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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Eustace Marchmont, by Evelyn
+Everett-Green
+
+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
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Eustace Marchmont
+       A friend of the people
+
+Author: Evelyn Everett-Green
+
+Release Date: July 23, 2022 [eBook #68596]
+
+Language: English
+
+Produced by: MWS, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed
+             Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+             produced from images generously made available by The
+             Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EUSTACE MARCHMONT ***
+
+
+[Illustration: “‘There he is,’ said Bride softly to Eustace. ‘I think
+you had better go to him alone.’... Without pausing to rehearse any
+speech, Eustace walked up to the lonely figure on the rocks, holding
+out his hand in greeting.”--P. 234.]
+
+
+
+
+  EUSTACE MARCHMONT
+
+  A FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE
+
+  BY
+  EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+  BOSTON:
+  A. I. BRADLEY & CO.
+  PUBLISHERS.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAP.                                 PAGE
+
+      I. ON CHRISTMAS EVE                  1
+
+     II. THE DUCHESS OF PENARVON          17
+
+    III. THE HOUSE OF MOURNING            32
+
+     IV. THE DUKE’S HEIR                  48
+
+      V. MAN OF THE WORLD AND MYSTIC      63
+
+     VI. THE GOSPEL OF DISCONTENT         78
+
+    VII. THE KINDLED SPARK                94
+
+   VIII. BRIDE’S PERPLEXITIES            111
+
+     IX. THE WAVE OF REVOLT              129
+
+      X. A STRANGE NIGHT                 145
+
+     XI. DUKE AND DEFAULTER              160
+
+    XII. AUTUMN DAYS                     176
+
+   XIII. TWO ENCOUNTERS                  193
+
+    XIV. EUSTACE’S DILEMMA               209
+
+     XV. STIRRING DAYS                   225
+
+    XVI. THE POLLING AT PENTREATH        242
+
+   XVII. THE DUKE’S CARRIAGE             258
+
+  XVIII. ABNER’S PATIENT                 274
+
+    XIX. THE BULL’S HORNS                289
+
+     XX. BRIDE’S VIGIL                   307
+
+    XXI. FROM THE DEAD                   322
+
+   XXII. SAUL TRESITHNY                  337
+
+  XXIII. BRIDE’S PROPOSAL                353
+
+   XXIV. CONCLUSION                      368
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+EUSTACE MARCHMONT
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+_ON CHRISTMAS EVE_
+
+  “Yer’s tu thee, old apple-tree,
+  Be zure yu bud, be zure yu blaw,
+  And bring voth apples gude enough
+      Hats vul! caps vul!
+  Dree bushel bags vul!
+  Pockets vul and awl!
+      Urrah! Urrah!
+  Aw ’ess, hats vul, caps vul!
+  And dree bushel bags vul!
+      Urrah! Urrah! Urrah!”
+
+
+This strange uncouth song was being chanted by moonlight by two score
+or more of rough West-Country voices. For half-a-mile the sound was
+carried by the sea-breeze, and all the cottagers within hearing of the
+chant had run forth to join, both in the song and in the ceremony which
+it marked.
+
+For it was Christmas Eve, and Farmer Teazel was “christening his
+apple-trees,” according to the time-honoured custom of the place. And
+when the trees were being thus christened, there was cider to be had
+for the asking; and the farmer’s cider was famed as being the best in
+all St. Bride’s, or indeed in any of the adjacent parishes.
+
+The moon shone frostily bright in a clear dark sky. A thin white
+carpet of sparkling frost coated the ground; but the wind blew from
+the west over the rippling sea, and was neither cruel nor fierce, so
+that even little children were caught up by their mothers to assist at
+this yearly ceremony; and Farmer Teazel’s orchard had, by ten o’clock,
+become the centre of local attraction, fully a hundred voices swelling
+the rude chant as the largest and best trees in the plantation were
+singled out as the recipients of the peculiar attentions incident to
+the ceremony.
+
+First, copious libations of cider were poured round the roots of these
+trees, whilst large toast sops were placed amid the bare branches; all
+this time the chant was sung again and again, and the young girls and
+little children danced round in a ring, joining their shriller voices
+with the rougher tones of the men. The cider can that supplied the
+trees with their libations passed freely amongst the singers, whose
+voices grew hoarse with something beyond exercise.
+
+When the serenading and watering had been sufficiently accomplished,
+guns were fired through the branches of the chosen trees, and the
+company broke up, feeling that now they had done what was necessary to
+ensure a good crop of cider-apples for the ensuing year.
+
+But whilst the singing and drinking was at its height, and the moon
+gazed calmly down upon the curious assembly beneath the hoary old trees
+in the farmer’s orchard, a keen observer might have noted a pair of
+figures slightly withdrawn from the noisy throng around the gnarled
+trees that were receiving the attentions of the crowd--a pair that
+gravitated together as if by mutual consent, and stood in a sheltered
+nook of the orchard; the man leaning against the rude stone wall which
+divided it from the farm buildings of one side, the girl standing a few
+paces away from him beside a sappling, her face a little bent, but a
+look of smiling satisfaction upon her red lips. She was clasping and
+unclasping her hands in a fashion that bespoke something of nervous
+tremor, but that it was the tremor of happiness was abundantly evident
+from the expression of her face.
+
+The moon shone clearly down upon the pair, and perhaps gave a touch of
+additional softness and refinement to them, for at that moment both
+appeared to the best advantage, and looked handsome enough to draw
+admiring regards from even fastidious critics.
+
+The man was very tall, and although he was habited in the homely garb
+of a farm labourer of the better sort, there was a something in his
+air and carriage which often struck the onlooker as being different
+from the average man of his class. If he had been a gentleman, his mien
+would have been pronounced “distinguished;” but there was something
+incongruous in applying such a term as that to a working man in the
+days immediately prior to the Reform agitation of 1830. If the artisan
+population of the Midlands had begun to recognise and assert their
+rights as members of the community, entitled at least to be regarded
+as having a voice in the State (though how that was to be accomplished
+they had hardly formulated an opinion), the country labourer was
+still plunged in his ancient apathy and indifference, regarding
+himself, and being regarded, as little more than a serf of the soil.
