and learned enough to be regarded as old. I hate wise and -learned men.’ - -‘What is there that you do not hate which is not light and frivolous?’ -asked Barbara a little pettishly. ‘You have no serious interests in -anything.’ - -‘I have no interests in anything here,’ said Eve, ‘because there is -nothing here to interest me. I do not care for turnips and mangold, -and what are the pigs and poultry to me? Can I be enthusiastic over -draining? Can the price of bark make my pulses dance? No, Barbie (Bab -you object to), I am sick of a country life in a poky corner of the -most out-of-the-way county in England except Cornwall. Really, Barbie, -I believe I would marry any man who would take me to London, and -let me go to the theatre and to balls, and concerts and shows. Why, -Barbara! I’d rather travel round the country in a caravan and dance on -a tight-rope than be moped up here in Morwell, an old fusty, mouldering -monk’s cell.’ - -‘My dear Eve!’ - -Barbara was so shocked, she could say no more. - -I am in earnest. Papa is ill, and that makes the place more dull than -ever. Jasper was some fun, he played the violin, and taught me music, -but now you have meddled, and deprived me of that amusement; I am -sick of the monotony here. It is only a shade better than Lanherne -convent, and you know papa took me away from that; I fell ill with the -restraint.’ - -‘You have no restraint here.’ - -‘No—but I have nothing to interest me. I feel always as if I was hungry -for something I could not get. Why should I have “Don Giovanni,” and -“Figaro,” and the “Barber of Seville” on my music-stand, and strum -at them? I want to see them, and hear them alive, acting, singing, -particularly amid lights and scenery, and in proper costume. I cannot -bear this dull existence any longer. If Doctor Squash will take me to a -theatre or an opera I’ll marry him, just for that alone—that is my last -word.’ - -Barbara was accustomed to hear Eve talk extravagantly, and had not been -accustomed to lay much weight on what she said; but this was spoken so -vehemently, and was so prodigiously extravagant, that Barbara could -only loosen her hold of her sister, draw back to the far end of the -sofa, and stare at her dismayedly. In her present state of distress -about Eve she thought more seriously of Eve’s words than they deserved. -Eve was angry, discontented, and said what came uppermost, so as to -annoy her sister. - -‘Eve dear,’ said Barbara gravely, ‘I pray you not to talk in this -manner, as if you had said good-bye to all right principle and sound -sense. Mr. Coyshe is downstairs. We must decide on an answer, and that -a definite one.’ - -‘_We!_’ repeated Eve; ‘I suppose it concerns me only.’ - -‘What concerns you concerns me; you know that very well, Eve.’ - -‘I am not at liberty, I suppose, to choose for myself?’ - -‘You are a dear good girl, who will elect what is most pleasing to your -father and sister, and promises greatest happiness to yourself.’ - -Eve sat pouting and playing with the ends of her apron. Then she took -one end which she had twisted into a horn, and put it between her -pearly teeth, whilst she looked furtively and mischievously at her -sister, who sat with her hands on her lap, tapping the floor with her -feet. - -‘Barbie!’ said Eve slily. - -‘Well, dear!’ - -‘Do lend me your pocket-handkerchief. I have been crying and made mine -wet. Papa was so cross and you scolded me so sharply.’ - -Barbara, without looking at her sister, held out her handkerchief to -her. Eve took it, pulled it out by the two ends, twirled it round, -folded, knotted it, worked diligently at it, got it into the compact -shape she desired, laid it in her arms, with the fingers under it, and -then, without Barbara seeing what she was about—’Hist!’ said Eve, and -away shot the white rabbit she had manufactured into Barbara’s lap. -Then she burst into a merry laugh. The clouds had rolled away. The sun -was shining. - -‘How can you! How can you be so childish!’ burst from Barbara, as she -started up, and let the white rabbit fall at her feet. ‘Here we are,’ -said Barbara, with some anger, ‘here we are discussing your future, -and deciding your happiness or sorrow, and you—you are making white -rabbits! You really, Eve, are no better than a child. You are not fit -to choose for yourself. Come along with me. We must go down. Papa and -I will settle for you as is best. You want a master who will bring you -into order, and, if possible, force you to think.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XLII. - -ENGAGED. - - -IF a comparison were made between the results of well and ill -considered ventures, which would prove the most uniformly successful? -Not certainly those undertakings which have been most carefully -weighed and prudently determined on. Just as frequently the rash and -precipitate venture is crowned with success as that which has been -wisely considered; and just as often the latter proves a failure, and -falsifies every expectation. Nature, Fate, whatever it be that rules -our destinies, rules them crookedly, and, with mischief, upsets all our -calculations. We build our card-houses, and she fillips a marble into -them and brings them down. Why do we invariably stop every hole except -that by which the sea rolls through our dyke? Why do we always forget -to lock the stable door till the nag has been stolen? - -The old myth is false which tells of Prometheus as bound and torn -and devoured by the eagle; Pro-metheus is free and unrent, it is -Epi-metheus who is in chains, and writhing, and looks back on the -irrevocable past, and curses itself and is corroded with remorse. - -What is the fate of Forethought but to be flouted by capricious -Destiny, to be ever proved a fool and blind, to be shown that it were -just as well had it never existed? - -Eve hung back as Barbara led her to her father’s door. Mr. Coyshe was -in there, and though she had said she would take him she did not mean -it. She certainly did not want to have to make her decision then. Her -face became a little pale, some of the bright colour had gone from it -when her temper subsided and she had begun to play at making rabbits. -Now more left her cheeks, and she held back as Barbara tried to draw -her on. But Barbara was very determined, and though Eve was wayward, -she would not take the trouble to be obstinate. ‘I can but say no,’ she -said to herself, ‘if the creature does ask me.’ Then she whispered into -Barbara’s ear, ‘Bab, I won’t have a scene before all the parish.’ - -‘All the parish, dear!’ remonstrated the elder, ‘there is no one -there but papa and the doctor; and if the latter means to speak he -will ask to have a word with you in private, and you can go into the -drawing-room.’ - -‘But I don’t want to see him.’ - -Barbara threw open the door. - -Mr. Jordan was propped up in his bed on pillows. He was much worse, and -a feverish fire burned in his eyes and cheeks. He saw Eve at once and -called her to him. - -Then her ill-humour returned, she pouted and looked away from Mr. -Coyshe so as not to see him. He bowed and smiled, and pushed forward -extending his hand, but she brushed past with her eyes fixed on her -father. She was angry with Barbara for having brought her down. - -‘Eve,’ said Mr. Jordan, ‘I am very ill. The doctor has warned me that I -have been much hurt by what has happened. It was your doing, Eve. You -were foolish last night. You forgot what was proper to your station. -Your want of consideration is the cause of my being so much worse, and -of that scoundrel’s escape.’ - -‘O papa, I am very sorry I hurt you, but as for his getting off—I am -glad! He had stolen my money, so I have a right to forgive him, and -that I do freely.’ - -‘Eve!’ exclaimed her father, ‘you do not know what you say. Come nearer -to me, child.’ - -‘If I am to be scolded, papa,’ said Eve, sullenly, ‘I’d like not to -have it done in public.’ She looked round the room, everywhere but at -Mr. Coyshe. Her sister watched her anxiously. - -‘Eve,’ said the old man, ‘I am very ill and am not likely to be strong -again. I cannot be always with you. I am not any more capable to act as -your protector, and Barbara has the cares of the house, and lacks the -authority to govern and lead you.’ - -‘I don’t want any governing and leading, papa,’ said Eve, studying the -bed cover. ‘Papa,’ after a moment, ‘whilst you lie in bed, don’t you -think all those little tufts on the counterpane look like poplars? I -often do, and imagine gardens and walks and pleasure-grounds among -them.’ - -‘Eve,’ said her father, ‘I am not going to be put off what I have to -say by such poor artifices as this. I am going to send you back to -Lanherne.’ - -‘Lanherne!’ echoed Eve, springing back. ‘I can’t go there, papa; -indeed I can’t. It is dull enough here, but it is ten thousand times -duller there. I have just said so to Barbara. I can’t go, I won’t go -to Lanherne. I don’t see why I should be forced. I’m not going to be a -nun. My education has been completed under Barbara. I know where Cape -Guardafui is, and the Straits of Malacca, and the Coromandel Coast. I -know Mangnall’s questions and answers right through—that is, I know the -questions and some of the answers. I can read “Télémaque.” What more is -wanted of any girl? I don’t desire any more learning. I hate Lanherne. -I fell ill last time I was there. Those nuns look like hobgoblins, and -not like angels. I shall run away. Besides, it was eternally semolina -pudding there, and, papa, I hate semolina. Always semolina on fast -days, and the puddings sometimes burnt. There now, my education _is_ -incomplete. I do not know whence semolina comes. Is it vegetable, -papa? Mr. Coyshe, you are scientific, tell us the whole history of the -production of this detestable article of commerce.’ - -‘Semolina——’ began Mr. Coyshe. - -‘Never mind about semolina,’ interrupted Barbara, who saw through -her sister’s tricks. ‘We will turn up the word in the encyclopædia -afterwards. We are considering Lanherne now.’ - -‘I don’t mind the large-grained semolina so much, said Eve, with a -face of childlike simplicity; ‘that is almost as good as tapioca.’ - -Her father caught her wrist and drew her hand upon the bed. He clutched -it so tightly that she exclaimed that he hurt her. - -‘Eve,’ he said, ‘it is necessary for you to go.’ - -Her face became dull and stubborn again. - -‘Is Mr. Coyshe here to examine my chest, and see if I am strong enough -to endure confinement? Because I was the means, according to you, papa, -of poor—of the prisoner escaping last night, therefore I am to be sent -to prison myself to-morrow.’ - -‘I am not sending you to prison,’ said her father, ‘I am placing you -under wise and pious guardians. You are not to be trusted alone any -more. Barbara has been——’ - -‘There! there!’ exclaimed Eve, flashing an angry glance at her sister, -and bursting into tears; ‘was there ever a poor girl so badly treated? -I am scolded, and threatened with jail. My sister, who should love me -and take my part, is my chief tormentor, and instigates you, papa, -against me. She is rightly called Barbara—she is a savage. I know so -much Latin as to understand that.’ - -Barbara touched Mr. Coyshe, and signed to him to leave the room with -her. - -Eve watched them out of the room with satisfaction. She could manage -her father, she thought, if left alone with him. But her father was -thoroughly alarmed. He had been told that she had met Martin on the -rock. Barbara had told him this to exculpate Jasper. Her conduct on the -preceding night had, moreover, filled him with uneasiness. - -‘Papa,’ said Eve, looking at her little foot and shoe, ‘don’t you think -Mr. Coyshe’s ears stick out very much? I suppose his mother was not -particular with him to put them under the rim of his cap.’ - -‘I have not noticed.’ - -‘And, papa, what eager, staring eyes he has got! I think he straps his -cravat too tight.’ - -‘Possibly.’ - -‘Do you know, dear papa, there is a little hole just over the -mantelshelf in my room, and the other day I saw something hanging down -from it. I thought it was a bit of string, and I went up to it and -pulled it. Then there came a little squeak, and I screamed. What do you -suppose I had laid hold of? It was a mouse’s tail. Was that not an odd -thing, papa, for the wee mouse to sit in its run and let its tail hang -down outside?’ - -‘Yes, very odd.’ - -‘Papa, how did all those beautiful things come into the house which -I found in the chest upstairs? And why were you so cross with me for -putting them on?’ - -The old man’s face changed at once, the wild look came back into his -eye, and his hand which clasped her wrist clutched it so convulsively, -that she felt his nails cut her tender skin. - -‘Eve!’ he said, and his voice quivered, ‘never touch them again. Never -speak of them again. My God!’ he put his hand to his brow and wiped the -drops which suddenly started over it, ‘my God! I fear, I fear for her.’ - -Then he turned his agitated face eagerly to her, and said— - -‘Eve! you must take him. I wish it. I shall have no peace till I know -you are in his hands. He is so wise and so assured. I cannot die and -leave you alone. I wake up in the night bathed in a sweat of fear, -thinking of you, fearing for you. I imagine all sorts of things. Do you -not wish to go to Lanherne? Then take Mr. Coyshe. He will make you a -good husband. I shall be at ease when you are provided for. I cannot -die—and I believe I am nearer death than you or Barbara, or even the -doctor, supposes—I cannot die, and leave you here alone, unprotected. -O Eve! if you love me do as I ask. You must either go to Lanherne or -take Mr. Coyshe. It must be one or the other. What is that?’ he asked -suddenly, drawing back in the bed, and staring wildly at her, and -pointing at her forehead with a white quivering finger. ‘What is there? -A stain—a spot. One of my black spots, very big. No, it is red. It is -blood! It came there when I was wounded by the scythe, and every now -and then it breaks out again. I see it now.’ - -‘Papa!’ said Eve, shuddering, ‘don’t point at me in that way, and look -so strange; you frighten me. There is nothing there. Barbie washed it -off long ago.’ - -Then he wavered in his bed, passing one hand over the other, as -washing—’It cannot wash off,’ he said, despairingly. ‘It eats its way -in, farther, farther, till it reaches the very core of the heart, and -then——’ he cast himself back and moaned. - -‘It was very odd of the mouse,’ said Eve, ‘to sit with her little back -to the room, looking into the dark, and her tail hanging out into the -chamber.’ She thought to divert her father’s thoughts from his fancies. - -‘Eve!’ he said in a hoarse voice, and turned sharply round on her, ‘let -me see your mother’s ring again. To-day you shall put it on. Hitherto -you have worn it hung round your neck. To-day you shall bear it on your -finger, in token that you are engaged.’ - -‘Oh, papa, dear! I don’t——’ - -‘Which is it to be, Lanherne or Mr. Coyshe?’ - -‘I won’t indeed go to Lanherne.’ - -‘Very well; then you will take Mr. Coyshe. He will make you happy. He -will not always live here; he talks of a practice in London. He tells -me that he has found favour with the Duke. If he goes to London——’ - -‘Oh, papa! Is he really going to London?’ - -‘Yes, child!’ - -‘Where all the theatres are! Oh, papa! I should like to live in a town, -I do not like being mewed up in the country. Will he have a carriage?’ - -‘I suppose so.’ - -‘Oh, papa! and a tiger in buttons and a gold band?’ - -‘I do not know.’ - -‘I am sure he will, papa! I’d rather have that than go to Lanherne.’ - -Mr. Jordan knocked with his stick against the wall. Eve was frightened. - -‘Papa, don’t be too hasty. I only meant that I hate Lanherne!’ - -In fact, she was alarmed by his mention of the ring, and following her -usual simple tactics had diverted the current of his thoughts into -another direction. - -Barbara and Mr. Coyshe came in. - -‘She consents,’ said Mr. Jordan. ‘Eve, give him your hand. Where is the -ring?’ - -She drew back. - -‘I want the ring,’ he said again, impatiently. - -‘Papa, I have not got it—that is—I have mislaid it.’ - -‘What!’ he exclaimed, trying to sit up, and becoming excited. ‘The -ring—not lost! Mislaid! It must be found. I will have it. Your mother’s -ring! I will never, never forgive if that is lost. Produce it at once.’ - -‘I cannot, papa. I don’t know—— O—Mr. Coyshe, quick, give me your hand. -There! I consent. Do not be excited, dear papa. I’ll find the ring -to-morrow.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII. - -IN A MINE. - - -EVE had no sooner consented to take Mr. Coyshe, just to save herself -the inconvenience of being questioned about the lost ring, than she -ran out of the room, and to escape further importunity ran over the -fields towards the wood. She had scarcely gone three steps from the -house before she regretted what she had done. She did not care for Mr. -Coyshe. She laughed at his peculiarities. She did not believe, like -her father and sister, in his cleverness. But she saw that his ears -and eyes were unduly prominent, and she was alive to the ridiculous. -Mr. Coyshe was more to her fancy than most of the young men of the -neighbourhood, who talked of nothing but sport, and who would grow -with advancing age to talk of sport and rates, and beyond rates would -not grow. Eve was not fond of hunting. Barbara rarely went after the -hounds, Eve never. She did not love horse exercise; she preferred -sauntering in the woods and lanes, gathering autumn-tinted blackberry -leaves, to a run over the downs after a fox. Perhaps hunting required -too much exertion for her: Eve did not care for exertion. She made -dolls’ clothes still, at the age of seventeen; she played on the piano -and sang; she collected leaves and flowers for posies. That was all Eve -cared to do. Whatever she did she did it listlessly, because nothing -thoroughly interested her. Yet she felt that there might be things -which were not to be encountered at Morwell that would stir her heart -and make her pulses bound. In a word, she had an artistic nature, and -the world in which she moved was a narrow and inartistic world. Her -proper faculties were unevoked. Her true nature slept. - -The hoot of an owl, followed by a queer little face peeping at her from -behind a pine. She did not at once recognise Watt, as her mind was -occupied with her engagement to Mr. Coyshe. - -Now at the very moment Watt showed himself her freakish mind had -swerved from a position of disgust at her engagement, into one of -semi-content with it. Mr. Coyshe was going to London, and there she -would be free to enjoy herself after her own fashion, in seeing plays, -hearing operas, going to all the sights of the great town, in a life of -restless pleasure-seeking, and that was exactly what Eve desired. - -Watt looked woe-begone. He crept from behind the tree. His impudence -and merriment had deserted him. Tears came into his eyes as he spoke. - -‘Are they all gone?’ he asked, looking cautiously about. - -‘Whom do you mean?’ - -‘The police.’ - -‘Yes, they have left Morwell. I do not know whither. Whether they are -searching for your brother or have given up the search I cannot say. -What keeps you here?’ - -‘O Miss Eve! poor Martin is not far off. It would not do for him to run -far. He is in hiding at no great distance, and—he has nothing to eat.’ - -‘Where is he? What can I do?’ asked Eve, frightened. - -‘He is in an old mine. He will not be discovered there. Even if the -constables found the entrance, which is improbable, they would not take -him, for he would retreat into one of the side passages and escape by -an airhole in another part of the wood.’ - -‘I will try what I can do. I dare say I might smuggle some food away -from the house and put it behind the hedge, whence you could fetch it.’ - -‘That is not enough. He must get away.’ - -‘There is Jasper’s horse still with us. I will ask Jasper, and you can -have that.’ - -‘No,’ answered the boy, ‘that will not do. We must not take the road -this time. We must try the water.’ - -‘We have a boat,’ said Eve, ‘but papa would never allow it to be used.’ - -‘Your papa will know nothing about it, nor the prudent Barbara, nor the -solemn Jasper. You can get the key and let us have the boat.’ - -‘I will do what I can, but’—as a sudden thought struck her—’Martin must -let me have my ring again. I want it so much. My father has been asking -for it.’ - -‘How selfish you are!’ exclaimed the boy reproachfully. ‘Thinking of -your own little troubles when a vast danger menaces our dear Martin. -Come with me. You must see Martin and ask him yourself for that ring. I -dare not speak of it; he values that ring above everything. You must -plead for it yourself with that pretty mouth and those speaking eyes.’ - -‘I must not; indeed I must not!’ - -‘Why not? You will not be missed. No one will harm you. You should see -the poor fellow, to what he is reduced by love for you. Yes, come and -see him. He would never have been here, he would have been far away in -safety, but he had the desire to see you again.’ - -‘Indeed, I cannot accompany you.’ - -‘Then you must do without the ring.’ - -‘I want my ring again vastly. My father is cross because I have not -got it, and I have promised to show it him. How can I keep my promise -unless it be restored to me?’ - -‘Come, come!’ said the boy impatiently. ‘Whilst you are talking you -might have got half-way to his den.’ - -‘I will only just speak to him,’ said Eve, ‘two words, and then run -home.’ - -‘To be sure. That will be ample—two words,’ sneered the boy, and led -the way. - -The old mine adit was below the rocks near the river, and at no -great distance from the old landing-place, where Jasper had recently -constructed a boathouse. The ground about the entrance was thickly -strewn with dead leaves, mixed with greenish shale thrown out of the -copper mine, and so poisonous that no grass had been able to grow -over it, though the mine had probably not been worked for a century -or even more. But the mouth of the adit was now completely overgrown -with brambles and fringed with ferns. The dogwood, now in flower, -had thickly clambered near the entrance wherever the earth was not -impregnated with copper and arsenic. - -Eve shrank from the black entrance and hung back, but the boy caught -her by the arm and insisted on her coming with him. She surmounted some -broken masses of rock that had fallen before the entrance, and brushed -aside the dogwood and briars. The air struck chill and damp against her -brow as she passed out of the sun under the stony arch. - -The rock was lichened. White-green fungoid growths hung down in -streamers; the floor was dry, though water dripped from the sides and -nourished beds of velvet moss as far in as the light penetrated. So -much rubble covered the bottom of the adit, that the water filtered -through it and passed by a subterranean channel to the river. - -After taking a few steps forward, Eve saw Martin half sitting, half -lying on a bed of fern and heather; the grey light from the entrance -fell on his face. It was pale and drawn; but he brightened up when he -saw Eve, and he started to his knee to salute her. - -‘I cannot stand upright in this cursed hole,’ he said, ‘but at this -moment it matters not. On my knee I do homage to my queen.’ He seized -her hand and pressed his lips to it. - -‘Here you see me,’ he said, ‘doomed to shiver in this pit, catching my -death of rheumatism.’ - -‘You will surely soon get away,’ said Eve. ‘I am very sorry for you. I -must go home, I may not stay.’ - -‘What! leave me now that you have appeared as a sunbeam, shining into -this abyss to glorify it! Oh, no—stay a few minutes, and then I shall -remain and dream of the time you were here. Look at my companions.’ He -pointed to the roof, where curious lumps like compacted cobwebs hung -down. ‘These are bats, asleep during the day. When night falls they -will begin to stir and shake their wings, and scream, and fly out. -Shall I have to sleep in this den, with the hideous creatures crying -and flapping about my head?’ - -‘Oh, that will be dreadful! But surely you will leave this when night -comes on?’ - -‘Yes, if you will help me to get away.’ - -‘I will furnish you with the key to the boathouse. I will hide it -somewhere, and then your brother can find it.’ - -‘That will not satisfy me. You must bring the key here.’ - -‘Why? I cannot do that.’ - -‘Indeed you must; I cannot live without another glimpse of your sweet -face. Peter was released by an angel. It shall be the same with Martin.’ - -‘I will bring you the key,’ said Eve nervously, ‘if you will give me -back my ring.’ - -‘Your ring!’ exclaimed Martin; ‘never! Go—call the myrmidons of justice -and deliver me into their hands.’ - -‘I would not do that for the world,’ said Eve with tears in her eyes; -‘I will do everything that I can to help you. Indeed, last night, I -got into dreadful trouble by dressing up and playing my tambourine and -dancing to attract the attention of the men, whilst you were escaping -from the corn-chamber. Papa was very angry and excited, and Barbara -was simply—dreadful. I have been scolded and made most unhappy. Do, in -pity, give me up the ring. My papa has asked for it. You have already -got me into another trouble, because I had not the ring. I was obliged -to promise to marry Doctor Coyshe just to pacify papa, he was so -excited about the ring.’ - -‘What! engaged yourself to another?’ - -‘I was forced into it, to-day, I tell you—because I had not got the -ring. Give it me. I want to get out of my engagement, and I cannot -without that.’ - -‘And I—it is not enough that I should be hunted as a hare—my heart -must be broken! Walter! where are you? Come here and listen to me. -Never trust a woman. Curse the whole sex for its falseness and its -selfishness. There is no constancy in this world.’ And he sighed and -looked reproachfully at Eve. ‘After all I have endured and suffered—for -you.’ - -Eve’s tears flowed. Martin’s attitude, tone of voice, were pathetic and -moved her. ‘I am very sorry,’ she said, ‘but—I never gave you the ring. -You snatched it from me. You are unknown to me, I am nothing to you, -and you are—you are——’ - -‘Yes, speak out the bitter truth. I am a thief, a runaway convict, a -murderer. Use every offensive epithet that occurs in your vocabulary. -Give a dog a bad name and hang him. I ought to have known the sex -better than to have trusted you. But I loved, I was blinded by passion. -I saw an angel face, and blue eyes that promised a heaven of tenderness -and truth. I saw, I loved, I trusted—and here I am, a poor castaway -ship, lying ready to be broken up and plundered by wreckers. O the -cruel, faithless sex! We men, with our royal trust, our splendid -self-sacrifice, become a ready prey; and when we are down, the laughing -heartless tyrants dance over us. When the lion was sick the ass came -and kicked him. It was the last indignity the royal beast could endure, -he laid his head between his paws and his heart brake. Leave me—leave -me to die.’ - -‘O Martin!’ said Eve, quite overcome by his greatness, and the vastness -of his devotion, ‘I have never hurt you, never offended you. You are -like my papa, and have fancies.’ - -‘I have fancies. Yes, you are right, terribly right. I have had my -fancies. I have lived in a delusion. I believed in the honesty of those -eyes. I trusted your word——’ - -‘I never gave you a word.’ - -‘Do not interrupt me. I _did_ suppose that your heart had surrendered -to me. The delusion is over. The heart belongs to a vulgar village -apothecary. That heart which I so treasured——’ his voice shook and -broke, and Eve sobbed. ‘Who brought the police upon me?’ he went on. -‘It was you, whom I loved and trusted, you who possess an innocent face -and a heart full of guile. And here I lie, your victim, in a living -grave your cruel hands have scooped out for me in the rock.’ - -‘O—indeed, this mine was dug hundreds of years ago.’ - -He turned a reproachful look at her. ‘Why do you interrupt me? I speak -metaphorically. You brought me to this, and if you have a spark of good -feeling in your breast you will get me away from here.’ - -‘I will bring you the key as soon as the sun sets.’ - -‘That is right. I accept the token of penitence with gladness, and hope -for day in the heart where the light dawns.’ - -‘I must go—I really must go,’ she said. - -He bowed grandly to her, with his hand on his heart. - -‘Come,’ said Watt. ‘I will help you over these rubbish heaps. You have -had your two words.’ - -‘O stay!’ exclaimed Eve, ‘my ring! I came for that and I have not got -it. I must indeed, indeed have it.’ - -‘Eve,’ said Martin, ‘I have been disappointed, and have spoken sharply -of the sex. But I am not the man to harbour mistrust. Deceived I have -been, and perhaps am now laying myself open to fresh disappointment. I -cannot say. I cannot go against my nature, which is frank and trustful. -There—take your ring. Come back to me this evening with it and the -key, and prove to me that all women are not false, that all confidence -placed in them is not misplaced.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV. - -TUCKERS. - - -BARBARA sat in the little oak parlour, a pretty room that opened out of -the hall; indeed it had originally been a portion of the hall, which -was constructed like a letter L. The hall extended to the roof, but the -branch at right angles was not half the height. It was ceiled about ten -feet from the floor, and instead of being, like the hall, paved with -slate, had oak boards. The window looked into the garden. Mr. Jordan’s -father had knocked away the granite mullions, and put in a sash-window, -out of keeping with the room and house, but agreeable to the taste of -the period, and admitting more light. A panelled division cut the room -off from the hall. Barbara and Eve could not agree about the adornment -of this apartment. On the walls were a couple of oil paintings, and -Barbara supplemented them with framed and glazed mezzotints. She could -not be made by her sister to see the incongruity of engravings and oil -paintings hanging side by side on dark oak panels. On the chimney-piece -was a French ormolu clock, which was Eve’s detestation. It was badly -designed and unsuitable for the room. So was the banner-screen of a -poodle resting on a red cushion; so were the bugle mats on the table; -so were the antimacassars on all the arm-chairs and over the back of -the sofa; so were some drawing-room chairs purchased by Barbara, with -curved legs, and rails that were falling out periodically. Barbara -thought these chairs handsome, Eve detestable. The chimney-piece -ornaments, the vases of pale green glass illuminated with flowers, were -also objects of aversion to one sister and admiration to the other. -Eve at one time refused to make posies for the vases in the parlour, -and was always protesting against some new introduction by her sister, -which violated the principles of taste. - -‘I don’t like to live in a dingy old hall like this,’ Eve would say; -‘but I like a place to be fitted up in keeping with its character.’ - -Barbara was now seated in this debatable ground. Eve was out somewhere, -and she was alone and engaged with her needle. Her father, in the next -room, was dozing. Then to the open window came Jasper, leaned his arms -on the sill—the sash was up—and looked in at Barbara. - -‘Hard at work as usual?’ he said. - -She smiled and nodded, and looked at him, holding her needle up, with a -long white thread in it. - -‘On what engaged I dare not ask,’ said Jasper. - -‘You may know,’ she said, laughing. ‘Sewing in tuckers. I always sew -tuckers on Saturdays, both for myself and for Eve.’ - -‘And, pray, what are tuckers?’ - -‘Tuckers’—she hesitated to find a suitable description, ‘tuckers -are—well, tuckers.’ She took a neck of a dress which she had finished -and put it round her throat. ‘Now you see. Now you understand. Tuckers -are the garnishing, like parsley to a dish.’ - -‘And compliments to speech. So you do Eve’s as well as your own.’ - -‘O dear, yes; Eve cannot be trusted. She would forget all about them -and wear dirty tuckers.’ - -‘But she worked hard enough burnishing the brass necklace.’ - -‘O yes, that shone! tuckers are simply—clean.’ - -‘My Lady Eve should have a lady’s-maid.’ - -‘Not whilst I am with her. I do all that is needful for her. When she -marries she must have one, as she is helpless.’ - -‘You think Eve will marry?’ - -‘O yes! It is all settled. She has consented.’ - -He was a little surprised. This had come about very suddenly, and Eve -was young. - -‘I am glad you are here,’ said Barbara, ‘only you have taken an unfair -advantage of me.’ - -‘I—Barbara?’ - -‘Yes, Jasper, you.’ She looked up into his face with a heightened -colour. He had never called her by her plain Christian name before, nor -had she thus addressed him, but their hearts understood each other, and -a formal title would have been an affectation on either side. - -‘I will tell you why,’ said the girl; ‘so do not put on such a -puzzled expression. I want to speak to you seriously about a matter -that—that—well, Jasper, that makes me wish you had your face in the -light and mine in the shade. Where you stand the glare of the sky is -behind you, and you can see every change in my face, and that unnerves -me. Either you shall come in here, take my place at the tuckers, and -let me talk to you through the window, or else I shall move my chair -close to the window, and sit with my back to it, and we can talk -without watching each other’s face.’ - -‘Do that, Barbara. I cannot venture on the tuckers.’ - -So, laughing nervously, and with her colour changing in her checks, and -her lips twitching, she drew her chair close to the window, and seated -herself, not exactly with her back to it, but sideways, and turned her -face from it. - -The ground outside was higher than the floor of the parlour, so that -Jasper stood above her, and looked down somewhat, not much, on her -head, her dark hair so neat and glossy, and smoothly parted. He stooped -to the mignonette bed and gathered some of the fragrant delicate little -trusses of colourless flowers, and with a slight apology thrust two or -three among her dark hair. - -‘Putting in tuckers,’ he said. ‘Garnishing the sweetest of heads with -the plant that to my mind best symbolises Barbara.’ - -‘Don’t,’ she exclaimed, shaking her head, but not shaking the sprigs -out of her hair. ‘You are taking unwarrantable liberties, Mr. Jasper.’ - -‘I will take no more.’ He folded his arms on the sill. She did not see, -but she felt, the flood of love that poured over her bowed head from -his eyes. She worked very hard fastening off a thread at the end of a -tucker. - -‘I also,’ said Jasper, ‘have been desirous of a word with you, Barbara.’ - -She turned, looked up in his face, then bent her head again over her -work. The flies, among them a great bluebottle, were humming in the -window; the latter bounced against the glass, and was too stupid to -come down and go out at the open sash. - -‘We understand each other,’ said Jasper, in a low voice, as pleasant -and soft as the murmur of the flies. ‘There are songs without words, -and there is speech without voice: what I have thought and felt you -know, though I have not told you anything, and I think I know also what -you think and feel. Now, however, it is as well that we should come to -plain words.’ - -‘Yes, Jasper, I think so as well, that is why I have come over here -with my tuckers.’ - -‘We know each other’s heart,’ he said, stooping in over her head and -the garnishing of mignonette, and speaking as low as a whisper, not -really in a whisper but in his natural warm, rich voice. ‘There is -this, dear Barbara, about me. My name, my family, are dishonoured by -the thoughtless, wrongful act of my poor brother. I dare not ask you to -share that name with me, not only on this ground, but also because I am -absolutely penniless. A great wrong has been done to your father and -sister by us, and it does not become me to ask the greatest and richest -of gifts from your family. Hereafter I may inherit my father’s mill at -Buckfastleigh. When I do I will, as I have undertaken, fully repay the -debt to your sister, but till I can do that I may not ask for more. You -are, and must be, to me a far-off, unapproachable star, to whom I look -up, whom I shall ever love and stretch my hands towards.’ - -‘I am not a star at all,’ said Barbara, ‘and as for being far off and -unapproachable, you are talking nonsense, and you do not mean it or you -would not have stuck bits of mignonette in my hair. I do not understand -rhodomontade.’ - -Jasper laughed. He liked her downright, plain way. ‘I am quoting a -thought from “Preciosa,”’ he said. - -‘I know nothing of “Preciosa,” save that it is something Eve strums.’ - -‘Well—divest what I have said of all exaggeration of simile, you -understand what I mean.’ - -‘And I want you to understand my position exactly, Jasper,’ she said. -‘I also am penniless. The money my aunt left me I have made over to Eve -because she could not marry Mr. Coyshe without something present, as -well as a prospect of something to come.’ - -‘What! sewn your poor little legacy in as a tucker to her wedding gown?’ - -‘Mr. Coyshe wants to go to London, he is lost here; and Eve would be -happy in a great city, she mopes in the country. So I have consented -to this arrangement. I do not want the money as I live here with my -father, and it is a real necessity for Eve and Mr. Coyshe. You see—I -could not do other.’ - -‘And when your father dies, Morwell also passes to Eve. What is left -for you?’ - -‘Oh, I shall do very well. Mr. Coyshe and Eve would never endure to -live here. By the time dear papa is called away Mr. Coyshe will have -made himself a name, be a physician, and rolling in money. Perhaps he -and Eve may like to run here for their short holiday and breathe our -pure air, but otherwise they will not occupy the place, and I thought I -might live on here and manage for them. Then’—she turned her cheek and -Jasper saw a glitter on the long dark lash, but at the same time the -dimple of a smile on her cheek—’then, dear friend’—she put up her hand -on the sill, and he caught it—’then, dear friend, perhaps you will not -mind helping me. Then probably your little trouble will be over.’ She -was silent, thinking, and he saw the dimple go out of her smooth cheek, -and the sparkling drop fall from the lash on that cheek. ‘All is in -God’s hand,’ she said. ‘We do wrong to look forward; I shall be happy -to leave it so, and wait and trust.’ - -Then he put the other hand which did not clasp hers under her chin, and -tried to raise her face, but he could only reach her brow with his lips -and kiss it. He said not one word. - -‘You do not answer,’ she said. - -‘I cannot,’ he replied. - -Then the door was thrown open and Eve entered, flushed, and holding up -her finger. - -‘Look, Bab!—look, dear! I have my ring again. Now I can shake off that -doctor.’ - -‘O Eve!’ gasped Barbara; ‘the ring! where did you get it?’ She turned -sharply to Jasper. ‘She has seen him—your brother Martin—again.’ - -Eve was, for a moment, confused, but only for a moment. She recovered -herself and said merrily, ‘Why, Barbie dear, however did you get that -crown of mignonette in your hair? You never stuck it there yourself. -You would not dream of such a thing; besides, your arm is not long -enough to reach the flower-bed. Jasper! confess you have been doing -this.’ She clasped her hands and danced. ‘O what fun!’ she exclaimed: -‘but really it is a shame of me interfering when Barbara is so busy -with the tuckers, and Jasper in garnishing Barbara’s head.’ Then she -bounded out of the room, leaving her sister in confusion. - - - - -CHAPTER XLV. - -DUCK AND GREEN PEAS. - - -EVE might evade an explanation by turning the defence into an attack -when first surprised, but she was unable to resist a determined -onslaught, and when Barbara followed her and parried all her feints, -and brought her to close quarters, Eve was driven to admit that she -had seen Martin, who was in concealment in the wood, and that she had -undertaken to furnish him with food and the boathouse key. Jasper was -taken into consultation, and promised to seek his brother and provide -for him what was necessary, but neither he nor Barbara could induce her -to remain at home and not revisit the fugitive. - -‘I know that Jasper will not find the place without me,’ she said. -‘Watt only discovered it by his prowling about as a weasel. I must go -with Mr. Jasper, but I promise you, Barbie, it shall be for the last -time.’ There was reason in her argument, and Barbara was forced to -acquiesce. - -Accordingly in the evening, not before, the two set out for the mine, -Eve carrying some provisions in a basket. Jasper was much annoyed that -his brother was still in the neighbourhood, and still causing trouble -to the sisters at Morwell. - -Eve had shown her father the ring. The old man was satisfied; he took -it, looked hard at it, slipped it on his little finger, and would not -surrender it again. Eve must explain this to Martin if he redemanded -the ring, which he was like enough to do. - -Neither she nor Jasper spoke much to each other on the way; he had his -thoughts occupied, and she was not easy in her mind. As they approached -the part of the wood where the mine shaft was, she began to sing the -song in ‘Don Giovanni,’ _Là ci darem_, as a signal to Watt that friends -drew nigh through the bushes. On entering the adit they found Martin -in an ill humour. He had been without food for many hours, and was -moreover suffering from an attack of rheumatism. - -‘I said as much this morning, Eve,’ he growled. ‘I knew this hateful -hole would make me ill, and here I am in agonies. Oh, it is of no use -your bringing me the key of the boat; _I_ can’t go on the water with -knives running into my back, and, what is more, I can’t stick in this -hateful burrow. How many hours on the water down to Plymouth? I can’t -even think of it; I should have rheumatic fever. I’d rather be back -in jail—there I suppose they would give me hot-bottles and blankets. -And this, too, when I had prepared such a treat for Eve. Curse it! I’m -always thinking of others, and getting into pickles myself accordingly.’ - -‘Why, pray, what were you scheming to do for Miss Eve?’ asked Jasper. - -‘O, the company I was with for a bit is at Plymouth, and are performing -Weber’s new piece, “Preciosa,” and I thought I’d like to show it to -her—and then the manager, Justice Barret, knows about her mother. When -I told him of my escape, and leaving you at Morwell, he said that he -had left one of his company there named Eve. I thought it would be a -pleasure to the young lady to meet him, and hear what he had to tell of -her mother.’ - -‘And you intended to carry Eve off with you?’ - -‘I intended to persuade her to accompany me. Perhaps she will do so -still, when I am better.’ - -Jasper was angry, and spoke sharply to his brother. Martin turned on -his bed of fern and heather, and groaning, put his hands over his ears. - -‘Come,’ said he. ‘Watt, give me food. I can’t stand scolding on an -empty stomach, and with aches in my bones.’ - -He was impervious to argument; remonstrance he resented. Jasper -took the basket from Eve, and gave him what he required. He groaned -and cried out as Watt raised him in his arms. Martin looked at Eve, -appealing for sympathy. He was a martyr, a guiltless sufferer, and not -spared even by his brother. - -‘I think, Martin,’ said Jasper, ‘that if you were well wrapped in -blankets you might still go in the boat.’ - -‘You seem vastly eager to be rid of me,’ answered Martin peevishly, -‘but, I tell you, I will not go. I’m not going to jeopardise my life on -the river in the fogs and heavy dews to relieve you from anxiety. How -utterly and unreasonably selfish you are! If there be one vice which -is despicable, it is selfishness. I repeat, I won’t go, and I won’t -stay in this hole. You must find some safe and warm place in which -to stow me. I throw all responsibilities on you. I wish I had never -escaped from jail—I have been sinking ever since I left it. There I had -a dry cell and food. From that I went to the corn-chamber at Morwell, -which was dry—but, faugh! how it stank of onions! Now I have this damp -dungeon that smells of mould. Watt and you got me out of prison, and -got me away from the warders and constables, so you must provide for -me now. I have nothing more to do with it. If you take a responsibility -on you, my doctrine is, go through with it; don’t take it up and drop -it half finished. What news of that fellow I shot? Is he dead?’ - -‘No—wounded, but not dangerously.’ - -‘There, then, why should I fear? I was comfortable in jail. I had -my meals regularly there, and was not subjected to damp. I trust my -country would have cared for me better than my brothers, who give me at -one time onions for a pillow, and at another heather for a bed.’ - -‘My dear Martin,’ said Jasper, ‘I think if you try you can walk up the -road; there is a woodman’s hut among the trees near the Raven Rock, but -concealed in the coppice. It is warm and dry, and no one will visit it -whilst the leaves are on the trees. The workmen keep their tools there, -and their dinners, when shredding in winter or rending in spring. You -will be as safe there as here, and so much nearer Morwell that we shall -be able easily to furnish you with necessaries till you are better, and -can escape to Plymouth.’ - -‘I’m not sure that it is wise for me to try to get to Plymouth. The -police will be on the look-out for me there, and they will not dream -that I have stuck here—this is the last place where they would suppose -I stayed. Besides, I have no money. No; I will wait till the company -move away from the county, and I will rejoin it at Bridgewater, -or Taunton, or Dorchester. Justice Barret is a worthy fellow; a -travelling company can’t always command such abilities as mine, so the -accommodation is mutual.’ - -Martin was assisted out of the mine. He groaned, cried out, and made -many signs of distress; he really was suffering, but he made the most -of his suffering. Jasper stood on one side of him. He would not hear -of Walter sustaining him on the other side; he must have Eve as his -support, and he could only support himself on her by putting his arm -over her shoulders. No objections raised by Jasper were of avail. Watt -was not tall enough. Watt’s steps were irregular. Watt was required to -go on ahead and see that no one was in the way. Martin was certainly a -very handsome man. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, and fair long hair; his -eyes were dark and large, his features regular, his complexion pale and -interesting. Seeing that Jasper looked at his hair with surprise, he -laughed, and leaning his head towards him whispered, ‘Those rascals at -Prince’s Town cropped me like a Puritan. I wear a theatrical wig before -the sex, till my hair grows again.’ - -Then leaning heavily on Eve, he bent his head to her ear, and made a -complimentary remark which brought the colour into her cheek. - -‘Jasper,’ said he, turning his head again to his brother, ‘mind this, I -cannot put up with cyder; I am racked with rheumatism, and I must have -generous drink. I suppose your father’s cellar is well stocked?’ He -addressed Eve. ‘You will see that the poor invalid is not starved, and -has not his vitals wrung with vinegar. I have seen ducks about Morwell; -what do you say to duck with onion stuffing for dinner to-morrow—and -tawny port, eh? I’ll let you both into another confidence. I am not -going to lie on bracken. By hook or by crook you must contrive to bring -me out a feather bed. If I’ve not one, and a bolster and pillow and -blankets—by George and the dragon! I’ll give myself up to the beaks.’ - -Then he moaned, and squeezed Eve’s shoulder. - -‘Green peas,’ he said when the paroxysm was over. ‘Duck and green -peas; I shall dine off that to-morrow—and tell the cook not to forget -the mint. Also some carrot sliced, boiled, then fried in Devonshire -cream, with a little shallot cut very fine and toasted, sprinkled on -top. ‘Sweetheart,’ aside to Eve into her ear, ‘you shall come and have -a snack with me. Remember, it is an invitation. We will not have old -solemn face with us as a mar-fun, shall we?’ - -The woodman’s hut when reached after a slow ascent was found to be -small, warm, and in good condition. It was so low that a man could not -stand upright in it, but it was sufficiently long to allow him to lie -his length therein. The sides were of wattled oak branches, compacted -with heather and moss, and the roof was of turf. The floor was dry, -deep bedded in fern. - -‘It is a dog’s kennel,’ said the dissatisfied Martin; ‘or rather it is -not so good as that. It is the sort of place made for swans and geese -and ducks beside a pond, for shelter when they lay their eggs. It -really is humiliating that I should have to bury my head in a sort of -water-fowl’s sty.’ - -Eve promised that Martin should have whatever he desired. Jasper had, -naturally, a delicacy in offering anything beyond his own services, -though he knew he could rely on Barbara. - -When they had seen the exhausted and anguished martyr gracefully -reposing on the bracken bed, to rest after his painful walk, and had -already left, they were recalled by his voice shouting to Jasper, -regardless of every consideration that should have kept him quiet, -‘Don’t be a fool, Jasper, and shake the bottle. If you break the crust -I won’t drink it.’ And again the call came, ‘Mind the green peas.’ - -As Jasper and Eve walked back to Morwell neither spoke much, but on -reaching the last gate, Eve said— - -‘O, dear Mr. Jasper, do help me to persuade Barbie to let me go! I have -made up my mind; I must and will see the play and hear all that the -manager can tell me about my mother.’ - -‘I will go to Plymouth, Miss Eve. I must see this Mr. Justice Barret, -and I will learn every particular for you.’ - -‘That is not enough. I want to see a play. I have never been to a -theatre in all my life.’ - -‘I will see what your sister says.’ - -‘I am obstinate. I shall go, whether she says yes or no.’ - -‘To-morrow is Sunday,’ said Jasper, ‘when no theatre is open.’ - -‘Besides,’ added Eve, ‘there is poor Martin’s duck and green peas -to-morrow.’ - -‘And crusted port. If we go, it must be Monday.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI. - -‘PRECIOSA.’ - - -EVE had lost something of her light-heartedness; in spite of herself -she was made to think, and grave alternatives were forced upon her -for decision. The careless girl was dragged in opposite directions by -two men, equally selfish and conceited, the one prosaic and clever, -the other æsthetic but ungifted; each actuated by the coarsest -self-seeking, neither regarding the happiness of the child. Martin had -a passionate fancy for her, and had formed some fantastic scheme of -turning her into a singer and an actress; and Mr. Coyshe thought of -pushing his way in town by the aid of her money. - -Eve was without any strength of character, but she had obstinacy, and -where her pleasure was concerned she could be very obstinate. Hitherto -she had not been required to act with independence. She had submitted -in most things to the will of her father and sister, but then their -will had been to give her pleasure and save her annoyance. She had -learned always to get her own way by an exhibition of peevishness if -crossed. - -Now she had completely set her heart on going to Plymouth. She was -desirous to know something about her mother, as her father might not be -questioned concerning her; and she burned with eagerness to see a play. -It would be hard to say which motive predominated. One alone might have -been beaten down by Barbara’s opposition, but two plaited in and out -together made so tough a string that it could not be broken. Barbara -did what she could, but her utmost was unavailing. Eve had sufficient -shrewdness to insist on her desire to see and converse with a friend of -her mother, and to say as little as possible about her other motive. -Barbara could appreciate one, she would see no force in the other. - -Eve carried her point. Barbara consented to her going under the escort -of Jasper. They were to ride to Beer Ferris and thence take boat. -They were not to stay in Plymouth, but return the same way. The tide -was favourable; they would probably be home by three o’clock in the -morning, and Barbara would sit up for them. It was important that Mr. -Jordan should know nothing of the expedition, which would greatly -excite him. As for Martin, she would provide for him, though she could -not undertake to find him duck and green peas and crusted port every -day. - -One further arrangement was made. Eve was engaged to Mr. Coyshe, -therefore the young doctor was to be invited to join Eve and Jasper at -Beer Alston, and accompany her to Plymouth. A note was despatched to -him to prepare him, and to ask him to have a boat in readiness, and to -allow of the horses being put in his stables. - -Thus, everything was settled, if not absolutely in accordance with -Eve’s wishes—she objected to the company of the doctor—yet sufficiently -so to make her happy. Her happiness became greater as the time -approached for her departure, and when she left she was in as joyful a -mood as any in which Barbara had ever seen her. - -Everything went well. The weather was fine, and the air and landscape -pleasant; not that Eve regarded either as she rode to Beer Alston. -There the tiresome surgeon joined her and Jasper, and insisted on -giving them refreshments. Eve was impatient to be on her way again, and -was hardly civil in her refusal; but the harness of self-conceit was -too dense over the doctor’s breast for him to receive a wound from her -light words. - -In due course Plymouth was reached, and, as there was time to spare, -Eve, by her sister’s directions, went to a convent, where were some -nuns of their acquaintance, and stayed there till fetched by the two -young men to go with them to the theatre. Jasper had written before and -secured tickets. - -At last Eve sat in a theatre—the ambition, the dream of her youth was -gratified. She occupied a stall between Jasper and Mr. Coyshe, a place -that commanded the house, but was also conspicuous. - -Eve sat looking speechlessly about her, lost in astonishment at the -novelty of all that surrounded her; the decorations of white and gold, -the crimson curtains, the chandelier of glittering glass-drops, the -crowd of well-dressed ladies, the tuning of the instruments of the -orchestra, the glare of light, were to her an experience so novel that -she felt she would have been content to come all the way for that -alone. That she herself was an object of notice, that opera-glasses -were turned upon her, never occurred to her. Fond as she was of -admiration, she was too engrossed in admiring to think that she was -admired. - -A hush. The conductor had taken his place and raised his wand. Eve was -startled by the sudden lull, and the lowering of the lights. - -Then the wand fell, and the overture began. ‘Preciosa’ had been -performed in London the previous season for the first time, and now, -out of season, it was taken to the provinces. The house was very full. -A military orchestra played. - -Eve knew the overture arranged for the piano, for Jasper had introduced -her to it; she had admired it; but what was a piano arrangement to a -full orchestra? Her eye sparkled, a brilliant colour rushed into her -cheek. This was something more beautiful than she could have conceived. -The girl’s soul was full of musical appreciation, and she had been kept -for seventeen years away from the proper element in which she could -live. - -Then the curtain rose, and disclosed the garden of Don Carcamo at -Madrid. Eve could hardly repress an exclamation of astonishment. She -saw a terrace with marble statues, and a fountain of water playing, the -crystal drops sparkling as they fell. Umbrageous trees on both sides -threw their foliage overhead and met, forming a succession of bowery -arches. Roses and oleanders bloomed at the sides. Beyond the terrace -extended a distant landscape of rolling woodland and corn fields -threaded by a blue winding river. Far away in the remote distance rose -a range of snow-clad mountains. - -Eve held up her hands, drew a long breath and sighed, not out of -sadness, but out of ecstasy of delight. - -Don Fernando de Azevedo, in black velvet and lace, was taking leave of -Don Carcamo, and informing him that he would have left Madrid some days -ago had he not been induced to stay and see Preciosa, the gipsy girl -about whom the town was talking. Then entered Alonzo, the son of Don -Carcamo, enthusiastic over the beauty, talent, and virtue of the maiden. - -Eve listened with eager eyes and ears, she lost not a word, she missed -not a motion. Everything she saw was real to her. This was true Spain, -yonder was the Sierra Nevada. For aught she considered, these were true -hidalgoes. She forgot she was in a theatre, she forgot everything, her -own existence, in her absorption. Only one thought obtruded itself on -her connecting the real with the fictitious. Martin ought to have stood -there as Alonzo, in that becoming costume. - -Then the orchestra played softly, sweetly—she knew the air, drew -another deep inspiration, her flush deepened. Over the stage swept a -crowd of gentlemen and ladies, and a motley throng singing in chorus. -Then came in gipsies with tambourines and castanets, and through the -midst of them Preciosa in a crimson velvet bodice and saffron skirt, -wearing a necklace of gold chains and coins. - -Eve put her hands over her mouth to check the cry of astonishment; the -dress—she knew it—it was that she had found in the chest. It was that, -or one most similar. - -Eve hardly breathed as Preciosa told the fortunes of Don Carcamo and -Don Fernando. She saw the love of Alonzo kindled, and Alonzo she had -identified with Martin. She—she herself was Preciosa. Had she not worn -that dress, rattled that tambourine, danced the same steps? The curtain -fell; the first act was over, and the hum of voices rose. But Eve heard -nothing. Mr. Coyshe endeavoured to engage her in conversation, but in -vain. She was in a trance, lifted above the earth in ecstasy. She was -Preciosa, she lived under a Spanish sun. This was her world, this real -life. No other world was possible henceforth, no other life endurable. -She had passed out of a condition of surprise; nothing could surprise -her more, she had risen out of a sphere where surprise was possible -into one where music, light, colour, marvel were the proper atmosphere. - -The most prodigious marvels occur in dreams and excite no astonishment. -Eve had passed into ecstatic dream. - -The curtain rose, and the scene was forest, with rocks, and the full -moon shining out of the dark blue sky, silvering the trunks of the -trees and the mossy stones. A gipsy camp; the gipsies sang a chorus -with echo. The captain smote with hammer on a stone and bade his men -prepare for a journey to Valencia. The gipsies dispersed, and then -Preciosa appeared, entering from the far background, with the moonlight -falling on her, subduing to low tones her crimson and yellow, holding -a guitar in her hands. She seated herself on a rock, and the moonbeams -played about her as she sang and accompanied herself on her instrument. - - Lone am I, yet am not lonely, - For I see thee, loved and true, - Round me flits thy form, thine only, - Moonlit gliding o’er the dew. - - Wander where I may, or tarry, - Hangs my heart alone on thee, - Ever in my breast I carry - Thoughts that burn and torture me. - - Unattainable and peerless - In my heaven a constant star, - Heart o’erflowing, eyes all tearless, - Gaze I on thee from afar. - -The exquisite melody, the pathos of the scene, the poetry of the words, -were more than Eve could bear, and tears rolled down her cheeks. Mr. -Coyshe looked round in surprise; he heard her sob, and asked if she -were tired or unwell. No! she sobbed out of excess of happiness. The -combined beauty of scene and song oppressed her heart with pain, the -pain of delight greater than the heart could contain. - -Eve saw Alonzo come, disguised as a hunter, having abandoned his -father, his rank, his prospects, for love of Preciosa. Was not this -like Martin?