+The years of agricultural prosperity during the Great War had been
+gradually followed by a reaction. Whilst trade revived, agriculture
+was depressed; and the state of the labourers in many places was very
+terrible. Distress and bitter poverty prevailed to an extent that was
+little known, because the sufferers had no mouthpiece, and suffered in
+silence, like the beasts of the field. But a growing sense of sullen
+discontent was slowly permeating the land, and in the restless North
+and the busy Midlands there was a stirring and a sense of coming strife
+which had not yet reached the quiet far West. And here was this young
+son of Anak, with the bearing of a prince and the garb of a labourer,
+standing beside the farmer’s daughter, Genefer, and telling her of his
+love.
+
+Although he was but one of the many men who worked by day for her
+father, and slept at night in a great loft above the kitchen, in common
+with half-a-dozen more men so employed, yet Genefer was listening to
+his words of love with a sense of happy triumph in her heart, and
+without the smallest feeling of condescension on her part. Possibly her
+father might have thought it presumptuous of the young man thus boldly
+to woo his only daughter; and yet the girl did not feel much afraid
+of any stern parental opposition; for Saul Tresithny, in spite of a
+history that to many men would have been a fatal bar towards raising
+himself, had acquired in the parish of St. Bride’s a standing somewhat
+remarkable, and was known upon the farm as the handiest and most
+capable, as well as the strongest man there, and one whom the farmer
+especially favoured.
+
+Genefer was the farmer’s only daughter, and had to work as hard as
+either father or brothers, for since her mother’s death, a year or two
+ago, the whole management of the dairy and of the house had passed
+into her hands, and she had as much to do in the day as she could get
+through. Perhaps it was from the fact that Saul was always ready to
+lend a helping hand when her work was unwontedly pressing, and that
+he would work like a fury at his own tasks by day in order to have a
+leisure hour to lighten her labours towards supper-time, that she had
+grown gradually to lean on him and feel that life without him would
+be but a barren and desolate sort of existence. Her brothers, ’Siah
+and ’Lias, as they were invariably called, were kind to her in their
+own fashion, and so was her father, who was proud of her slim active
+figure, her pretty face, and crimpy dark hair. West-Country women are
+proverbially good to look at, and Genefer was a favourable specimen of
+a favoured race. Her eyes were large and bright, and of a deep blue
+tint; her skin was clear, and her colour fresh and healthy, and the
+winter winds and summer suns had failed to coarsen it. She was rather
+tall, and her figure was full of unconscious grace and activity. If
+her hands were somewhat large, they were well shaped and capable, and
+her butter, and cream, and bread were known far and wide for their
+excellence. She had a woman and a girl to help her in the house, but
+hers was the head that kept all going in due order, and her father had
+good cause to be proud of her.
+
+And now young Saul stood beside the old grey wall in the light of the
+full moon, and boldly told her of his love.
+
+“I’ll be a gude husband to yu if yu’ll have me, Genefer,” he said in
+the soft broad speech of his native place, though Saul could speak if
+he chose without any trace of dialect, albeit always with a subtle
+intonation, which gave something of piquancy to his words. “I du lovee
+rarely, my girl. Doee try to love me back. I’ll serve day and night for
+yu if thee’ll but say the word.”
+
+“What word am I to zay, Zaul?” asked the girl softly, with a shy upward
+look that set all his pulses tingling. “Yu du talk so much, I am vair
+mazedheaded with it all. What is it yu would have me zay to thee?”
+
+“Only that yu love me, Genefer,” answered Saul, taking a step forward,
+and possessing himself of one of the restless hands that fluttered in
+his grasp, and then lay still, as if content to be there. “It’s such a
+little word for yu to zay, yet it means such a deal to me.”
+
+She let herself be drawn nearer and nearer to him as he spoke; but
+there was still a look of saucy mischief in her eyes, despite their
+underlying softness.
+
+“Yu be such a masterful chap, Zaul, I du feel half afeared on ye. It’s
+all zoft talk now, but the clapper-claw come afterwards.”
+
+“Nay, lassie, I’ll never clapper-claw yu. Yu needen be afeared of that.
+I’ll work for yu, and toil for yu, and yu shall be as happy as I can
+make yu. Only say yu can love me, Genefer. That is all I care to hear
+yu say to-night.”
+
+He had drawn her close to his side by this time, and she was pressed to
+his heart. He bent his head and kissed her on the lips, and only when a
+few minutes had passed by, of which they kept no count, did the sudden
+salvo of the guns cause them to start suddenly apart, and Genefer
+exclaimed, almost nervously--
+
+“Whatever will vaither zay?”
+
+“Du yu think he will make a bobbery about it, Genefer?”
+
+“Nay, I dwon’t know. He is fond of yu, Zaul, but I du not think he will
+part easy with me; and then----”
+
+“I du not ask that of him, Genefer,” broke in Saul quickly; “yu du know
+that I have no home tu take yu tu yet. It’s the love I want to make
+sure of now, lassie. If I know I have your heart, I can wait patiently
+for the rest. Can yu be patient tu?”
+
+“Oh, yes, Zaul, so as I know yu love me,” answered the girl with a
+quick blush; “dwon’t yu think that is enow for the present? Why need we
+speak to vaither about it at all? May be it mid anger un. Why shouldn’t
+we keep it a secret betwixt us twain?”
+
+“With all my heart, if yu will have it so,” answered Saul, who was
+fully prepared to wait many years before he should be in a position to
+marry. That he would one day be a man of some small substance as things
+went in those parts, he was aware. But his grandfather, from whom he
+looked to receive this modest heritage, was yet a hale man, and it
+might not be his for some years to come. Meantime he had at present no
+ideas beyond working on with Farmer Teazel, as he had done since his
+boyhood, and it quite satisfied him to feel that he had won Genefer’s
+heart. He was ready to let this mutual avowal of love remain a secret
+between them for the present. He had of late been consumed with
+jealousy of a certain smart young farmer, who paid frequent visits to
+the Cliff Farm, and appeared to pay a great amount of attention to the
+pretty daughter who ruled there. It did not take two eyes to see what a
+treasure Genefer would be as a farmer’s wife, and Saul was afraid the
+girl’s father had begun to look with favour upon the visits of young
+Mr. Hewett. It was this fear which made him resolve to put his fate to
+the touch on this particular Christmas Eve. He half believed that his
+love was returned by Genefer, but he could no longer be satisfied with
+mere hope. He must be certain how things were to be between them in the
+future; but having been so satisfied, he was quite content to leave
+matters where they were, and not provoke any sort of tempest by openly
+letting it be known that he had aspired to the hand of his master’s
+daughter. He knew that his present position did not warrant the step he
+had taken, yet it was his nature to hazard all upon one throw, and this
+time he had won. He feared no tempest himself, but he would have been
+loth to provoke one that might have clouded Genefer’s life, and Farmer
+Teazel could be very irascible when angered, and by no means good to
+live with then.
+
+Whilst the lovers were thus standing in the corner of the orchard,
+exchanging vows of constancy which meant more than their quiet homely
+phrases seemed to imply, an elderly man with a slight stoop in his tall
+figure and a singularly thoughtful and attractive face, was coming
+slowly up the long steep slope of down which led to the farm, guided
+alike by the brilliance of the moonbeams and by the voices singing the
+rude chant round the apple-trees. That he was a man occupying a humble
+walk in life was evident from the make and texture of his garments, the
+knotted hardness of his hands, and other more subtle and less definable
+indications; but the moonlight shone down upon a face that riveted
+attention from any but the most unobservant reader of physiognomy,
+and betrayed at once a man of unusual thoughtfulness for his walk in
+life, as well as of unwonted depth of soul and purity of character.
+The face was quite clean shaven, as was common in those times, when
+beards were regarded as indicative of barbarism in the upper classes,
+and were by no means common in any rank of life save that of seafaring
+men. The features were, however, very finely cut, and of a type noble
+in themselves, and farther refined by individual loftiness of soul.
+The brow was broad, and projected over the deep-set eyes in a massive
+pent-house; the nose was long and straight, and showed a sensitive
+curve at the open nostril; the mouth was rather wide, but well formed,
+and indicative of generosity and firm sweetness; the eyes were calm and
+tranquil in expression. The colour it was impossible to define: no two
+people ever agreed upon the matter. They looked out upon the world from
+their deep caverns with a look that was always gentle, always full of
+reflection and questioning intelligence, but was expressive above all
+of an inward peace so deep and settled that no trouble from without
+could ruffle it. Children always came to his side in response to a
+look or a smile; women would tell their troubles to Abner Tresithny,
+whose lips were sealed to all the world beside. There was something
+in the man, quiet though he was, that made him a power in his own
+little world, and yet he had never dreamed of seeking power. He was
+at once the humblest and the most resolute of men. He would do the
+most menial office for any person, and see no degradation in it; he
+was gentle as a woman and mild as a little child: yet once try to move
+him beyond the bounds he had set himself in life, and it would be as
+easy to strive to move that jagged reef of rocks guarding St. Bride’s
+Bay on the south side--the terror of hapless vessels driven in upon
+the coast--the safeguard and joy of the hardy smugglers who fearlessly
+drove their boats across it with the falling tide, and laughed to scorn
+the customs-house officers, who durst not approach that line of boiling
+foam in their larger craft.
+
+Abner Tresithny had grown up at St. Bride’s Bay, and was known to
+every soul there and in the neighbouring parish of St. Erme, where
+Farmer Teazel’s farm lay. Perhaps no man was more widely beloved and
+respected than he, and yet he was often regarded with a small spice of
+contempt--especially amongst the men-folk; and those who were fullest
+of the superstitions of the time and locality were the readiest to gibe
+at the old gardener as being a “man of dreams and fancies”--a mystic,
+they might have called it, had the word been familiar to them--a man
+who seemed to live in a world of his own, who knew his Bible through
+from end to end a sight better than the parson did--leastways the
+parson of St. Bride’s--and found there a vast deal more than anybody
+else in the place believed it to contain.
+
+To-night an unwonted gravity rested upon Abner’s thoughtful face--a
+shadow half of sorrow, half of triumphant joy, difficult to analyse;
+and sometimes, as he paused in the long ascent and wiped the moisture
+from his brow, his eyes would wander towards the sea lying far below,
+over which the moon was shining in misty radiance, marking a shimmering
+silver track across it from shore to horizon, and he would say softly
+to himself--
+
+“And she will soon know it all--all the mysteries we have longed to
+penetrate. All will be known so soon to her. God be with her! The Lord
+Jesus be near her in His mercy and His love in that struggle! O my God,
+do Thou be near her in that last hour, when flesh and heart do fail!
+Let not her faith be darkened! Let not the enemy prevail against her!
+Do Thou be very very near, dear Lord. Do Thou receive her soul into Thy
+hands.”
+
+And after some such softly breathed prayer, during which his eyes would
+grow dim and his voice husky, he would turn his face once more towards
+the upland farm and resume his walk thither.
+
+The firing of the guns, which told him the ceremony was over, met his
+ears just as he reached the brow of the hill, and he began to meet the
+cottagers and fisher-folk streaming away. They all greeted him by name,
+and he returned their greetings gently: but he could not refrain from
+a gentle word of reproof to some whose potations had been visibly too
+deep, and who were still roaring their foolish chant as they staggered
+together down the slippery slope.