—Martin the heroic, the self-sacrificing man who rushed -into peril that he might be at her feet—Martin, now laid up with -rheumatism for her sake. - -She saw the gipsies assemble, their tents were taken down, bales were -collected, all was prepared for departure. Alonzo was taken into the -band and fellowship was sworn. - -The moon had set, but see—what is this? A red light smites betwixt -the trees and kindles the trunks orange and scarlet, the rocks are -also flushed, and simultaneously with a burst, joyous, triumphant, the -whole band sing the chorus of salutation to the rising sun. Preciosa is -exalted on a litter and is borne on the shoulders of the gipsies. The -light brightens, the red blaze pervades, transforms the entire scene, -bathes every actor in fire; the glorious song swells and thrills every -heart, and suddenly, when it seemed to Eve that she could bear no more, -the curtain fell. She sprang to her feet, unconscious of everything -but what she had seen and heard, and the whole house rose with her and -roared its applause and craved for more. - -It is unnecessary for us to follow Eve’s emotions through the entire -drama, and to narrate the plot, to say how that the gipsies arrive -at the castle of Don Fernando where he is celebrating his silver -wedding, how his son Eugenio, by an impertinence offered to Preciosa, -exasperates the disguised Alonzo into striking him, and is arrested, -how Preciosa intercedes, and how it is discovered that she is the -daughter of Don Fernando, stolen seventeen years before. The reader may -possibly know the drama; if he does not, his loss is not much; it is a -drama of little merit and no originality, which would never have lived -had not Weber furnished it with a few scraps of incomparably beautiful -music. - -The curtain fell, the orchestra departed, the boxes were emptying. All -those in the stalls around Eve were in movement. She gave a long sigh -and woke out of her dream, looked round at Jasper, then at Mr. Coyshe, -and smiled; her eyes were dazed, she was not fully awake. - -‘Very decent performance,’ said the surgeon, ‘but we shall see -something better in London.’ - -‘Well, Eve,’ said Jasper, ‘are you ready? I will ask for the manager, -and then we must be pushing home.’ - -‘Home!’ repeated Eve, and repeated it questioningly. - -‘Yes,’ answered Jasper, ‘have you forgotten the row up the river and -the ride before us?’ - -She put her hand to her head. - -‘Oh, Jasper,’ she said, ‘I feel as if I were at home now—here, where I -ought always to have been, and was going again into banishment.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII. - -NOAH’S ARK. - - -JASPER left Eve with Mr. Coyshe whilst he went in quest of the manager. -He had written to Mr. Justice Barret as soon as it was decided that -the visit was to be made, so as to prepare him for an interview, but -there had not been time for a reply. The surgeon was to order a supper -at the inn. A few minutes later Jasper came to them. He had seen the -manager, who was then engaged, but requested that they would shortly -see him in his rooms at the inn. Time was precious, the little party -had a journey before them. They therefore hastily ate their meal, and -when Eve was ready, Jasper accompanied her to the apartments occupied -by the manager. Mr. Coyshe was left over the half-consumed supper, by -no means disposed, as it had to be paid for, to allow so much of it to -depart uneaten. - -Jasper knocked at the door indicated as that to the rooms occupied by -the manager and his family, and on opening it was met by a combination -of noises that bewildered, and of odours that suffocated. - -‘Come in, I am glad to see you,’ said a voice; ‘Justice sent word I was -to expect and detain you.’ - -The manager’s wife came forward to receive the visitors. - -She was a pretty young woman, with very light frizzled hair, cut -short—a head like that of the ‘curly-headed plough-boy.’ Eve could -hardly believe her eyes, this was the real Preciosa, who on the stage -had worn dark flowing hair. The face was good-humoured, simple, but not -clean, for the paint and powder had been imperfectly washed off. It -adhered at the corners of the eyes and round the nostrils. Also a ring -of white powder lingered on her neck and at the roots of her hair on -her brow. - -‘Come in,’ she said, with a kindly smile that made pleasant dimples -in her cheeks, ‘but take care where you walk. This is my parrot, a -splendid bird, look at his green back and scarlet wing. Awake, old -Poll?’ - -‘Does your mother know you’re out?’ answered the parrot hoarsely, with -the hard eyes fixed on Eve. - -The girl turned cold and drew back. - -‘Look at my Tom,’ said Mrs. Justice Barret, ‘how he races round his -cage.’ She pointed to a squirrel tearing inanely up the wires of a -revolving drum in which he was confined. ‘That is the way in which he -greets my return from the theatre. Mind the cradle! Excuse my dress, -I have been attending to baby.’ She rocked vigorously. ‘Slyboots, he -knows when I come back without opening his peepers. Sucking your thumb -vigorously, are you? I could eat it—I could eat you, you are sweet as -barley-sugar.’ The enthusiastic mother dived with both arms into the -cradle, brought out the child, and hugged it till it screamed. - -‘What is Jacko about, I wonder,’ said the ex-Preciosa; ‘do observe -him, sitting in the corner as demure as an old woman during a sermon. -I’ll warrant he’s been at more mischief. What do you suppose I have -found him out in? I was knitting a stocking for Justice, and when -the time came for me to go to the theatre I put the half-finished -stocking with the ball of worsted down in the bed, I mistrusted Jacko. -As I dare not leave him in this room with baby, I locked him into the -sleeping apartment. Will you believe me? he found what I had concealed. -He plunged into the bed and discovered the stocking and unravelled -the whole; not only so, but he has left his hair on the sheets, and -whatever Justice will say to me and to Jacko I do not know. Never mind, -if he is cross I’ll survive it. Now Jacko, how often have I told you -not to bite off the end of your tail? The poor fellow is out of health, -and we must not be hard on him.’ - -The monkey blinked his eyes, and rubbed his nose. He knew that his -delinquencies were being expatiated on. - -‘You have not seen all my family yet,’ said Mrs. Barret. ‘There is a -box of white mice under the bed in the next room. The darlings are so -tame that they will nestle in my bosom. Do you believe me? I went once -to the theatre, quite forgetting one was there, till I came to dress, I -mean undress, and then it tumbled out; I missed my leads that evening, -I was distracted lest the mouse should get away. I told the prompter to -keep him till I could reclaim the rascal. Come in, dears! Come in!’ -This was shouted, and a boy and girl burst in at the door. - -‘My only darlings, these three,’ said Mrs. Barret, pointing to the -children and the babe. ‘They’ve been having some supper. Did you see -them on the stage? They were gipsies. Be quick and slip out of your -clothes, pets, and tumble into bed. Never mind your prayers to-night. I -have visitors, and cannot attend to you. Say them twice over to-morrow -morning instead. What? Hungry still? Here, Jacko! surrender that crust, -and Polly must give up her lump of sugar; bite evenly between you.’ -Then turning to her guests, with her pleasant face all smiles, ‘I -love animals! I have been denied a large family, I have only three, -but then—I’ve not been married six years. One must love. What would -the world be without love? We are made to love. Do you agree with me, -Jacko, you mischievous little pig? Now—no biting, Polly! You snapping -also?’ - -Then, to her visitors, ‘Take a chair—that is—take two.’ - -To her children, ‘What, is this manners? Your hat, Bill, and your -frock, Philadelphia, and heaven knows what other rags of clothes on -the only available chairs.’ She swept the children’s garments upon the -floor, and kicked them under the table. - -‘Now then,’ to the guests, ‘sit down and be comfortable. Justice -will be here directly. Barret don’t much like all these animals, but -Lord bless your souls! I can’t do without them. My canary died,’ she -sniffled and wiped nose and eyes on the back of her hand. ‘He got -poisoned by the monkey, I suspect, who fed him on scraps of green paper -picked off the wall. One must love! But it comes expensive. They make -us pay damages wherever we stay. They charge things to our darlings I -swear they never did. The manager is as meek as Moses, and he bears -like a miller’s ass. Here he comes—I know his sweet step. Don’t look at -me. I’ll sit with my back to you, baby is fidgety.’ Then entered the -manager, Mr. Justice Barret, a quiet man with a pasty face. - -‘That’s him,’ exclaimed the wife, ‘I said so. I knew his step. I -adore him. He is a genius. I love him—even his pimples. One must -love. Now—don’t mind me.’ The good-natured creature carried off her -baby into a corner, and seated herself with it on a stool: the monkey -followed her, knowing that he was not appreciated by the manager, and -seated himself beside her, also with his back to the company, and was -engrossed in her proceedings with the baby. - -Mr. Justice Barret had a bald head, he was twice his wife’s age, had a -very smooth face shining with soap. His hands were delicate and clean. -He wore polished boots, and white cravat, and a well-brushed black -frock-coat. How he managed in a menagerie of children and animals to -keep himself tidy was a wonder to the company. - -‘O Barret dear!’ exclaimed his lady, looking over her shoulder, and the -monkey turned its head at the same time. ‘I’ve had a jolly row with the -landlady over that sheet to which I set fire.’ - -‘My dear,’ said the manager, ‘how often have I urged you not to learn -your part on the bed with the candle by your side or in your hand? You -will set fire to your precious self some day.’ - -‘About the sheet, Barret,’ continued his wife; ‘I’ve paid for it, and -have torn it into four. It will make pocket-handkerchiefs for you, -dear.’ - -‘Rather large?’ asked the manager deferentially. - -‘Rather, but that don’t matter. Last longer before coming to the wash, -and so save money in the end.’ - -The manager was now at length able to reach and shake hands with Eve -and Jasper. - -‘Bless me, my dear child,’ he said to the former, ‘you remind me -wonderfully of your mother. How is she? I should like to see her again. -A sad pity she ever gave up the profession. She had the instincts of an -artiste in her, but no training, horribly amateurish; that, however, -would rub off.’ - -‘She is dead,’ answered Eve. ‘Did you not know that?’ - -‘Dead!’ exclaimed the manager. ‘Poor soul! so sweet, so simple, so -right-minded. Dead, dead! Ah me! the angels go to heaven and the -sinners are left. Did she remain with your father, or go home to her -own parents?’ - -‘I thought,’ said Eve, much agitated, ‘that you could have told me -concerning her.’ - -‘I!’ Mr. Justice Barret opened his eyes wide. ‘I!’ - -‘My dear!’ called Mrs. Barret, ‘will you be so good as to throw me over -my apron. I am dressing baby for the night, and heaven alone knows -where his little night-shirt is. I’ll tie him up in this apron.’ ‘Does -your mother know you’re out?’ asked the parrot with its head on one -side, looking at Eve. - -‘I think,’ said Jasper, ‘it would be advisable for me to have a private -talk with you, Mr. Barret, if you do not mind walking with me in -the square, and then Miss Eve Jordan can see you after. Our time is -precious.’ - -‘By all means,’ answered the manager, ‘if Miss Jordan will remain with -my wife.’ - -‘O yes,’ said Eve, looking at the parrot; she was alarmed at the bird. - -‘Do not be afraid of Poll,’ said Mr. Barret. Then to his wife, ‘Sophie! -I don’t think it wise to tie up baby as you propose. He might be -throttled. We are going out. Look for the night dress, and let me have -the apron again for Polly.’ - -At once the article required rushed like a rocket through the air, and -struck the manager on the breast. - -‘There,’ said he, ‘I will cover Polly, and she will go to sleep and -talk no more.’ - -Then the manager and Jasper went out. - -‘Now,’ said the latter, ‘in few words I beg you to tell me what you -know about the wife of Mr. Jordan of Morwell. She was my sister.’ - -‘Indeed!—and your name? I forget what you wrote.’ - -‘My name is Babb, but that matters nothing.’ - -‘I never knew that of your sister. She would not tell whence she came -or who she was.’ - -‘From your words just now,’ said Jasper, ‘I gather that you are unaware -that she eloped from Morwell with an actor. I could not speak of this -before her daughter.’ - -‘Eloped with an actor!’ repeated the manager. ‘If she did, it was after -I knew her. Excuse me, I cannot believe it. She may have gone home to -her father; he wanted her to return to him.’ - -‘You know that?’ - -‘Of course I do. He came to me, when I was at Tavistock, and learned -from me where she was. He went to Morwell to see her once or twice, to -induce her to return to him.’ - -‘You must be very explicit,’ said Jasper gravely. ‘My sister never came -home. Neither my father nor I know to this day what became of her.’ - -‘Then she must have remained at Morwell. Her daughter says she is dead.’ - -‘She did not remain at Morwell. She disappeared.’ - -‘This is very extraordinary. I will tell you all I know, but that is -not much. She was not with us very long. She fell ill as we were on -our way from Plymouth to Launceston, and we were obliged to leave her -at Morwell, the nearest house, that is some eighteen or nineteen years -ago. She never rejoined us. After a year, or a year and a half, we -were at Tavistock, on our way to Plymouth, from Exeter by Okehampton, -and there her father met us, and I told him what had become of her. I -know that I walked out one day to Morwell and saw her. I believe her -father had several interviews with her, then something occurred which -prevented his meeting her as he had engaged, and he asked me to see her -again and explain his absence. I believe her union with the gentleman -at Morwell was not quite regular, but of that I know nothing for -certain. Anyhow, her father disapproved and would not meet Mr., what -was his name?—O, Jordan. He saw his daughter in private, on some rock -that stands above the Tamar. There also I met her, by his direction. -She was very decided not to leave her child and husband, though sorry -to offend and disobey her father. That is all I know—yes!—I recall the -day—Midsummer Eve, June the twenty-third. I never saw her again.’ - -‘But are you not aware that my father went to Morwell on the next day, -Midsummer Day, and was told that Eve had eloped with you?’ - -‘With me!’ the manager stood still. ‘With me! Nonsense!’ - -‘On the twenty-fourth she was gone.’ - -Mr. Barret shook his head. ‘I cannot understand.’ - -‘One word more,’ said Jasper. ‘You will see Miss Eve Jordan. Do not -tell her that I am her uncle. Do not cast a doubt on her mother’s -death. Speak to her only in praise of her mother as you knew her.’ - -‘This is puzzling indeed,’ said the manager. ‘We have had a party with -us, an amateur, a walking character, who talked of Morwell as if he -knew it, and I told him about the Miss Eve we had left there and her -marriage to the squire. I may have said, “If ever you go there again, -remember me to the lady, supposing her alive, and tell me if the child -be as beautiful as I remember her mother.”’ - -‘There is but one man,’ said Jasper, ‘who holds the key to the mystery, -and he must be forced to disclose.’ - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII. - -IN PART. - - -MR. JORDAN knew more of what went on than Barbara suspected. Jane Welsh -attended to him a good deal, and she took a mean delight in spying into -the actions of her young mistresses, and making herself acquainted with -everything that went on in the house and on the estate. In this she -was encouraged by Mr. Jordan, who listened to what she told him and -became excited and suspicious; and the fact of exciting his suspicions -was encouragement to the maid. The vulgar mind hungers for notoriety, -and the girl was flattered by finding that what she hinted stirred the -crazy mind of the old man. He was a man prone to suspicion, and to -suspect those nearest to him. The recent events at Morwell had made -him mistrust his own children. He could not suppose that Martin Babb -had escaped without their connivance. It was a triumph to the base -mind of Jane to stand closer in her master’s confidence than his own -children, and she used her best endeavours to thrust herself further in -by aggravating his suspicions. - -Barbara was not at ease in her own mind, she was particularly annoyed -to hear that Martin was still in the neighbourhood, on their land; -naturally frank, she was impatient of the constraint laid on her. She -heartily desired that the time would come when concealments might end. -She acknowledged the necessity for concealment, but resented it, and -could not quite forgive Jasper for having forced it upon her. She even -chilled in her manner towards him, when told that Martin was still -a charge. The fact that she was obliged to think of and succour a -man with whom she was not in sympathy, reacted on her relations with -Jasper, and produced constraint. - -That Jane watched her and Jasper, Barbara did not suspect. Honourable -herself, she could not believe that another would act dishonourably. -She under-valued Jane’s abilities. She knew her to be a common-minded -girl, fond of talking, but she made no allowance for that natural -inquisitiveness which is the seedleaf of intelligence. The savage who -cannot count beyond the fingers of one hand is a master of cunning. -There is this difference between men and beasts. The latter bite and -destroy the weakly of their race; men attack, rend, and trample on the -noblest of their species. - -Mr. Jordan knew that Jasper and Eve had gone together for a long -journey, and that Barbara sat up awaiting their return. He had been -left unconsulted, he was uninformed by his daughters, and was very -angry. He waited all next day, expecting something to be said on the -subject to him, but not a word was spoken. - -The weather now changed. The brilliant summer days had suffered an -eclipse. The sky was overcast with grey cloud, and cold north-west -winds came from the Atlantic, and made the leaves of beech and oak -shiver. On the front of heaven, on the face of earth, was written -Ichabod—the glory is departed. What poetry is to the mind, that the sun -is to nature. The sun was withdrawn, and the hard light was colourless, -prosaic. There was nowhere beauty any more. Two chilly damp days had -transformed all. Mr. Jordan shivered in his room. The days seemed to -have shortened by a leap. - -Mr. Jordan, out of perversity, because Barbara had advised his -remaining in, had walked into the garden, and after shivering there a -few minutes had returned to his room, out of humour with his daughter -because he felt she was in the right in the counsel she gave. - -Then Jane came to him, with mischief in her eyes, breathless. ‘Please, -master,’ she said in low tones, looking about her to make sure she was -not overheard. ‘What do y’ think, now! Mr. Jasper have agone to the -wood, carrying a blanket. What can he want that for, I’d like to know. -He’s not thinking of sleeping there, I reckon.’ - -‘Go after him, Jane,’ said Mr. Jordan. ‘You are a good girl, more -faithful than my own flesh and blood. Do not allow him to see that he -is followed.’ - -The girl nodded knowingly, and went out. - -‘Now,’ said Mr. Jordan to himself, ‘I’ll come to the bottom of this -plot at last. My own children have turned against me. I will let them -see that I can counter-plot. Though I be sick and feeble and old, I -will show that I am master still in my own house. Who is there?’ - -Mr. Coyshe entered, bland and fresh, rubbing his hands. ‘Well, Jordan,’ -said he—he had become familiar in his address since his engagement—’how -are you? And my fairy Eve, how is she? None the worse for her junket?’ - -‘Junket!’ repeated the old man. ‘What junket?’ - -‘Bless your soul!’ said the surgeon airily. ‘Of course you think only -of curdled milk. I don’t allude to that local dish—or rather bowl—I -mean Eve’s expedition to Plymouth t’other night.’ - -‘Eve—Plymouth!’ - -‘Of course. Did you not know? Have I betrayed a secret? Lord bless me, -why should it be kept a secret? She enjoyed herself famously. Knows no -better, and thought the performance was perfection. I have seen Kemble, -and Kean, and Vestris. But for a provincial theatre it was well enough.’ - -‘You went with her to the theatre?’ - -‘Yes, I and Mr. Jasper. But don’t fancy she went only out of love of -amusement. She went to see the manager, a Mr. Justice Thing-a-majig.’ - -‘Barret?’ - -‘That’s the man, because he had known her mother.’ - -Mr. Jordan’s face changed, and his eyes stared. He put up his hands as -though waving away something that hung before him. - -‘And Jasper?’ - -‘Oh, Jasper was with her. They left me to eat my supper in comfort. I -can’t afford to spoil my digestion, and I’m particularly fond of crab. -You cannot eat crab in a scramble and do it justice.’ - -‘Did Jasper see the manager?’ Mr. Jordan’s voice was hollow. His hands, -which he held deprecatingly before him, quivered. He had his elbows on -the arms of his chair. - -‘Oh, yes, of course he did. Don’t you understand? He went with Eve -whilst I finished the crab. It was really a shame; they neither of them -half cleaned out their claws, they were in such a hurry. “Preciosa” was -not amiss, but I preferred crab. One can get plays better elsewhere, -but crab nowhere of superior quality.’ - -Mr. Jordan began to pick at the horse-hair of his chair arm. There -was a hole in the cover and his thin white nervous fingers plucked at -the stuffing, and pulled it out and twisted it and threw it down, and -plucked again. - -‘What—what did Jasper hear?’ he asked falteringly. - -‘How can I tell, Jordan? I was not with them. I tell you, I was eating -my supper quietly, and chewing every mouthful. I cannot bolt my food. -It is bad—unprincipled to do so.’ - -‘They told you nothing?’ - -‘I made no inquiries, and no information was volunteered.’ - -A slight noise behind him made Coyshe turn. Eve was in the doorway. -‘Here she is to answer for herself,’ said the surgeon. ‘Eve, my love, -your father is curious about your excursion to Plymouth, and wants to -know all you heard from the manager.’ - -‘Oh, papa! I ought to have told you!’ stammered Eve. - -‘What did he say?’ asked the old man, half-impatiently, half fearfully. - -‘Look here, governor,’ said the surgeon; ‘it strikes me that you are -not acting straight with the girl, and as she is about to become my -wife, I’ll stand up for her and say what is fitting. I cannot see the -fun of forcing her to run away a day’s journey to pick up a few scraps -of information about her mother, when you keep locked up in your own -head all that she wants to know. I can understand and make allowance -for you not liking to tell her everything, if things were not—as is -reported—quite ecclesiastically square between you and the lady. But -Eve is no longer a child. I intend her to become my wife, and sooner or -later she must know all. Make a clean breast and tell everything.’ - -‘Yes,’ said Jasper entering, ‘the advice is good.’ - -‘You come also!’ exclaimed the old man, firing up and pointing with -trembling fingers to the intruder; ‘_you_ come—_you_ who have led my -children into disobedience? My own daughters are in league against me. -As for this girl, Eve, whom I have loved, who has been to me as the -apple of my eye, she is false to me.’ - -‘Oh, papa! dear papa!’ pleaded Eve with tears, ‘do not say this. It is -not true.’ - -‘Not true? Why do you practise concealment from me? Why do you carry -about with you a ring which Mr. Coyshe never gave you? Produce it, I -have been told about it. You have left it on your table and it has been -seen, a ring with a turquoise forget-me-not. Who gave you that? Answer -me if you dare. What is the meaning of these runnings to and fro into -the woods, to the rocks?’ The old man worked himself into wildness and -want of consideration for his child, and for Coyshe to whom she was -engaged. ‘Listen to me, you,’ he turned to the surgeon, holding forth -his stick which he had caught up; ‘you shall judge between us. This -girl, this daughter of mine, has met again and again in secret a man -whom I hate, a man who robbed his own father of money that belonged to -me, a man who has been a jail-bird, an escapedfelon. Is not this so? -Eve, deny it if you can.’ - -‘Father!’ began Eve, trembling, ‘you are ill, you are excited.’ - -‘Answer me!’ he shouted so loud as to make all start, striking at the -same time the floor with his stick, ‘have you not met him in secret?’ - -She hung her head and sobbed. - -‘You aided that man in making his escape when he was in the hands of -the police. I brought the police upon him, and you worked to deliver -him. Answer me. Was it not so?’ - -She faintly murmured, ‘Yes.’ - -This had been but a conjecture of Mr. Jordan. He was emboldened to -proceed, but now Jasper stood forward, grave, collected, facing the -white, wild old man. ‘Mr. Jordan,’ he said, ‘that man of whom you speak -is my brother. I am to blame, not Miss Eve. Actively neither I nor—most -assuredly—your daughter assisted in his escape; but I will not deny -that I was aware he meditated evasion, and he effected it, not through -active assistance given him, but because his guards were careless, and -because I did not indicate to them the means whereby he was certain to -get away, and which I saw and they overlooked.’ - -‘Stand aside,’ shouted the angry old man. He loved Eve more than -he loved anyone else, and as is so often the case when the mind is -unhinged, his suspicion and wrath were chiefly directed against his -best beloved. He struck at Jasper with his stick, to drive him on one -side, and he shrieked with fury to Eve, who cowered and shrank from -him. ‘You have met this felon, and you love him. That is why I have had -such difficulty with you to get your consent to Mr. Coyshe. Is it not -so? Come, answer.’ - -‘I like poor Martin,’ sobbed Eve. ‘I forgive him for taking my money; -it was not his fault.’ - -‘See there! she confesses all. Who gave you that ring with the blue -stones of which I have been told? It did not belong to your mother. Mr. -Coyshe never gave it you. Answer me at once or I will throw my stick -at you. Who gave you that ring?’ - -The surgeon, in his sublime self-conceit, not for a moment supposing -that any other man had been preferred to himself, thinking that Mr. -Jordan was off his head, turned to Eve and said in a low voice, ‘Humour -him. It is safest. Say what he wishes you to say.’ - -‘Martin gave me the ring,’ she answered, trembling. - -‘How came you one time to be without your mother’s ring? How came you -at another to be possessed of it? Explain that.’ - -Eve threw herself on her knees with a cry. - -‘Oh, papa! dear papa! ask me no more questions.’ - -‘Listen all to me,’ said Mr. Jordan, in a loud hard voice. He rose -from his chair, resting a hand on each arm, and heaving himself into -an upright position. His face was livid, his eyes burned like coals, -his hair bristled on his head, as though electrified. He came forward, -walking with feet wide apart, and with his hands uplifted, and stood -over Eve still kneeling, gazing up at him with terror. - -‘Listen to me, all of you. I know more than any of you suppose. I spy -where you are secret. That man who robbed me of my money has lurked -in this neighbourhood to rob me of my child. Shall I tell you who he -is, this felon, who stole from his father? He is her mother’s brother, -Eve’s uncle.’ - -Eve stared with blank eyes into his face, Martin—her uncle! She uttered -a cry and covered her eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIX. - -THE OLD GUN. - - -MR. JORDAN was alone in his room. Evening had set in, the room was not -only chilly, it was dark. He sat in his leather-backed leather-armed -chair with his stick in his hands,—in both hands, held across him, and -now and then he put the stick up to his mouth and gnawed at it in the -middle. At others he made a sudden movement, slipping his hand down to -the ferule and striking in the air with the handle at the black spots -which floated in the darkness, of a blackness most intense. He was -teased by them, and by his inability to strike them aside. His stick -went through them, as through ink, and they closed again when cut, and -drifted on through his circle of vision unhurt, undisturbed. - -Mr. Coyshe was gone; he had ordered the old man to be left as much in -quiet as might be, and he had taken a boy from the farm with him on a -horse, to bring back a soothing draught which he promised to send. Mr. -Jordan had complained of sleeplessness, his nerves were evidently in a -high and perilous state of tension. Before he left, Mr. Coyshe had said -to Barbara, ‘Keep an eye on your father, there is irritation somewhere. -He talks in an unreasoning manner. I will send him something to compose -him, and call again to-morrow. In the meantime,’ he coughed, ‘I—I—would -not allow him to shave himself.’ - -Barbara’s blood curdled. ‘You do not think—’ She was unable to finish -her sentence. - -‘Do as I say, and do not allow him to suppose himself watched.’ - -Now Barbara acted with unfortunate indiscretion. Knowing that her -father was suspicious of her, and complained of her observing him, -knowing also that his suspicions extended to Jasper whom he disliked, -knowing also that he had taken a liking for Jane, she bade Jane remain -about her father, and not allow him to be many minutes unwatched. - -Jane immediately went to the old gentleman, and told him the -instructions given her. ‘And—please your honour,’ she crept close to -him, ‘I’ve seen him. He is on the Raven Rock. He has lighted a fire and -is warming himself. I think it be the very man that was took here, but -I can’t say for certain, as I didn’t see the face of him as was took, -nor of him on the Rock, but they be both men, and much about a height.’ - -‘Jane! Is Joseph anywhere about?’ - -‘No sir,—not nigher than Tavistock.’ - -‘Go to him immediately. Bid him collect what men he can, and surround -the fellow and secure him.’ - -‘But, your honour! Miss Barbara said I was to watch you as a cat -watches a mouse.’ - -‘Who is master here, I or she? I order you to go; and if she is angry -I will protect you against her. I am to be watched, am I? By my own -children? By my servant? This is more than I can bear. The whole world -is conspiring against me. How can I trust anyone—even Jane? How can I -say that the police were not bribed before to let him go? And they may -be bribed again. Trust none but thyself,’ he muttered, and stood up. - -‘Please, master,’ said Jane, ‘you may be certain I will do what you -want. I’m not like some folks, as is unnatural to their very parents. -Why, sir! what do y’ think? As I were a coming in, who should run by -me, looking the pictur’ of fear, but Miss Eve. And where do y’ think -her runned? Why, sir—I watched her, and her went as fast as a leaping -hare over the fields towards the Raven Rock—to where he be. Well, I’m -sure I’d not do that. I don’t mind a-going to love feasts in chapel -with Joseph, but I wouldn’t go seeking him in a wood. Some folks have -too much self-respect for that, I reckon.’ She muttered this looking up -at the old man, uncertain how he would take it. - -‘Go,’ said he. ‘Leave me—go at once.’ - -Presently Barbara came in, and found her father alone. - -‘What, no one with you, papa?’ - -‘No—I want to be alone. Do you grudge me quiet? Must I live under a -microscope? Must I have everything I do marked, every word noted? Why -do you peer in here? Am I an escaped felon to be guarded? Am I likely -to break out? Will you leave me? I tell you I do not want you here. I -desire solitude. I have had you and Coyshe and Eve jabbering here till -my head spins and my temples are bursting. Leave me alone.’ Then, with -the craftiness of incipient derangement, he said, ‘I have had two—three -bad nights, and want sleep. I was dozing in my chair when Jane came in -to light a fire. I sent her out. Then, when I was nodding off again, -I heard cook or Jasper tramping through the hall. That roused me, and -now when I hoped to compose myself again, you thrust yourself upon me; -are you all in a league to drive me mad, by forbidding me sleep? That -is how Hopkins, the witch-finder, got the poor wretches to confess. -He would not suffer them to sleep, and at last, in sheer madness and -hunger for rest, they confessed whatever was desired of them. You want -to force something out of me. That is why you will not let me sleep.’ - -‘Papa dear, I shall be so glad if you can sleep. I promise you shall be -left quite alone for an hour.’ - -‘O—an hour! limited to sixty minutes.’ - -‘Dear papa, till you rap on the wall, to intimate that you are awake.’ - -‘You will not pry and peer?’ - -‘No one shall come near you. I will forbid everyone the hall, lest a -step on the pavement should disturb you.’ - -‘What are you doing there?’ - -‘Taking away your razor, papa.’ - -Then he burst into a shrill, bitter laugh—a laugh that shivered through -her heart. He said nothing, but remained chuckling in his chair. - -‘I dare say Jasper will sharpen them for you, papa, he is very kind,’ -said Barbara, ashamed of her dissimulation. So it came about that the -old half-crazy squire was left in the gathering gloom entirely alone -and unguarded. Nothing could do him more good than a refreshing sleep, -Barbara argued, and went away to her own room, where she lit a candle, -drew down her blind, and set herself to needlework. - -She had done what she could. The pantry adjoined the room of her -father. Jane would hear if he knocked or called. She did not know that -Jane was gone. - -Ignatius Jordan sat in the armchair, biting at his stick, or beating -in the air with it at the blots which troubled his vision. These black -spots took various shapes; sometimes they were bats, sometimes falling -leaves. Then it appeared to him as if a fluid that was black but with a -crimson glow in it as of a subdued hidden fire was running and dripped -from ledge to ledge—invisible ledges they were—in the air before him. -He put his stick out to touch the stream, and then it ran along the -stick and flowed on his hand and he uttered a cry, because it burned -him. He held his hand up open before him, and thought the palm was -black, but with glowing red veins intersecting the blackness, and he -touched the lines with the finger of his left hand. - -‘The line of Venus,’ he said, ‘strong at the source, fiery and broken -by that cross cut—the line of life—long, thin, twisted, tortured, -nowhere smooth, and here—What is this?—the end.’ - -Then he looked at the index finger of his left hand, the finger that -had traced the lines, and it seemed to be alight or smouldering with -red fire. - -He heard a strange sound at the window, a sound shrill and unearthly, -close as in his ear, and yet certainly not in the room. He held his -breath and looked round. He could see nothing through the glass but the -grey evening sky, no face looking in and crying at the window. What -was it? As he looked it was repeated. In his excited condition of mind -he did not seek for a natural explanation. It was a spirit call urging -him on. It was silent. Then again repeated. Had he lighted the candle -and examined the glass he would have seen a large snail crawling up -the pane, creating the sound by the vibration of the glass as it drew -itself along. - -Then Mr. Jordan rose out of his chair, and looking cautiously from side -to side and timorously at the window whence the shrill sound continued, -he unlocked a cupboard in the panelling and drew from it powder and -shot. - -Barbara had taken away his razors. She feared lest he should do himself -an injury; but though he was weary of his life, he had no thought -of hastening his departure from it. His mind was set with deadly -resolution of hate on Martin—Martin, that man who had robbed him, who -escaped from him as often as he was taken. Everyone was in league to -favour Martin. No one was to be trusted to punish him. He must make -sure that the man did not escape this time. This time he would rely -on no one but himself. He crossed the room with soft step, opened the -door, and entered the hall. There he stood looking about him. He could -hear a distant noise of servants talking in the kitchen, but no one was -near, no eye observed him. Barbara, true to her promise, was upstairs, -believing him asleep. The hall was dark, but not so dark that he could -not distinguish what he sought. Some one passed with a light outside, -a maid going to the washhouse. The light struck through the transomed -window of the hall, painting a black cross against the wall opposite, -a black cross that travelled quickly and fell on the old man, creeping -along to the fireplace, holding the wall. He remembered the Midsummer -Day seventeen years ago when he had stood there against that wall with -arms extended in the blaze of the setting sun as a crucified figure -against the black shadow of the cross. His life had been one long -crucifixion ever since, and his cross a shadow. Then he stood on a hall -chair and took down from its crooks an old gun. - -‘Seventeen years ago,’ he muttered. ‘My God! it failed not then, may it -not fail me now!’ - - - - -CHAPTER L. - -BY THE FIRE. - - -MARTIN was weary of the woodman’s hut, as he was before weary of the -mine. Watt had hard work to pacify him. His rheumatism was better. -Neither Jasper nor Walter could decide how far the attack was real and -how far simulated. Probably he really suffered, and exaggerated his -sufferings to provoke sympathy. - -Whilst the weather was summery he endured his captivity, for he could -lie in the sun on a hot rock and smoke or whistle, with his hands in -his pockets, and Martin loved to lounge and be idle; but when the -weather changed, he became restive, ill-humoured, and dissatisfied. -What aggravated his discontent was a visit from Barbara, whom he found -it impossible to impress with admiration for his manly beauty and pity -for his sorrows. - -‘That girl is a beast,’ he said to Walter, when she was gone. ‘I -really could hardly be civil to her. A perfect Caliban, devoid of -taste and feeling. Upon my word some of our fellow-beings are without -humanity. I could see through that person at a glance. She is made up -of selfishness. If there be one quality most repulsive to me, that is -it—selfishness. I do not believe the creature cast a thought upon me, -my wants, my sufferings, my peril. Watt, if she shows her ugly face -here again, stand against the door, and say, “Not at home.”’ - -‘Dear Martin, we will go as soon as you are well enough to leave.’ - -‘Whither are we to go? I cannot join old Barret and his wife and -monkeys and babies and walking-sticks of actors, as long as he is in -the county. I would go to Bristol or Bath or Cheltenham if I had money, -but these miserly Jordans will not find me any. They want to drive me -away without first lining my pocket. I know what was meant by those -cold slabs of mutton, to-day. It meant, go away. I wait till they give -me money.’ - -‘Dear Martin, you must not be inconsiderate.’ - -‘I glory in it. What harm comes of it? It is your long-headed, prudent -prophets who get into scrapes and can’t get out of them again. I never -calculate; I act on impulse, and that always brings me right.’ - -‘Not always, Martin, or you would not be here.’ - -‘O, yes, even here. When the impulse comes on me to go, I shall go, and -you will find I go at the right time. If that Miss Jordan comes here -again with her glum ugly mug, I shall be off. Or Jasper, looking as if -the end of the world were come. I can’t stand that. See how cleverly I -got away from Prince’s Town.’ - -‘I helped you, Martin.’ - -‘I do not pretend that I did all myself. I did escape, and a -brilliantly executed manœuvre it was. I thought I was caught in a cleft -stick when I dropped on the party of beaks at the “Hare and Hounds,” -but see how splendidly I got away. I do believe, Watt, I’ve missed my -calling, and ought to have been a general in the British army.’ - -‘But, dear Martin, generals have to scheme other things beside running -away.’ - -‘None of your impudence, you jackanapes. I tell you I do _not_ scheme. -I act on the spur of the moment. If I had lain awake a week planning I -could have done nothing better. The inspiration comes to me the moment -I require it. Your vulgar man always does the wrong thing when an -emergency arises. By heaven, Watt! this is a dog’s life I am leading, -and not worth living. I am shivering. The damp worms into one’s bones. -I shall go out on the Rock.’ - -‘O, Martin, stay here. It is warmer in this hut. A cold wind blows.’ - -‘It is midwinter here, and can’t be more Siberia-like out there. I am -sick of the smell of dry leaves. I am tired of looking at withered -sticks. The monotony of this place is unendurable. I wish I were back -in prison.’ - -‘I will play my violin to amuse you,’ said the boy. - -‘Curse your fiddle, I do not want to have that squeaking in my ears; -besides, it is sure to be out of tune with the damp, and screw up as -you may, before you have gone five bars it is flat again. Why has Eve -not been here to tell me of what she saw in Plymouth?’ - -‘My dear Martin, you must consider. She dare not come here. You cannot -keep open house, and send round cards of invitation, with “Mr. Martin -Babb at home.”’ - -‘I don’t care. I shall go on the Rock, and have a fire.’ - -‘A fire!’ exclaimed Watt, aghast. - -‘Why not? I am cold, and my rheumatism is worse. I won’t have rheumatic -fever for you or all the Jordans and Jaspers in Devonshire.’ - -‘I entreat you, be cautious. Remember you are in hiding. You have -already been twice caught.’ - -‘Because on both occasions I ran into the hands of the police. The -first time I attempted no concealment. I did not think my father would -have been such a—such a pig as to send them after me. I’ll tell you -what, my boy, there is no generosity and honour anywhere. They are like -the wise teeth that come, not to be used, but to go, and go painfully.’ -Then he burst out of the hut, and groaning and cursing scrambled -through the coppice to the Raven Rock. - -Walter knew too well that when his brother had resolved on anything, -however outrageous, it was in vain for him to attempt dissuasion. He -therefore accompanied him up the steep slope and through the bushes, -lending him a hand, and drawing the boughs back before him, till he -reached the platform of rock. - -The signs of autumn were apparent everywhere. Two days before they -had not been visible. The bird-cherry was turning; the leaves of the -dogwood were royal purple, and those at the extremity of the branches -were carmine. Here and there umbelliferous plants had turned white; all -the sap was withdrawn, they were bleached at the prospect of the coming -decay of nature. The heather had donned its pale flowers; but there was -no brightness in the purples and pinks, they were the purples and pinks -not of sunflush, but of chill. A scent of death pervaded the air. The -foxgloves had flowered up their long spires to the very top, and only -at the very top did a feeble bell or two bloom whilst the seeds ripened -below. No butterflies, no moths even were about. The next hot day the -scarlet admirals would be out, but now they hung with folded wings -downwards, exhibiting pepper and salt and no bright colour under the -leaves, waiting and shivering. - -‘Everything is doleful,’ said Martin, standing on the platform and -looking round. ‘Only one thing lacks to make the misery abject, and -that is rain. If the clouds drop, and the water leaks into my den, I’ll -give myself up, and secure a dry cell somewhere—then Jasper and the -Jordans may make the best of it. I’m not going to become a confirmed -invalid to save Jasper’s pride, and help on his suit to that dragon of -Wantley. If he thinks it against his interest that I should be in gaol, -I’ll go back there. I’m not eager to have that heap of superciliousness -as a sister-in-law, Walter, so collect sticks and fern that I may have -a fire.’ - -‘Martin, do not insist on this; the light and smoke will be seen.’ - -‘Who is there to see? This rock is only visible from Cornwall, and -there is no bridge over the Tamar for some miles up the river. Who will -care to make a journey of some hours to ask why a fire has been kindled -on the Raven Rock? Look behind, the trees screen this terrace, no one -at Morwell will see. The hills and rocks fold on the river and hide us -from all habitable land. Do not oppose me; I will have a fire.’ - -‘O, Martin,’ said the boy, ‘you throw on me all the responsibility -of caring for your safety, and you make my task a hard one by your -thoughtlessness.’ - -‘I am so unselfish,’ said Martin gravely. ‘I never do consider myself. -I can’t help it, such is my nature.’ - -Walter reluctantly complied with his brother’s wish. The boy had lost -his liveliness. The mischief and audacity were driven out of him by the -responsibility that weighed on him. - -Abundance of fuel was to be had. The summer had been hot, and little -rain had fallen. Wood had been cut the previous winter, and bundles of -faggots lay about, that had not been removed and stacked. - -Before long the fire was blazing, and Martin crouched at it warming his -hands and knees. His face relaxed whilst that of Walter became lined -with anxiety. As he was thus seated, Jasper came on him carrying a -blanket. He was dismayed at what his brother had done, and reproached -him. - -Martin shrugged his shoulders. ‘It is very well for you in a dry -house, on a feather bed and between blankets, but very ill for poor -me, condemned to live like a wild beast. You should have felt my hands -before I had a fire to thaw them at, they were like the cold mutton I -had for my dinner.’ - -‘Martin, you must put that fire out. You have acted with extreme -indiscretion.’ - -‘Spare me your reproaches; I know I am indiscreet. It is my nature, as -it lies in the nature of a lion to be noble, and of a dog to be true.’ - -‘Really,’ said Jasper, hotly, disturbed out of his usual equanimity by -the folly of his brother, ‘really, Martin, you are most aggravating. -You put me to great straits to help you, and strain to the utmost my -relations to the Jordan family. I do all I can—more than I ought—for -you, and you wantonly provoke danger. Who but you would have had -the temerity to return to this neighbourhood after your escape and -my accident! Then—why do you remain here? I cannot believe in your -illness. Your lack of common consideration is the cause of incessant -annoyance to your friends. That fire shall go out.’ He went to it -resolutely, and kicked it apart, and threw some of the flaming oak -sticks over the edge of the precipice. - -‘I hope you are satisfied now,’ said Martin sulkily. ‘You have spoiled -my pleasure, robbed me of my only comfort, and have gained only -this—that I wash my hands of you, and will leave this place to-night. I -will no longer remain near you—inhuman, unbrotherly as you are.’ - -‘I am very glad to hear that you are going,’ answered Jasper. ‘You -shall have my horse. That horse is my own, and he will carry you away. -Send Walter for it when you like. I will see that the stable-door is -open, and the saddle and bridle handy. The horse is in a stable near -the first gate, away from the house, and can be taken unobserved.’ - -‘You are mightily anxious to be rid of me,’ sneered Martin. ‘And this -is a brother!’ - -‘I had brought you a blanket off my own bed, because I supposed you -were cold.’ - -‘I will not have it,’ said Martin sharply. ‘If you shiver for want of -your blanket I shall be blamed. Your heart will overflow with gall -against poor me. Keep your blanket to curl up in yourself. I shall -leave to-night. I have too much proper pride to stay where I am not -wanted, with a brother who begrudges me a scrap of fire.’ - -Jasper held out his hand. ‘I must go back at once,’ he said. ‘If you -leave to-night it may be years before we meet again. Come, Martin, you -know me better than your words imply. Do not take it ill that I have -destroyed your fire. I think only of your safety. Give me your hand, -brother; your interest lies at my heart.’ - -Martin would not touch the proffered hand, he folded his arms and -turned away. Jasper looked at him, long and sadly, but Martin would not -relent, and he left. - -‘Get the embers together again,’ ordered Martin. ‘Under the Scottish -fir are lots of cones full of resin; pile them on the fire, and make a -big blaze. Let Jasper see it. I will show him that I am not going to be -beaten by his insolence.’ - -‘He may have been rough, but he was right,’ said Watt. - -‘Oh! you also turn against me! A viper I have cherished in my bosom!’ - -The boy sighed; he dare no longer refuse, and he sorrowfully gathered -the scattered fire together, fanned the embers, applied to them bits -of dry fern, then fir cones, and soon a brilliant jet of yellow flame -leaped aloft. - -Martin raised himself to his full height that the fire might illuminate -him from head to foot, and so he stood, with his arms folded, thinking -what a fine fellow he was, and regretting that no appreciative eye was -there to see him. - -‘What a splendid creature man is!’ said he to himself or Walter. ‘So -great in himself; and yet, how little and mean he becomes through -selfishness! I pity Jasper—from my heart I pity him. I am not -angry—only sorry.’ - - - - -CHAPTER LI. - -A SHOT. - - -‘OF all things I could have desired—the best!’ exclaimed Martin Babb -as Eve came from the cover of the wood upon the rocky floor. She was -out of breath, and could not speak. She put both hands on her breast to -control her breathing and quiet her throbbing heart. - -Martin drew one foot over the other, poising it on the toe, and allowed -the yellow firelight to play over his handsome face and fine form. The -appreciative eye was there. ‘Lovelier than ever!’ exclaimed Martin. -‘Preciosa come to the forest to Alonzo, not Alonzo to Preciosa.’ - - The forest green! - Where warm the summer sheen; - And echo calls, - And calls—through leafy halls. - Hurrah for the life ‘neath the greenwood tree! - My horn and my dogs and my gun for me! - Trarah! Trarah! Trarah!’ - -He sang the first verse of the gipsy chorus with rich tones. He had a -beautiful voice, and he knew it. - -The song had given her time to obtain breath, and she said, ‘Oh, -Martin, you must go—you must indeed!’ - -‘Why, my Preciosa?’ - -‘My father knows all—how, I cannot conjecture, but he does know, and he -will not spare you.’ - -‘My sweet flower,’ said Martin, not in the least alarmed, ‘the old -gentleman cannot hurt me. He cannot himself fetch the dogs of justice -and set them on me; and he cannot send for them without your consent. -There is plenty of time for me to give them the slip. All is arranged. -To-night I leave on Jasper’s horse, which he is good enough to lend me.’ - -‘You do not know my father. He is not alone—Mr. Coyshe is with him. I -cannot answer for what he may do.’ - -‘Hah!’ said Martin, ‘I see! Jealousy may spur him on. He knows that we -are rivals. Watt, be off with you after the horse. Perhaps it would be -better if I were to depart. I would not spare that pill-compounding -Coyshe were he in my power, and I cannot expect him to spare me.’ He -spoke, and his action was stagy, calculated to impress Eve. - -‘My dear Walter,’ said Martin, ‘go to Morwell some other way than the -direct path; workmen may be about—the hour is not so late.’ - -The boy did not wait for further orders. - -‘You need not fear for me,’ said the escaped convict. ‘Even if that -despicable roll-pill set off to collect men, I would escape him. I have -but to leave this spot, and I am safe. I presume not one of my pursuers -will be mounted.’ - -‘Why have you a fire here?’ - -‘The fire matters nothing,’ said Martin grandly; ‘indeed’—he collected -more fircones and threw them on—’indeed, if the form of the hare is to -be discovered, let it be discovered warm. The hunters will search the -immediate neighbourhood, and the hare will be flying far, far away.’ - -‘You know best, of course; but it seems to me very dangerous.’ - -‘I laugh at danger!’ exclaimed Martin, throwing a faggot on the flames. -‘I disport in danger as the seamew in the storm.’ He unfolded his arms -and waved them over the fire as a bird flapping its wings. - -‘And now,’ he went on, ‘I leave you—_you_—to that blood-letter. Why do -I trouble myself about my own worthless existence, when you are about -to fall a prey to his ravening jaw? No, Eve, that must never be.’ - -‘Martin,’ said Eve, ‘I must really go home. I only ran here to warn you -to be off, and to tell you something. My father has just said that my -mother was your sister.’ - -He looked at her in silence for some moments in real astonishment—so -real that he dropped his affected attitude and expression of face. - -‘Can this be possible!’ - -‘He declared before Mr. Coyshe and me that it was so.’ - -‘You have the same name as my lost sister,’ said Martin. ‘Her I hardly -remember. She ran away from home when I was very young, and what became -of her we never heard. If my father knew, he was silent about his -knowledge. I am sure Jasper did not know.’ - -‘And Mr. Barret, the manager, did not know either,’ added Eve. ‘When my -mother was with him she bore a feigned name, and said nothing about her -parents, nor told where was her home.’ - -Then Martin recovered himself and laughed. - -‘Why, Eve,’ said he, ‘if this extraordinary story be true, I am your -uncle and natural protector. This has settled the matter. You shall -never have that bolus-maker, leech-applier, Coyshe. I forbid it. I -shall stand between you and the altar of sacrifice. I extend my wing, -and you take refuge under it. I throw my mantle over you and assure you -of my protection. The situation is really—really quite dramatic.’ - -‘Do not stand so near the edge of the precipice,’ pleaded Eve. - -‘I always stand on the verge of precipices, but never go over,’ he -answered. ‘I speak metaphorically. Now, Eve, the way is clear. You -shall run away from home as did your mother, and you shall run away -with me. Remember, I am your natural protector.’ - -‘I cannot—I cannot indeed.’ Eve shrank back. - -‘I swear you shall,’ said Martin impetuously. ‘It may seem strange that -I, who am in personal danger myself, should consider you: but such is -my nature—I never regard self when I can do an heroic action. I say, -Eve, you shall go with me. I am a man with a governing will, to which -all must stoop. You have trifled with the doctor and with me. I hate -that man though I have never seen him. I would he were here and I would -send him, spectacles and all——’ - -‘He does not wear spectacles.’ - -‘Do not interrupt. I speak symbolically. Spectacles and all, I repeat, -with his bottles of leeches, and pestle and mortar, and pills and -lotions, over the edge of this precipice into perdition. Good heavens! -if I leave and you remain, I shall be coming back—I cannot keep away. -If I escape, it must be with you or not at all. You have a horse of -your own: you shall ride with me. You have a purse: fill it and bring -it in your pocket. Diamonds, silver spoons—anything.’ - -She was too frightened to know what to say. He, coward and bully as -he was, saw his advantage, and assumed the tone of bluster. ‘Do you -understand me? I will not be trifled with. The thing is settled: you -come with me.’ - -‘I cannot—indeed I cannot,’ said Eve despairingly. - -‘You little fool! Think of what you saw in the theatre. That is the -proper sphere for you, as it is for me. You were born to live on -the stage. I am glad you have told me what became of my sister. The -artistic instinct is in us. The fire of genius is in our hearts. You -cannot drag out life in such a hole as this: you must come into the -world. It was so with your mother. Whose example can you follow better -than that of a mother?’ - -‘My father would——’ - -‘Your father will not be surprised. What is born in the bone comes -out in the flesh. If your mother was an actress—you must be one also. -Compare yourself with your half-sister. Is there soul in that mass -of commonplace? Is there fire in that cake? Her mother, you may be -certain, was a pudding—a common vulgar suet-pudding. We beings of -Genius belong to another world, and we must live in that world or -perish. It is settled. You ride with me to-night. I shall introduce you -to the world of art, and you will soon be its most brilliant star.’ - -‘Hark!’ exclaimed Eve, starting. ‘I heard something stir.’ - -Both were silent, and listened. They stood opposite each other, near -the edge of the precipice. The darkness had closed in rapidly. The -cloudy sky cut off the last light of day. Far, far below, the river -cast up at one sweep a steely light, but for the most part of its -course it was lost in the inky murkiness of the shadows of mountain, -forest, and rock. - -Away at a distance of several miles, on the side of the dark dome of -Hingston Hill, a red star was glimmering—the light from a miner’s or -moorman’s cabin. The fire that flickered on the platform cast flashes -of gold on the nearest oak boughs, but was unable to illumine the gulf -of darkness that yawned under the forest trees. - -Martin stood facing the wood, with his back to the abyss, and the -light irradiated his handsome features. Eve timidly looked at him, and -thought how noble he seemed. - -‘Was it the sound of a horse’s hoof you heard?’ asked Martin. ‘Walter -is coming with Jasper’s horse.’ - -‘I thought a bush moved,’ answered Eve, ‘and that I heard a click.’ - -‘It is nothing,’ said Martin, ‘nothing but an attempt on your part to -evade the force of my argument, to divert the current of my speech. -You women squirm like eels. There is no holding you save by running a -stick through your gills. Mind you, I have decided your destiny. It -will be my pride to make a great actress of you. What applause you will -gain! What a life of merriment you will lead! I shall take a pride -in the thought that I have snatched you away from under the nose of -that doctor. Pshaw!’—he paused—’pshaw! I do not believe that story -about your mother being my sister. Whether she were or not matters -nothing. You, like myself, have a soul, and a soul that cannot live on -a farmyard dungheap. What is that! I hear a foot on the bracken. Can it -be Watt?’ - -He was silent, listening. He began to feel uneasy. Then from behind the -wood came the shrill clangour of a bell. - -‘Something has happened,’ said Eve, in great terror. ‘That is the alarm -bell of our house.’ - -‘My God!’ cried Martin, ‘what is Watt about! He ought to have been -here.’ In spite of his former swagger he became uneasy. ‘Curse him, for -a dawdle! am I going to stick here till taken because he is lazy? That -bell is ringing still.’ It was pealing loud and fast. ‘I shall leave -this rock. If I were taken again I should never escape more. Seven -years! seven years in prison—why, the best part of my life would be -gone, and you—I should see you no more. When I came forth you would be -Mrs. Sawbones. I swear by God that shall not be. Eve! I will not have -it. If I get off, you shall follow me. Hark! I hear the tramp of the -horse.’ - -He threw up his hands and uttered a shout of joy. He ran forward to the -fire, and stood by it, with the full glare of the blazing fircones on -his eager face. - -‘Eve! joy, joy! here comes help. I will make you mount behind me. We -will ride away together. Come, we must meet Watt at the gate.’ - -A crack, a flash. - -Martin staggered back, and put his hand to his breast. Eve fell to her -knees in speechless terror. - -‘Come here,’ he said hoarsely, and grasped her arm. ‘It is too late: I -am struck, I am done for.’ - -A shout, and a man was seen plunging through the bushes. - -‘Eve!’ said Martin, ‘I will not lose you.’ He dragged her two paces in -his arms. All power of resistance was gone from her. ‘That doctor shall -not have you—I’ll spoil that at least.’ He stooped, kissed her lips and -cheek and brow and eyes, and in a moment flung himself, with her in his -arms, over the edge of the precipice into the black abyss. - - - - -CHAPTER LII. - -THE WHOLE. - - -A MOMENT later, only a moment later, and a moment too late, Mr. Jordan -reached the platform, having beaten the branches aside, regardless of -the leaves that lashed his face and the brambles that tore his hands. -Then, when he saw that he was too late, he uttered a cry of despair. He -flung his gun from him, and it went over the edge and fell where it was -never found again. Then he raised his arms over his head and clasped -them, and brought them down on his hair—he wore no hat; and at the -same time his knees gave way, and he fell fainting on his face, with -his arms extended: the wound in his side had reopened, and the blood -burst forth and ran in a red rill towards the fire. - -A few minutes later Jasper came up. Watt was at the gate with the -horse. They had heard the shot, and Jasper had run on. He was followed -quickly by Walter, who had fastened up the horse, unable to endure the -suspense. - -‘Mr. Jordan is shot,’ gasped Jasper, ‘Martin has shot him. Help me. I -must staunch the wound.’ - -‘Not I,’ answered the boy; ‘I care nothing for him. I must find Martin. -Where is he? Gone to the hut? There is no time to be lost. I must find -him—that cursed bell is ringing.’ - -Without another thought for the prostrate man, Walter plunged into the -coppice, and ran down the steep slope towards the woodcutter’s hovel. -It did not occur to Jasper that the shot he had heard proceeded from -the squire’s gun. He knew that Martin was armed. He supposed that he -had seen the old man emerge from the wood, and, supposing him to be one -of his pursuers, had fired at him and made his escape. He knew nothing -of Eve’s visit to the Raven Rock and interview with his brother. - -He turned the insensible man over on his back and discovered, to his -relief, that he was not dead. He tore open his shirt and found that he -was unwounded by any bullet, but that the old self-inflicted wound in -his side had opened and was bleeding freely. He knew how to deal with -this. He took the old man’s shirt and tore it to form a bandage, and -passed it round him and stopped temporarily the ebbing tide. He heard -Walter calling Martin in the wood. It was clear that he had not found -his brother in the hut. Now Jasper understood why the alarm-bell was -ringing. Barbara had discovered that her father had left the house, -and, in fear for the consequences, was summoning the workmen from their -cottages to assist in finding him. - -Watt reappeared in great agitation, and, without casting a look at the -insensible man, said, ‘He is not there, he may be back in the mine. -He may have unlocked the boathouse and be rowing over the Tamar, or -down—no—the tide is out, he cannot get down.’ Then away he went again -into the wood. - -Mr. Jordan lay long insensible. He had lost much blood. Jasper knelt by -him. All was now still. The bell was no longer pealing. No step could -be heard. The bats flitted about the rock; the fire-embers snapped. The -wind sighed and piped among the trees. The fire had communicated itself -to some dry grass, and a tuft flamed up, then a little spluttering -flame crept along from grass haulm and twig to a tuft of heather, -which it kindled, and which flared up. Jasper, kneeling by Mr. Jordan, -watched the progress of the fire without paying it much attention. In -moments of anxiety trifles catch the eye. He dare not leave the old -man. He waited till those who had been summoned by the bell came that -way. - -Presently Ignatius Jordan opened his eyes. ‘Eve!’ he said, and his dim -eyes searched the feebly-illuminated platform. Then he laid his head -back again on the moss and was unconscious or lost in dream—Jasper -could not decide which. Jasper went to the fire and threw on some wood -and collected more. The stronger the flame the more likely to attract -the notice of the searchers. He trod out the fire where it stole, -snakelike, along the withered grass that sprouted out of the cracks -in the surface of the rock. He went to the edge of the precipice, and -listened in hopes of hearing something, he hardly knew what—a sound -that might tell him Walter had found his brother. He heard nothing—no -dip of oars, no rattle of a chain, from the depths and darkness below. -He returned to Mr. Jordan, and saw that he was conscious and recognised -him. The old man signed to him to draw near. - -‘The end is at hand. The blood has nearly all run out. Both are -smitten—both the guilty and the guiltless.’ - -Jasper supposed he was wandering in his mind. - -‘I will tell you all,’ said the old man. ‘You are her brother, and -ought to know.’ - -‘You are speaking of my lost sister Eve!’ said Jasper eagerly. Not a -suspicion crossed his mind that anything had happened to the girl. - -‘I shall soon rejoin her, and the other as well. I would not speak -before because of my child. I could not bear that she should look with -horror on her father. Now it matters not. She has followed her mother. -The need for silence is taken away. Wait! I must gather my strength, I -cannot speak for long.’ - -Then from the depths of darkness below the rock, came the hoot of -an owl. Jasper knew that it was Watt’s signal to Martin—that he was -searching for him still. No answering hoot came. - -‘You went to Plymouth. You saw the manager who had known my Eve. What -did he say?’ - -‘He told me very little.’ - -‘Did he tell you where she was?’ - -‘No. He saw her for the last time on this rock. He had been sent here -by her father, who was unable to keep his appointment.’ - -‘Go on.’ - -‘That is all. She refused to desert you and her child. It is false that -she ran away with an actor.’ - -‘Who said she had? Not I—not I. Her own father, her own father—not I.’ - -‘Then what became of her? Mr. Barret told me he had been to see her -here at Morwell once or twice whilst the company was at Tavistock, and -found her happy. After that my father came and tried to induce her to -return to Buckfastleigh with him.’ - -Mr. Jordan put out his white thin hand and laid it on Jasper’s wrist. - -‘You need say no more. The end is come, and I will tell you all. I -knew that one of the actors came out and saw her—not once only, but -twice—and then her father came, and she met him in secret, here in -the wood, on this rock. I did not know that he whom she met was her -father. I supposed she was still meeting the actor privately. I was -jealous. I loved Eve. Oh, my God! my God!’—he put his hands against his -temples—’when have I ceased to love her?’ - -He did not speak for some moments. Again from the depths, but more -distant, came the to-whoo of the owl. Mr. Jordan removed his hands from -his brow and laid them flat at his side on the rock. - -‘I was but a country gentleman, with humble pursuits—a silent man, who -did not care for society—and I knew that I could not compare with the -witty attractive men of the world. I knew that Morwell was a solitary -place, and that there were few neighbours. I believed that Eve was -unhappy here: I thought she was pining to go back to the merry life -she had led with the players. I thought she was weary of me, and I was -jealous—jealous and suspicious. I watched her, and when I found that -she was meeting someone in secret here on this rock, and that she tried -to hide from me especially that she was doing this, then I went mad—mad -with disappointed love, mad with jealousy. I knew she intended to run -away from me.’ He made a sign with his hand that he could say no more. - -Jasper was greatly moved. At length the mystery was being revealed. -The signs of insanity in the old man had disappeared. He spoke with -emotion, as was natural, but not irrationally. The fact of being -able to tell what had long been consuming his mind relieved it, and -perhaps the blood he had lost reduced the fever which had produced -hallucination. - -Jasper said in as quiet a voice as he could command, ‘My sister loved -you and her child, and had no mind to leave you. She was grateful to -you for your kindness to her. Unfortunately her early life was not a -happy one. My father treated her with harshness and lack of sympathy. -He drove her, by his treatment, from home. Now, Mr. Jordan, I can well -believe that in a fit of jealousy and unreasoning passion you drove my -poor sister away from Morwell—you were not legally married, and could -do so. God forgive you! She did not desert you: you expelled her. Now I -desire to know what became of her. Whither did she go? If she be still -alive, I must find her.’ - -‘She is not alive,’ said Mr. Jordan. - -Then a great horror came over Jasper, and he shrank away. ‘You did not -drive her in a fit of desperation to—to self-destruction?’ - -Mr. Jordan’s earnest eyes were fixed on the dark night sky. He -muttered—the words were hardly audible—_Si iniquitates observaveris, -Domine: Domine, quis sustinebit?_ - -Jasper did not catch what he said, and thinking it was something -addressed to him, he stooped over Mr. Jordan and said, ‘What became of -her? How did she die? Where is she buried?’ - -The old man raised himself on one arm and tried to sit up, and looked -at Jasper with quivering lips; then held his arm over the rock as, -pointing to the abyss, ‘Here!’ he whispered, and fell back on the moss. - -Jasper saw that he had again become unconscious. He feared lest life—or -reason—should desert him before he had told the whole story. - -It was some time before the squire was able to speak. When -consciousness returned he bent his face to Jasper, and there was not -that flicker and wildness in his eyes which Jasper had observed at -other times, and which had made him uneasy. Mr. Jordan looked intently -and steadily at Jasper. - -‘She did not run away from me. I did not drive her from my house as -you think. It can avail nothing to conceal the truth longer. I did not -wish that Eve, my child, should know it; but now—it matters no more. -My fears are over. I have nothing more to disturb me. I care for no -one else. I saw my wife on this rock meet the actor, I watched them. -They did not know that I was spying. I could not hear much of what they -said; I caught only snatches of sentences and stray words. I thought he -was urging her to go with him.’ - -‘No,’ interrupted Jasper, ‘it was not so. He advised her not to return -with her father, but to remain with you.’ - -‘Was it so? I was fevered with love and jealousy. I heard his last -words—she was to be there on the morrow, Midsummer Day, and then to -give the final decision. If I had had my gun I would have shot him -there, but I was unarmed. All that night I was restless. I could not -sleep; I was as one in a death agony. I thought that Eve was going to -desert me for another. And when on the morrow, Midsummer Day, she went -at the appointed hour to the Raven Rock, I followed her. She had taken -her child—she had made up her mind—she was going. Then I took down my -gun and loaded it.’ - -Jasper’s heart stood still. Now for the first time he began to see and -fear what was coming. This was worse than he had anticipated. - -‘I crept along behind a hedge, till I reached the wood. Then I stole -through the gate under the trees. I came beneath the great Scotch -pine’—he pointed in the direction. ‘She had her child with her. She -had made up her mind—so I thought—to leave me, and take with her the -babe. That she could not leave. Now I see she took it only that she -might show the little thing to her father. I watched her on the rock. -She kissed the babe and soothed it, and fondled it, and sang to it. She -had a sweet voice. I was watching—there—and I had my gun in my hands. -The man was not come. I saw rise up before me the life my Eve would -lead; I saw how she would sink, how the man would desert her, and she -would fall lower; and my child, what would become of my child? Then she -turned and looked in my direction. She was listening for the step of -her lover. She stooped, and laid the child on the moss, where I lie -now. I suppose it opened its eyes, and she began to sing and dance to -it, snapping her fingers as though playing castanets. My heart flared -within me, my hand shook, and God knows how it was—I do not. I cannot -say how it came about, but in one moment the gun was discharged and she -fell. I did not mean to kill her when I loaded it, but I did mean to -kill the man, the seducer. But whether I did it purposely then, or my -finger acted without my will, I cannot say. All is dark to me when I -look back—dark as is the darkness over the edge of this rock.’ - -Jasper could not speak. He stood and looked with horror on the wounded, -wretched man. - -‘I buried her,’ said Mr. Jordan, ‘in the old copper-mine—long deserted, -and only known to me—and there she lies. That is the whole.’ - -Then he covered his eyes and said no more. - - - - -CHAPTER LIII. - -BY LANTERN-LIGHT. - - -WHEN Barbara had finished her needlework, the wonder which had for -some time been obtruding itself upon her—what had become of Eve—became -prominent, and awoke a fear in her lest she should have run off into -the wood to Martin. She did not wish to think that Eve would do such -a thing; but, if she were not in the house, and neither her step nor -her voice announced her presence, where was she? Eve was never able to -amuse herself, by herself, for long. She must be with someone—with a -maid if no one else were available. She had no resources in herself. If -she were with Jasper, it did not matter; but Barbara hardly thought Eve -was with him. - -She laid aside her needlework, looked into her sister’s room, without -expecting to see Eve there, then descended and sought Jane, to inquire -whether her father had given signs of being awake by knocking. Jane, -however, was not in the pantry nor in the kitchen. Jane had not been -seen for some time. Then Barbara very softly stole through the hall -and tapped at her father’s door. No answer. She opened it and looked -in. The room was quite dark. She stood still and listened. She did not -hear her father breathe. In some surprise, but hardly yet in alarm, -she went for a candle, and returned with it to the room Mr. Jordan -occupied. To her amazement and alarm, she found it empty. She ran into -the parlour—no one was there. She sought through the house and garden, -and stables—not a sign of her father anywhere, and, strangely enough, -not of Eve, or of Jane either. Jasper, likewise, had not been seen -for some time. Then, in her distress, Barbara rang the alarm-bell, -long, hastily, and strongly. When, after the lapse of some while spent -in fruitless search, Barbara arrived at the Raven Rock, she was not -alone—two or three of the farm labourers and Joseph the policeman -were with her. Jane had found her sweetheart on his way to Morwell to -visit her. The light of the fire on the Rock, illumining the air above -the trees, had attracted the notice of one of the workmen, and now -the entire party came on to the Rock as Mr. Jordan had finished his -confession, and Jasper, sick at heart, horror-stricken, stood back, -speechless, not able to speak. - -Barbara uttered a cry of dismay when she saw her father, and threw -herself on her knees at his side. He made a sign to her to keep back, -he did not want her; he beckoned to Jasper. - -‘One word more,’ he said in a low tone. ‘My hours are nearly over. Lay -us all three together—my wife, my child, and me.’ - -‘Papa,’ said Barbara, ‘what do you mean? what is the matter?’ - -He paid no attention to her. ‘I have told you where _she_ lies. When -you have recovered my poor child——’ - -‘What child?’ asked Jasper. - -‘Eve; what other?’ - -Jasper did not understand, and supposed he was wandering. - -‘He—your brother—leaped off the precipice with her in his arms.’ - -‘Papa!’ cried Barbara. - -‘She is dead—dashed to pieces—and he too.’ - -Barbara looked at Jasper, then, in terror ran to the edge. Nothing -whatever could be seen. That platform of rock might be the end of the -world, a cliff jutting forth into infinite space and descending into -infinite abysses of blackness. She leaned over and called, but received -no answer. Jasper could hardly believe in the truth of what had been -said. Turning to the policeman and servants, he spoke sternly: ‘Mr. -Jordan must be removed at once. Let him be lifted very carefully and -carried into the house. He has lain here already unsuccoured too long.’ - -‘I will not be removed,’ said the old man; ‘leave me here, I shall take -no further harm. Go—seek for the body of my poor Eve.’ - -‘John Westlake,’ called Barbara to one of the men, ‘give me the lantern -at once.’ The man was carrying one. Then, distracted between fear for -her sister and anxiety about her father, she ran back to Mr. Jordan to -know how he was. - -‘You need be in no immediate anxiety about him,’ said Jasper. ‘It is -true that his wound has opened and bled, but I have tightly bandaged it -again.’ - -Joseph, the policeman, stood by helpless, staring blankly about him and -scratching his ear. - -Then Barbara noticed a blanket lying in a heap on the rock—the blanket -Jasper had brought to his brother, but which had been refused. She -caught it up at once and tore it into shreds, knotted the ends -together, took the lantern from the man Westlake, and let the -light down the face of the crag. The lantern was of tin and horn, -and through the sides but a dull light was thrown. She could see -nothing—the lantern caught in ivy and heather bushes and turned on one -side; the candle-flame scorched the horn. - -‘I can see nothing,’ she said despairingly. ‘What shall I do!’ - -Suddenly she grasped Jasper’s hand, as he knelt by her, looking down. - -‘Do you hear?’ - -A faint moan was audible. Was it a human voice, or was a bough swayed -and groaning in the wind? - -All crowded to the edge and held their breath. Mr. Jordan was -disregarded in the immediate interest attaching to the fate of Eve. - -No other sound was heard. - -Jasper ran and gathered fir and oak branches and grass, bound them into -a faggot, set it on fire, and threw it over the edge, so that it might -fall wide of the Rock and illumine its face. There was a glare for a -moment, but the faggot went down too swiftly to be of any avail. - -Then Walter, whom none had hitherto observed, pushed through, and, -without saying a word to anyone, kicked off his shoes and went over the -edge. - -‘Let him go,’ said Jasper as one of the men endeavoured to stay him; -‘the boy can climb like a squirrel. Let him take the lantern, Barbara, -that he may see where to plant his foot and what to hold.’ Then he took -the blanket rope from her hand, raised the light, and slowly lowered it -again beside the descending boy. - -Watt went down nimbly yet cautiously, clinging to ivy and tufts of -grass, feeling every projection, and trying with his foot before -trusting his weight to it. He did not hurry himself. He did not regard -those who watched his advance. His descent was in zigzags. He crept -along ledges, found a cleft or a step of stone, or a tuft of heather, -or a stem of ivy. All at once he grasped the lantern. - -‘I see something! Oh, Jasper, what can it be!’ gasped Barbara. - -‘Be careful,’ he said; ‘do not overbalance yourself.’ - -‘I have found _her_,’ shouted Watt; ‘only her—not him.’ - -‘God be praised!’ whispered Barbara. - -‘Is she alive?’ called Jasper. - -‘I do not know, I do not care. Martin is not here.’ - -‘Now,’ said Jasper, ‘come on, you men—that is, all but one. We must go -below; not over the cliff, but round through the coppice. We can find -our way to the lantern. The boy must be at the bottom. She has fallen,’ -he addressed Barbara now, ‘she has fallen, I trust, among bushes of oak -which have broken the force of the fall. Do not be discouraged. Trust -in God. Stay here and pray.’ - -‘Oh, Jasper, I cannot! I must go with you.’ - -‘You cannot. You must not. The coppice and brambles would tear your -clothes and hands and face. The scramble is difficult by day and -dangerous by night. You must remain here by your father. Trust me. I -will do all in my power for poor Eve. We cannot bring her up the way -we descend. We must force our way laterally into a path. You remain by -your father, and let a man run for another or two more lanterns.’ - -Then Jasper went down by way of the wood with the men scrambling, -falling, bursting through the brakes; some cursing when slashed across -the face by an oak bough or torn through cloth and skin by a braid -of bramble. They were quite invisible to Barbara, and to each other. -They went downward: fast they could not go, fearing at every moment -to fall over a face of rock; groping, struggling as with snakes, in -the coils of wood; slipping, falling, scrambling to their feet again, -calling each other, becoming bewildered, losing their direction. The -lantern that Watt held was quite invisible to them, buried above their -heads in the densest undergrowth. The only man of them who came unhurt -out of the coppice was Joseph, who, fearing for his face and hands -and uniform, unwilling that he should appear lacerated and disfigured -before Jane, instead of finding his way down through the brush, -descended leisurely by the path or road that made a long circuit to the -water’s edge, and then ascended by the same road again to the place -whence he had started. - -Jasper, who had more intelligence than the rest, had taken his -bearings, before starting, by the red star on the side of Hingston -Hill, that shone out of a miner’s hut window. This he was able always -to see, and by it to steer his course; so that eventually he reached -the spot where was Watt with the lantern. - -‘Where is she? What are you doing?’ he asked breathlessly. His hands -were torn and bleeding, his face bruised. - -‘Oh, I do not know. I left her. I want to find Martin—he cannot be far -off.’ - -The boy was scrambling on a slope of fallen rubble. - -‘I insist, Watt: tell me. Give me the lantern at once.’ - -‘I will not. She is up there. You can make out the ledge against the -sky, and by the light of the fire above; but Martin—whither is he gone?’ - -Then away farther down went the boy with his lantern. Instead of -following him, Jasper climbed up the rubble slope to the ledge. His -eyes had become accustomed to the dark. He distinguished the fluttering -end of a white or light-coloured dress. Then he swung himself up upon -the ledge, and saw, by the faint light that still lingered in the sky, -the figure of a woman—of Eve—lying on one side, with the hands clinging -to a broken branch of ivy. A thick bed of heather was on this ledge—so -thick that it had prevented Eve from rolling off it when she had fallen -into the bush. - -He stooped over her. He felt her heart, he put his ear to her mouth. -Immediately he called up to Barbara, ‘She is alive, but insensible.’ - -Then he put his hands to his mouth and shouted to the men who had -started with him. - -He was startled by seeing Watt with the lantern close to him: the light -was on the boy’s face. It was agitated with fear, rage, and distress. -His eyes were full of tears, sweat poured from his brow. - -‘Why do you shout?’ he said, and shook his fist in Jasper’s face. ‘Have -you no care for Martin? I cannot find him yet, but he is near. Be -silent, and do not bring the men here. If he is alive I will get him -away in the boat. If he is dead——’ then his sobs burst forth. ‘Martin! -poor Martin! where can he be! Do not call: let no one come here. Oh, -Martin, Martin!’ and away went the boy down again. ‘Why is _she_ fallen -here and found at once, and _he_ is lost! Oh, Martin—poor Martin!’ the -edge of the rock came in the way of the light, and Jasper saw no more -of the boy and the lantern. - -Unrestrained by what his youngest brother had said, Jasper called -repeatedly, till at last the men gathered where he was. Then, with -difficulty Eve was moved from where she lay and received in the arms of -the men below. She moaned and cried out with pain, but did not recover -consciousness. - -Watt was travelling about farther down with his dull light, sometimes -obscured, sometimes visible. One of the men shouted to him to bring the -lantern up, but his call was disregarded, and next moment Watt and his -lantern were forgotten, as another came down the face of the cliff, -lowered by Barbara. - -Then the men moved away with their burden, and one went before with the -light exploring the way. Barbara above knelt at the edge of the rock -and prayed, and as she prayed her tears fell over her cheeks. - -At length the little cluster of men appeared with their light through -the trees, approaching the Rock from the wood; they had reached the -path and were coming along it. Jasper took the lantern and led the way. - -‘Lay her here,’ he said, ‘near her father, where there is moss, till we -can get a couple of gates.’ Then, suddenly, as the men were about to -obey him, he uttered an exclamation of horror. He had put the lantern -down beside Mr. Jordan. - -‘Stand back,’ he said to Barbara, who was coming up, ‘stand back, I -pray you!’ - -But there was no need for her to stand back: she had seen what he would -have hidden from her. In the darkness and loneliness, unobserved, Mr. -Jordan had torn away his bandages, and his blood had deluged the turf. -It had ceased to flow now—for he was dead. - - - - -CHAPTER LIV. - -ANOTHER LOAD. - - -THE sad procession moved to Morwell out of the wood, preceded by the -man Westlake, mounted on Jasper’s horse, riding hard for the doctor. -Then came a stable-boy with the lantern, and after the light two -gates—first, that on which was laid the dead body of Mr. Jordan; then -another, followed closely by Barbara, on which lay Eve breathing, but -now not even moaning. As the procession was half through the first -field the bell of the house tolled. Westlake had communicated the news -to the servant-maids, and one of them at once went to the bell. - -Lagging behind all came Joseph Woodman, the policeman. The King of -France in the ballad marched up a hill, and then marched down again, -having accomplished nothing. Joseph had reversed the process: he had -leisurely marched down the hill, and then more leisurely marched up -it again; but the result was the same as that attained by the King of -France. - -On reaching Morwell Jasper said in a low voice to the men, ‘You must -return with me: there is another to be sought for. Who saw the boy -with the lantern last? He may have found him by this time.’ - -Then Joseph said slowly, ‘As I was down by the boathouse I saw -something.’ - -‘What did you see?’ - -‘I saw up on the hill-side a lantern travelling this way, then that -way, so’—he made a zigzag indication in the air with his finger. -‘It went very slow. It went, so to speak, like a drop o’ rain on a -window-pane, that goes this way, then it goes a little more that way, -then it goes quite contrary, to the other side. Then it changes its -direction once again and it goes a little faster.’ - -‘I wish you would go faster,’ said Jasper impatiently. ‘What did you -see at last?’ - -‘I’m getting into it, but I must go my own pace,’ said Joseph with -unruffled composure. ‘You understand me, brothers—I’m not speaking -of a drop o’ rain on a window-glass, but of a lantern-light on the -hill-side—and bless you, that hill-side was like a black wall rising up -on my right hand into the very sky. Well then, the light it travelled -like a drop o’ rain on a glass—first to this side, then to that. You’ve -seen drops o’ rain how they travel’—he appealed to all who listened. -‘And I reckon you know how that all to once like the drop, after having -travelled first this road, then that road, in a queer contrary fashion, -and very slow, all to once like, as I said, down it runs like a winking -of the eye and is gone. So exactly was it with thicky (that) there -light. It rambled about on the face of the blackness: first it crawled -this way, then it crept that; always, brothers, going a little lower -and then—to once—whish!—I saw it shoot like a falling star—I mean a -raindrop—and I saw it no more.’ - -‘And then?’ - -‘Why—and then I came back the same road I went down.’ - -‘You did not go into the bushes in search?’ - -‘How should I?’ answered Joseph, ‘I’d my best uniform on. I’d come out -courting, not thief-catching.’ - -‘And you know nothing further?’ - -‘How should I? Didn’t I say I went back up the road same way as I’d -come down? I warn’t bound to get my new cloth coat and trousers tore -all abroad by brimbles, not for nobody. I know my duty better than -that. The county pays for ‘em.’ - -Directed by this poor indication, Jasper led the men back into the wood -and down the woodman’s truck road, that led by a long sweep to the -bottom of the cliffs. - -The search was for a long time ineffectual; but at length, at the -foot of a rock, they came on the object of their quest—the body of -Martin—among fragments of fallen crag, and over it, clinging to his -brother with one arm, the hand passed through the ring of a battered -lantern, was Walter. The light was extinguished in the lantern and the -light was beaten out of the brothers. Jasper looked into the poor boy’s -face—a scornful smile still lingered on the lips. - -Apparently he had discovered his brother’s body and then had tried to -drag it away down the steep slope towards the old mine, in the hopes -of hiding there and finding that Martin was stunned, not dead; but in -the darkness he had stumbled over another precipice or slidden down a -run of shale and been shot with his burden over a rock. Again the sad -procession was formed. The two gates that had been already used were -put in requisition a second time, and the bodies of Martin and Watt -were carried to Morwell and laid in the hall, side by side, and he who -carried a light placed it at their head. - -Mr. Coyshe had arrived. For three of those brought in no medical aid -was of avail. - -Barbara, always practical and self-possessed, had ordered the cook to -prepare supper for the men. Then the two dead brothers were left where -they had been laid, with the dull lantern burning at their head, and -the hungry searchers went to the kitchen to refresh. - -Joseph ensconced himself by the fire, and Jane drew close to him. - -‘I reckon,’ said the policeman, ‘I’ll have some hot grog.’ Then he slid -his arm round Jane’s waist and said, ‘In the midst of death we are in -life. Is that really, now, giblet pie? The cold joint I don’t fancy’—he -gave Jane a smack on the cheek. ‘Jane, I’ll have a good help of the -giblet pie, please, and the workmen can finish the cold veal. I like -my grog hot and strong and with three lumps of double-refined sugar. -You’ll take a sip first, Jane, and I’ll drink where your honeyed lips -have a-sipped. When you come to consider it in a proper spirit’—he drew -Jane closer to his side—’there’s a deal of truth in Scriptur’. In the -midst of death we _are_ in life. Why, Jane, we shall enjoy ourselves -this evening as much as if we were at a love-feast. I’ve a sweet tooth, -Jane—a very sweet tooth.’ - - - - -CHAPTER LV. - -WHAT EVERY FOOL KNOWS. - - -JASPER stood on the staircase waiting. Then he heard a step descend. -There was no light: the maids, in the excitement and confusion, had -forgotten their duties. No lamp on the staircase, none in the hall. -Only in the latter the dull glimmer of the horn lantern that irradiated -but did not illumine the faces of two who were dead. The oak door at -the foot of the stairs was ajar, and a feeble light from this lantern -penetrated to the staircase. The window admitted some greyness from the -overcast sky. - -‘Tell me, Barbara,’ he said, ‘what is the doctor’s report?’ - -‘Jasper!’ Then Barbara’s strength gave way, and she burst into a -flood of tears. He put his arm round her, and she rested her head on -his breast and cried herself out. She needed this relief. She had kept -control over herself by the strength of her will. There was no one in -the house to think for her, to arrange anything; she had the care of -everything on her, beside her great sorrow for her father, and fear for -Eve. As for the servant girls, they were more trouble than help. _Men_ -were in the kitchen; that sufficed to turn their heads and make them -leave undone all they ought to have done, and do just those things they -ought not to do. At this moment, after the strain, the presence of a -sympathetic heart opened the fountain of her tears and broke down her -self-restraint. - -Jasper did not interrupt her, though he was anxious to know the result -of Mr. Coyshe’s examination. He waited patiently, with the weeping girl -in his arms, till she looked up and said, ‘Thank you, dear friend, for -letting me cry here: it has done me good.’ - -‘Now, Barbara, tell me all.’ - -‘Jasper, the doctor says that Eve will live.’ - -‘God’s name be praised for that!’ - -‘But he says that she will be nothing but a poor cripple all her days.’ - -‘Then we must take care of her.’ - -‘Yes, Jasper, I will devote my life to her.’ - -‘_We_ will, Barbara.’ - -She took his hand and pressed it between both hers. - -‘But,’ she said hesitatingly, ‘what if Mr. Coyshe——’ She did not finish -the sentence. - -‘Wait till Mr. Coyshe claims her.’ - -‘He is engaged to her, so of course he will, the more readily now that -she is such a poor crushed worm.’ - -Jasper said nothing. He knew Mr. Coyshe better than Barbara, perhaps. -He had taken his measure when he went with him over the farm after the -signing of the will. - -‘This place is hers by her father’s will,’ said Jasper; ‘and, should -the surgeon draw back, she will need you and me to look after her -interests.’ - -‘Yes,’ said Barbara, ‘she will need us both.’ - -Then she withdrew her hands and returned upstairs. - -A few days later Mr. Coyshe took occasion to clear the ground. He -explained to Barbara that his engagement must be considered at an end. -He was very sorry, but he must look out for his own interests, as he -had neither parent alive to look out for them for him. It would be -quite impossible for him to get on with a wife who was a cripple. - -‘You are premature, Mr. Coyshe,’ said Miss Jordan stiffly. ‘If you -had waited till my sister were able to speak and act, she would have, -herself, released you.’ - -‘Exactly,’ said the unabashed surgeon; ‘but I am so considerate of the -feelings of the lady, that I spare her the trouble.’ - -And now let us spread the golden wings of fancy, and fly the scenes -of sorrow—but fly, not in space, but in time; measure not miles, but -months. - -It is autumn, far on into September, and Michaelmas has brought with -it the last days of summer. Not this the autumn that we saw coming on, -with the turning dogwood and bird-cherry, but another. - -In the garden the colchicum has raised its pale lilac flowers. -The Michaelmas daisy is surrounded by the humming-bird moth with -transparent wings, but wings that vibrate so fast that they can only -be seen as a quiver of light. The mountain ash is hung with clusters -of clear crimson berries, and the redbreasts and finches are about it, -tearing improvidently at the store, thoughtless of the coming winter, -and strewing the soil with wasted coral. - -Eve is seated in the sun outside the house, in the garden, and on her -knees is a baby—Barbara’s child, and yet Eve’s also, for if Barbara -gave it life, Eve gave it a name. Before her sister Barbara kneels, now -just restored from her confinement, a little pale and large in eye, -looking up at her sister and then down at the child. Jasper stands by -contemplating the pretty group. - -‘Eve,’ said Barbara in a low tremulous voice, ‘I have had for some -months on my heart a great fear lest, when my little one came, I should -love it with all my heart, and rob you. I had the same fear before I -married Jasper, lest he should snatch some of my love away from the -dear suffering sister who needs all. But now I have no such fear any -more, for love, I find, is a great mystery—it is infinitely divisible, -yet ever complete. It is like’—she lowered her voice reverently—’it -is like what we Catholics believe about the body of our Lord, the -very Sacrament of Love. That is in Heaven and in every church. It -is on every altar, and in every communicant, entire. I thought once -that when I had a husband, and then a little child, love would suffer -diminution—that I could not share love without lessening the portion of -each. But it is not so. I love my baby with my whole undivided heart; I -love you, my sister, equally with my whole undivided heart; and I love -my husband also,’ she turned and smiled at Jasper, ‘with my very whole -and undivided heart. It is a great mystery, but love is divine, and -divine things are perceived and believed by the heart, though beyond -the reason.’ - -‘So,’ said Eve, smiling, and with her blue eyes filling, ‘my dear, dear -Barbara, once so prosaic and so practical, is becoming an idealist and -poetical.’ - -‘Wherever unselfish love reigns, there is poetry,’ said Jasper; ‘the -sweetest of the songs of life is the song of self-sacrificing love. -Barbara never was prosaic. She was always an idealist; but, my dear -Eve, the heart needs culture to see and distinguish true poetry from -false sentiment. That you lacked at one time. That you have now. -I once knew a little girl, light of heart, and loving only self, -with no earnest purpose, blown about by every caprice. Now I see a -change—a change from base element to a divine presence. I see a sweet -face as of old, but I see something in it, new-born; a soul full of -self-reproach and passionate love; a heart that is innocent as of old, -but yet that has learned a great deal, and all good, through suffering. -I see a life that was once purposeless now instinct with purpose—the -purpose to live for duty, in self-sacrifice, and not for pleasure. My -dear Eve, the great and solemn priest Pain has laid his hands on you -and broken you, and held you up to Heaven, and you are not what you -were, and yet—and yet are the same.’ - -Eve could not speak. She put her arms round her sister’s neck, and -clung to her, and the tears flowed from both their eyes, and fell upon -the tiny Eve lying on the knees of the elder Eve. - -But though they were clasped over the child, no shadow fell on its -little face. The baby laughed. - - * * * * * - -Some years ago—the author cannot at the moment say how many, nor does -it matter—he paid a visit to Morwell, and saw the sad havoc that had -been wrought to the venerable hunting-lodge of the Abbots of Tavistock. -The old hall had disappeared, a floor had been put across it, and it -had been converted into an upper and lower story of rooms. One wing -had been transformed into a range of model cottages for labourers. The -house of the Jordans was now a farm. - -The author asked if he might see the remains of antiquity within the -house. - -An old woman who had answered his knock and ring, replied, ‘There are -none—all have been swept away.’ - -‘But,’ said he, ‘in my childhood I remember that the place was full of -interest; and by the way, what has become of the good people who lived -here? I have been in another part of the country, and indeed a great -deal abroad.’ - -‘Do you mean Mr. Jasper?’ - -‘No: Jasper, no—the name began with J.’ - -‘The old Squire Jordan your honour means, no doubt. He be dead ages -ago. Mr. Jasper married Miss Jordan—Miss Barbara we called her. When -Miss Eve died, they went away to Buckfastleigh, where they had a -house and a factory. There was a queer matter about the old squire’s -death—did you never hear of that, sir?’ - -‘I heard something; but I was very young then.’ - -‘My Joseph could tell you all about it better than I.’ - -‘Who is your Joseph?’ - -‘Well, sir, I’m ashamed to say it, but he’s my sweetheart, who’s been -a-courting of me these fifty years.’ - -‘Not married yet?’ - -‘He’s a slow man is Joseph. I reckon he’d ‘a’ spoken out if he’d been -able at last, but the paralysis took ‘m in the legs. He put off and -off—and I encouraged him all I could; but he always was a slow man.’ - -‘Where is he now?’ - -‘Oh, he’s with his married sister. He sits in a chair, and when I can I -run to ‘m and take him some backy or barley-sugar. He’s vastly fond o’ -sucking sticks o’ barley-sugar. Gentlefolks as come here sometimes give -me a shilling, and I lay that out on getting Joseph what he likes. He -always had a sweet tooth.’ - -‘Then you love him still?’ - -The old woman looked at me with surprise. Her hand and head shook. - -‘Of course I does: love is eternal—every fool knows that.’ - - - THE END. - - - PRINTED BY - SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE - LONDON - -[Illustration: LOGO] - - - - - ALPHABETICAL CATALOGUE OF BOOKS - IN - GENERAL LITERATURE AND FICTION - PUBLISHED BY - CHATTO & WINDUS - - 111 ST. MARTIN’S LANE, CHARING CROSS - - - _Telegrams LONDON, W.C. _Telephone No._ - Bookstore, London_ 3524 _Central_ - - - =ADAMS (W. 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