+
+Abner was known all round as an extraordinary man, who, whilst
+believing in an unseen world lying about us as no one else in the
+community did, yet always set his face quietly and resolutely against
+these time-honoured customs of propitiating the unseen agencies,
+which formed such a favourite pastime in the whole country. It was a
+combination altogether beyond the ken of the rustic mind, and encircled
+Abner with a halo of additional mystery.
+
+“Yu should be to home with your sick wife, Nat,” he said to one man who
+was sober, but had plainly been enjoying the revel as much as the rest.
+“What good du yu think can come of wasting good zyder over the trees,
+and singing yon vulish song to them? Go home to your sick wife and
+remember the true Christmas joy when the morrow comes. All this is but
+idle volly.”
+
+“Nay, nay, maister,” answered the man, with sheepish submission in his
+tone, albeit he could not admit any folly in the time-honoured custom.
+“Yu knaw farmer he wants a ’bundant craap of awples next year, an we
+awl of us knaw tha’ the trees widden gi’ us a bit ef we didden holler a
+bit tu ’m the night.”
+
+“Nay, nay, Nat, it’s not your hollering that makes the trees give of
+their abundance,” answered Abner, with gentle sadness in his tone.
+“It’s the abiding promise of the Lord that seed-time and harvest shall
+not vail. Go home, go home, and mind thy wife.”
+
+“Ay, ay, maister, I’m gwoan,” answered the man, and beat a hasty
+retreat, secretly wondering whether one of these days the black witches
+wouldn’t “overlook” Abner’s house and affairs generally, since he
+was known for a man of such peculiar views. The Duke’s head-gardener
+was looked upon with considerable respect by the mere labourers, and
+always addressed as “maister” by them. He came of a good stock himself;
+and from having been so much with the “quality,” he could speak pure
+English as easily as the Saxon vernacular of the peasantry. It was
+constant conversation with him which had given to Saul his command
+of language. From the time of his birth till he began to earn his
+own bread, Saul had lived with his grandfather; and it had been a
+disappointment to the old man that his grandson had refused the place
+of garden boy offered him by the Duchess when he was old enough to
+be of use on the place. Before that he had scared birds for Farmer
+Teazel, and had done odd jobs about the farm; and to the surprise of
+all who knew the prestige and advantages attached to the service of the
+Duke, the lad had elected to continue a servant of the farmer rather
+than work in the ducal gardens. The grandfather had not attempted to
+coerce his grandson, but had let him follow his own bent, although he
+thought he was making a mistake, and was perplexed and pained by his
+independent attitude.
+
+“He wants to get away from the old ’un--he can’t stand all that
+preachin’ and prayin’,” had been the opinion in some quarters;
+but Abner knew this was not the case. His grandson had always been
+attached to him, and the old man had never obtruded his own opinions
+upon him. Saul’s reason for his decision lay beyond any natural desire
+for an independent home of his own. He had independence of a kind up
+at the farm, but only of a kind. He was a member of Farmer Teazel’s
+household. He had to keep the hours observed there. He had not nearly
+such comfortable quarters there as in his grandfather’s cottage. He had
+to work hard early and late, and had none of the privileges accorded
+from time to time on high days and holidays to the servants at Penarvon
+Castle. Yet he never appeared to regret the decision he had made,
+or spoke of desiring to change his condition. This was in one way a
+satisfaction to Abner; but he missed the youth from his own home, and
+was always glad of an excuse to get him down there for a few days.
+
+This was, in fact, the reason of his errand to the farm on this winter
+evening. To-morrow (Christmas Day) no work would be done, and the day
+following was Sunday; so that if Saul would come home with him to-night
+they would have quite a little spell together before he had to return
+to his work on the Monday morning.
+
+The farmer saw his approach, and hailed him with friendly greeting,
+offering him a tankard of cider, of which the old man partook
+sparingly, as was his way.
+
+“How gwoes the world down to St. Bride’s?” asked the master, as he
+received back the tankard and put it to his own lips. “They du say as
+the Duchess be mortal bad. Is it trew that the doctors ’a given her
+oop, poor zoul?”
+
+Abner shook his head mournfully.
+
+“So they du zay,” he answered; “I asked at the castle my own self this
+even, and they said she could scarce live over the night. St. Bride
+will lose a kind friend when it loses her. God be with her and with us
+all this night!”
+
+Faces were grave and serious as the sense of Abner’s words penetrated
+beyond the immediate circle round him. The Duchess of Penarvon had been
+long ill: for several years she had been more or less of an invalid;
+but it had not been known until quite recently that the nature of her
+malady was so serious as it had now proved to be, and the confirmation
+of the tidings of her extremity was received with a considerable amount
+of feeling. The Duke was a stern grave man, just and not unkindly, but
+self-restrained and hard in his looks and words, whatever his acts
+might be. But the Duchess was gentle and kindly towards rich and poor
+alike, and had a personal acquaintance with most of the fisher-folk
+and cottagers in the parishes of St. Bride and St. Erme. If those who
+were in trouble could obtain speech with the Duchess, they nearly
+always went rejoicing home again. If any casualty occurred amongst the
+fisher-folk in the bay during a winter storm, the Duchess was almost
+sure to send substantial aid to make up the loss. It was no wonder then
+that the news Abner brought with him was regarded as a public calamity,
+and that even those who had drunk most deeply of the farmer’s cider
+were sobered into gravity and propriety of demeanour by the thought of
+what was passing at the castle down by the Bay of St. Bride.
+
+“I came to fetch Saul to bide with me till Monday,” explained Abner.
+“It makes a bit of company, and my heart is heavy with sorrow for them
+all. They say that Lady Bride looks as if her heart was breaking. She
+and her mother have been together almost by night and day, ever since
+the Duchess’s health first failed her so sadly. It’ll be a sad day for
+her, poor young thing, when her mother is taken from her.”
+
+“Ay, that it will be,” answered one and another, and heads were
+gravely shaken. For the position of Lady Bride in stately solitude at
+Penarvon Castle, without the sheltering protection of her mother’s
+love, was felt even by these unimaginative rustics to be a trying
+one. It was whispered around that her father had never quite forgiven
+her for not being a boy. It was hard upon him that their only child
+should be a girl, incapable of inheriting title or estates. He was not
+a violent or irascible man, but the disappointment of having no son
+had eaten deeply into his nature, and there had always been a sense of
+injured disapproval in his dealings with his daughter, of which that
+sensitive young thing had been keenly conscious. It had thrown her more
+and more upon the one parent of whose love she felt secure, and even
+the unlettered village hinds (who knew a good deal of the tittle-tattle
+of the servants’ hall) could stand mute and struck for a few minutes in
+contemplating the thought of the terrible blank that would be left in
+the girl’s life when her invalid mother was taken away.
+
+But Abner would not stay to discuss the situation with the farmer and
+his family. He was anxious to get home, and Saul was quickly found,
+and appeared ready and willing to go with him. Saul indeed was not
+sorry just at this juncture for a good excuse to leave the farm for a
+few days till he and Genefer had had time to get used to the secret
+that now existed between them. Genefer was quite as much relieved as
+her lover at this temporary parting. She felt that she should in his
+presence be in imminent danger of betraying herself a dozen times a
+day; and as her father would be at home enjoying his brief holiday, he
+might have leisure to note little symptoms which would pass him by on
+a working day. Moreover, Mr. Hewett might very likely drive over and
+bring her some sort of a fairing in honour of the season, and if he did
+so, and she was forced to be civil and friendly to him, she would just
+as soon have Saul fairly out of the way.
+
+Grandfather and grandson walked down the hill together, the old man’s
+mind full of the mystery of death, the young man’s flooded by that
+kindred mystery of love--the two most wonderful mysteries of the world.
+He had been sorry to hear of the extremity of the Duchess; but it
+seemed a thing altogether apart from himself, and his own new happiness
+soon banished it from his mind. Not that he had not some feeling that
+was not happiness mingling with his own bright dreams, as the growingly
+stern expression of his face testified; and all of a sudden he turned
+upon his grandfather and asked--
+
+“Do you know who my father was?”
+
+“I cannot say that I _know_. I have my suspicions. But your mother
+would not tell even me, and she died so soon. Had she lived a little
+longer I should perhaps have learned more.”
+
+“And so I must always be called Saul Tresithny, though that is not my
+name by right?”
+
+“It is your name by right, because you were so christened. You may have
+another name as well, my lad, or you may not.”
+
+The last words were spoken very slowly and sorrowfully, but Saul
+started as though they stung him.
+
+“I will never believe that my mother,” he began, and then stopped
+short, his face contracted with passion and pain.
+
+“I trust not also, Saul,” said the grandfather, his face expressing a
+far keener depth of pain than that of his young companion. “But she
+may have been deceived--that has been the fate of too many loving and
+ignorant women; and she came without papers upon her and would speak
+no word. Illness and sorrow sealed her lips, and there was no time for
+urging speech upon her of herself. There was but time to point the way
+heavenwards for the departing spirit. I have left that question with my
+Maker all these years, and you will have to do the same, my boy, for I
+fear the truth will never be known on this side of the grave.”
+
+Saul compressed his lips and walked on in silence. His face in the
+moonlight looked as if carved out of solid marble.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+_THE DUCHESS OF PENARVON_
+
+
+Penarvon Castle was a great pile of grey building situated on the
+commanding promontory of land that jutted out into the sea and formed
+the division between the two bays of St. Bride and St. Erme.
+
+St. Bride’s Bay lay to the south of the castle, and was a small and
+insignificant inlet, not deep enough to afford anchorage for vessels of
+any size, and avoided on account of the dangers of the jagged reef on
+its southern boundary, which went by the name of “Smuggler’s Reef.” The
+little bay, however, was a favourite spot for boats and small craft,
+as its waters were generally smooth, save when a direct west wind was
+blowing, and the smooth sand of its beach made landing safe and easy.
+A little hamlet of fisher-folk (and smugglers) nestled beneath the
+overhanging cliffs, which broke up just at this point and became merged
+in the green slopes of the downs behind. Smuggled goods landed in the
+bay could be transported thence without any great difficulty, and not
+a fisherman in the place but did not have his own private smuggling
+venture whenever fortune favoured, and his own clientèle amongst the
+neighbouring farmers and gentlemen, who were glad to purchase what he
+brought and ask no questions.
+
+The castle faced due west, and on its north side lay the wider and
+larger bay of St. Erme; but the character of the coast along this
+bay was not such as to tempt either boats or larger vessels, for the
+cliffs ran sheer down into the sea and presented a frowning iron-bound
+aspect, and the shelter of the bay was sometimes too dearly purchased
+by vessels running before the gale; for if they once struck upon one of
+the many sunken rocks with which its bottom was diversified, they were
+almost bound to go to pieces without hope of rescue.
+
+The castle was a turreted building of quadrangular construction, and
+in one lofty turret on all stormy nights a brilliant light was always
+burning, which had at last become as a beacon to passing vessels,
+showing them where they were, and warning them especially of those
+twin and much dreaded rocks called the “Bull’s Horns,” which lay just
+beneath the castle walls, forming the northern boundary to St. Bride’s
+Bay, and between which lay a shifting expanse of quicksand, out of
+which no vessel ever emerged if once she had run upon it.
+
+Upon this eve of the festival of Christmas, late though the hour was,
+there were lights shining from many windows of the great pile of grey
+stone--lights that the stranger would believe to portend some festivity
+going on within those walls, but which in reality indicated something
+altogether different.
+
+The two doctors summoned in haste earlier in the day had at last
+taken their leave with hushed steps and grave faces. All that human
+skill could avail had been done, and done in vain. Throughout the
+castle it was known that the fiat had gone forth that the gentle
+mistress whom all loved lay dying--that she would hardly see the dawn
+of the Christmas morning; and there was hardly a dry eye amongst the
+assembled household, gathered together to talk in whispers of the sad
+intelligence, and to listen breathlessly for any sound proceeding from
+the part of the house where the dying woman lay.
+
+The pealing of the bell of the outer door caused a commotion in their
+midst, till the butler, who rose to answer the summons, remarked that
+it was most likely one of the two parsons come to see the Duchess. The
+Duke had sent a message to both when the death sentence had gone forth,
+and this was probably the response.
+
+He went to the door, and sure enough there walked in, with hushed
+step and awed face, the Rev. Job Tremodart, resident clergyman of St.
+Bride’s, whose parsonage stood not half-a-mile away.
+
+He was a tall, loose-limbed, lantern-jawed man, with a plain but
+benevolent countenance, an awkward manner, and a very decided
+inclination to slip into the native dialect in conversation. He entered
+with a nervous air, and seemed reluctant to follow the servant up the
+great staircase to the floor above.
+
+“May be I shan’t be wanted,” he whispered, trying to detain the man.
+“Du yu know if her Grace has asked for me?”
+
+“It was his Grace that sent word for you to be told, sir, you and Mr.
+St. Aubyn, of her Grace’s condition,” answered the man respectfully.
+“His Grace is in the little parlour here when he is not in the room. I
+will let him know you are here.”
+
+“Has Mr. St. Aubyn come too?” asked Mr. Tremodart, a look of relief
+crossing his face; “he will du her Grace more gude than I.”
+
+“He is not here yet, sir,” answered the butler, and then stood aside
+and motioned to the clergyman to go on, for at the top of the staircase
+stood a tall rigid figure, and Mr. Tremodart found himself shaking
+hands with the Duke almost before he had had time to realise the
+situation.
+
+“The Duchess will be glad to see you,” was the only word spoken by the
+stricken husband; and whether he would or no, the hapless pastor was
+compelled to follow his noble host.
+
+The Duke was tall and very spare in figure, and seemed to have grown
+more so during the past week of anxiety and watching. His hair, which
+had hitherto been dark streaked with silver, seemed all at once to
+have silvered over almost entirely. His face was finely cut, and the
+features gave the impression of having been carved out of a piece of
+ivory. The eyebrows were very bushy and were still dark, and the eyes
+beneath were a steely blue and of a peculiarly penetrating quality.
+The thin-lipped mouth was indicative of an iron will, and the whole
+countenance was one to inspire something of awe and dread. At the
+present moment it was difficult to imagine that a smile could ever
+soften it--difficult, at least, until the Duke approached the side of
+his wife’s bed, and then the change which imperceptibly stole over it
+showed that beneath a hard and even harsh exterior--too deep perhaps
+for outward expression--lay a power of love and tenderness such as only
+a strong nature can truly know.
+
+“My love,” said the Duke very quietly, “Mr. Tremodart is here.”
+
+“I shall be glad to see Mr. Tremodart,” spoke a soft voice from the
+bed; and in response to a sign from the Duke, the clergyman (visibly
+quaking) passed round the great screen which shut off the bed from the
+rest of the room, and found himself face to face with the dying woman.
+
+It was a scene not to be forgotten by any who looked upon it. The
+Duchess lay back upon a pile of snowy pillows, the peculiar pallor of
+approaching death lying like a shadow across her beautiful face. And
+yet, save for this never-to-be-mistaken shadow, there was nothing of
+death in her aspect. Few and far between as Mr. Tremodart’s pastoral
+visits had been (for he was always fearful of intruding upon the great
+folks at the castle), he had many times seen the Duchess look more worn
+and ill than she did now. The lines of pain, which had deepened so
+much of late in her face, had all been smoothed away. Something of the
+undefinable aspect of youth had come back to the expression, and the
+soft dark eyes were full of a liquid brightness which it was somehow
+difficult for him to meet. It was as though the brightness had been
+absorbed from an unseen source. There was a great awe in his eyes as he
+approached and touched the feeble hand for a moment extended to him.
+
+On her knees beside the bed, grasping the other hand of the dying
+woman, was a young girl whose face could not at this moment be seen,
+for it was pillowed in the bed-clothes, whilst the slight figure was
+shivering and heaving with suppressed emotion. All that could be seen
+besides the slim graceful form was a mass of rippling loosened hair
+that looked dark in shadow, but lighted up with gleams of ruddy gold
+where the light touched it. Mr. Tremodart gave a compassionate glance
+at the weeping girl. It needed no word to explain the terrible loss
+which was coming upon her.
+
+“My journey is just done, sir,” said the Duchess, with a swift glance
+from the face of her husband to that of the clergyman. “The call home
+has come at last. Will you speak some word of peace to me before I go?
+Let me hear the message that my Lord sends to me. Give me some promise
+of His to lead me on my way.”
+
+The voice was very low, but clearly audible in the deep stillness. Poor
+Mr. Tremodart twisted his great hands together and felt as though an
+angel from heaven had asked counsel of him.
+
+“O my dear lady!” he burst out at last, “you know those promises far
+better than I do. You have no need of any poor words of mine. Your
+life has ever been a blameless one. It is you who should teach me. God
+knows I need it. But you, if you are going before His judgment throne,
+can scarcely have a sin upon your soul. I stand mute in presence of a
+holiness greater than any I ever have known.”
+
+The eyes of the dying woman were fixed upon Mr. Tremodart’s face with
+an expression he scarce understood.
+
+“Am I to go into the presence of my God clad in the robe of my own
+righteousness?” she asked with a faint smile.
+
+“O my dear lady, how better could you go?” questioned the confused and
+embarrassed clergyman. “Surely if ever there were a saint upon earth
+it is yourself. Everybody in the place knows it. What can I say to you
+that you do not already know?”
+
+Still the same searching inexplicable gaze fixed upon his face--tender,
+pitying, regretful. Never had the Rev. Job Tremodart felt so utterly
+unworthy of his office and calling as at that moment. He had always
+recognised the fact that he had “never been cut out for a parson,” as
+he had phrased it. He had allowed himself to be ordained and presented
+with a living in deference to his father’s wishes and the pressure of
+circumstances, and he had striven after his own light to do his duty
+amongst his illiterate and semi-savage flock. On the whole he had
+succeeded fairly well to his satisfaction, and was as good a clergyman
+as many of his brethren around. But somehow, beside the dying bed of
+the Duchess of Penarvon, he stood shamed and silent, having no word to
+speak to her save to remind her of her own saint-like life and her own
+righteousness. Even he felt a faint qualm as he spoke those words, yet
+their incongruity hardly struck him in its full force. But it was an
+immense relief when a slight stir without was followed by the entrance
+of another figure into the room, and he could step back and motion the
+new-comer to take his place beside the bed. Even the girl raised her
+head now and looked round with eyes dark-rimmed and dim with weeping.
+She did not otherwise move, but she no longer kept her face hidden;
+she turned it towards her mother with a hungry intensity of gaze that
+was infinitely pathetic.
+
+“You are welcome, my friend,” said the Duchess in the same soft even
+tone. “I am glad to look upon your face once more. I am going down into
+the valley at last. The shadow is closing round me. You have brought me
+some word to take with me there?”
+
+Mr. St. Aubyn came one step nearer and laid his hand upon the nerveless
+one of the dying woman. He was an older man than his brother clergyman,
+and one of very different aspect. His face was worn and hollow, as if
+with thought and toil; his eyes were deep and tranquil, often full of
+a dreamy brilliance, which bespoke a mind far away. His features, if
+not beautiful in themselves, were redeemed by a wonderful sweetness
+and depth of expression. He looked like one whose “conversation is in
+heaven,” and the dying woman’s eyes sought his with quiet confidence
+and joy.
+
+“The shadow truly is there--but the rod and the staff are with all the
+servants of the Lord who can trust in Him--and the brightness of the
+eternal city is beyond. Truly the enemy’s power is but brief. He can
+but cast a shadow betwixt us and our Saviour, and we who have the staff
+of His consolation in our grasp need not fear. To depart and be with
+Christ is a blessed thing. It is through the grave and gate of death
+that we pass to our joyful resurrection. There is no fear, no darkness,
+no shadow that can come between us and that glorious promise, ‘I am the
+Resurrection and the Life.’”
+
+The eyes of the dying woman kindled--filled suddenly with a beautiful
+triumphant joy. Her lips moved, and she softly repeated the words--
+
+“‘I am the Resurrection and the Life’--ah! that is enough--that is all
+we need to think of when our peace is made.”
+
+“Yea, verily--the Lamb of God suffered death for us to reconcile us
+again to God: and He rose triumphant from the grave--the first-fruits
+of them that sleep--for us to know that in the appointed day we too
+may rise again and be glorified together with Him. And meantime we
+rest in His peace, awaiting the day of our common perfecting. Ah! and
+when the trump of the Archangel is heard, it is the blessed dead who
+rise first, whilst in a moment of time the faithful living are caught
+away with them to meet the Lord in the air. O blessed, blessed hope
+for living and dead alike--to meet the Lord and be ever with Him!
+Surely that is the promise that takes the sting from death and robs
+the grave of victory. We know not the day nor the hour--that is hid in
+the foreknowledge of the Divine Father; but we have the everlasting
+promise--the promise which robs death of its sting, even for those who
+are left behind--who are parted from our loved ones. For at any moment
+the wondrous shout of the Lord may be heard as He descends from heaven
+to awaken the dead and call ‘those that are His at His coming,’ and
+we may be one with them in the blessed and holy first resurrection.
+‘Wherefore comfort one another with these words.’”
+
+The gaze of the clergyman as he spoke these latter words was rather
+bent on the daughter than the mother, and the dying woman read the
+thought in his heart and laid her own feeble hand upon her child’s
+head. The girl’s tears were dry now. Her lips had parted in a smile of
+wondrous vividness and hope. She clasped her hands together, and her
+glance sought her mother’s face.
+
+“O mother, my mother--if it might only be soon! O pray for me that I
+lose not heart--that I may learn to live in the hope in that promise!”
+
+“The Lord will give you help and grace so to live, my child, if you
+will but trust in Him. Heaven and earth may pass away, but His word
+will not pass away, and that hope is His most blessed promise. ‘We
+shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed.’ O my child, never
+think to put off the making of your peace with God till the hour of
+death, as some do. Remember that ‘we shall not all die.’ It is the life
+eternal, not the grave and gate of death, upon which our hearts must
+be fixed. Although I am called to pass through that gate, ask not, my
+child, for power to die. Ask rather the gift of the everlasting life
+which will be given without dying at the coming of the Lord. Ask for
+that coming and kingdom to be hastened, that He will come down speedily
+upon this rent and riven earth, and cause His reign of peace to begin.
+Yea, pray for the outpouring of His Spirit in this time of darkness and
+perplexity. Pray for that great and glorious day when mortality shall
+be swallowed up of life!”
+
+The Duchess had half risen upon her pillows as she spoke. A strange
+light was in her eyes. In spite of her physical weakness, she spoke
+with a power and strength that had seemed impossible a few moments
+before. Was it the last expiring spark, flashing out with momentary
+vividness; or was it some spiritual power within her that gave to her
+this access of strength?
+
+Those about her knew not, yet they hung upon her words with a sense of
+strange wonder and awe.
+
+To the Duke and the other clergyman this talk was absolutely
+inexplicable--like words spoken in a strange language. Deeply as the
+reserved and stern husband had loved his wife, there were subjects
+that were never spoken of between them, owing to his resolute reserve
+and reticence. Dry orthodoxy and an upright walk before men had been
+characteristic of the Duke through life. The fruits of the Spirit,
+showing forth in love, joy, and peace, and the yearning for light upon
+the dealings of God with His children, were absolutely unknown to him;
+and though he knelt with the rest when Mr. St. Aubyn offered a prayer
+beside the bed of his dying wife, the words spoken fell meaningless on
+his ears. He had far more sympathy with the clergyman who had called
+his wife a saint, and shrunk from striving to speak any words of
+promise, than with him who was speaking of things so far beyond his ken
+as to appear to him idle mysticism and folly.
+
+But the peace and joy beaming from those dying eyes told him more
+eloquently than any words what it meant to her, and he bowed his head
+and stifled the groan which rose to his lips as he realised that,
+despite their tender love, they had yet lived so far asunder in spirit
+that a great gulf already seemed to divide them.
+
+Yet the wife would not suffer herself to be long sundered in spirit
+from her husband; and when the two clergymen had silently departed,
+having done all that they could, each in his own way, she summoned him
+to her bedside by a glance, and brought her mind back to earth again
+with something of an effort.
+
+“My dear, dear husband,” she fondly whispered; and then the groan would
+have its way, as he took her hand in his and dropped down into the seat
+beside the bed which had been his for so many long hours during the
+past days.
+
+The Duchess bent her head softly towards the other side where her
+daughter knelt, and said in a low voice--
+
+“My child, I would be alone with your father a brief while. Leave me
+for one short half-hour, then you shall return, and I will send you
+away no more, my patient darling.”
+
+The words of tender endearment brought a rush of tears to the girl’s
+eyes, but she rose without a word, and slipped noiselessly from the
+room. The mother looked after her with wistful eyes.
+
+“Husband,” she said softly, “you will be tender with the child? You
+will let her take my place with you so far as such a thing is possible.
+She will try to do her duty by you and by all. You will let that duty
+be a labour of love?”
+
+“I will do what I can; but I am old to change my ways, and I do not
+understand young girls. No one can take your place; you talk of
+impossibilities. O Geraldine! Geraldine! it is too hard to be thus
+left, old and stricken, and alone. Why must it be?--you so many, many
+years younger than I. I never thought to be the one left behind. I
+cannot be resigned. I cannot be willing to let you go. The Almighty is
+dealing very bitterly with me!”
+
+“Dear husband, the parting will be the shorter that you are well
+stricken in years,” she answered gently, answering him according to the
+measure of his understanding and feeling. “It will be but a few short
+years before we meet again in the place where there is no parting.
+And now, my husband, before I am taken away from you--before this new
+strength, which, I believe, God has given me for a purpose, be spent--I
+have a few things to say to you--a few charges to give to you. Will you
+let me speak from my very heart, and forgive me if in any sort I pain
+and grieve you?”
+
+“_You_ pain or grieve me by any precious words you may speak! That
+thing is impossible. Let me know all that is in your tender, noble
+heart. It shall be the aim and object of the miserable residue of my
+days to carry out whatever you may speak.”
+
+The Duchess pressed his hand affectionately, and lay still for a
+moment, gathering strength. Her husband gave her some of the cordial
+which stood at hand, and presently she spoke again--
+
+“My husband, we are living in troubled and anxious days. The world
+around us is full of striving and upheaval. You and I remember those
+awful struggles in France now dying out of men’s minds, and we have
+indications, only too plainly written on the face of the earth, that
+the spirit of lawlessness and anarchy thus let loose is seething and
+fermenting throughout the world.”
+
+The Duke bent his head in assent. He well knew such to be the case, but
+hardly expected that to be the subject of his dying wife’s meditations.
+She continued speaking with pauses in between.
+
+“My husband, perhaps you know that ever since those terrible days, when
+men began to see in that awful Revolution the first outpouring of God’s
+last judgments upon the earth, godly men and women of every shade of
+opinion have been earnestly and constantly praying for God’s guidance
+and Spirit, that they may read the signs of the times aright, and learn
+what are His purposes towards mankind, as revealed in His written Word.
+I will not speak too particularly of all that has been given in answer
+to this generation of prayer; but it is enough for me to tell you that
+Light has come, that the long-neglected prophetic writings have been
+illumined by the light of God’s Spirit to many holy men and women,
+who have made them their study day by day and year by year, and that
+rays of light from above have come to us, illumining the darkness, and
+showing us faintly, yet clearly, God’s guiding hand in these days of
+darkness and trouble. Do you follow me so far?”
+
+“I understand your words, and am ready to believe that in these things
+you have a knowledge that I cannot attain unto; but what then?”
+
+“What I would ask of you, my husband, is patience and trust--patience
+with many things that will seem strange to you, that will seem like a
+subversion of all your ideas of wisdom and prudence--and trust in God’s
+power to make all things work together for good, and to bring good out
+of evil. We know that the latter days are coming fast upon us--that
+the armies of good and evil are gathering for that last tremendous
+struggle which precedes the reign of the Lord. We know that the strange
+upheavals we see in the world about us are the beginnings of these
+things, and that those who would be found faithful must learn to
+discern between the evil and the good; for Satan can transform himself
+into an angel of light, and deceive, if it were possible, the very
+elect, whilst God has again and again chosen the weak and despised
+things of this world to confound the strong; and it is human nature to
+turn away in scorn from all such weak things, and look for strength and
+salvation from the mighty and approved.”
+
+The Duke listened with a sigh. He understood but little of all this.
+Yet every word from his dying wife was precious, and engraved itself
+upon his memory in indelible characters.
+
+“There are difficult days coming upon the earth: great wrongs will be
+righted, much that is pure and good will spring up; and side by side
+with that much that is evil, lawless, and terrible. Dear husband, what
+I would ask of you is a patient mind, patience to look at changes
+without prejudice, and strive prayerfully to discern whether or not
+they be of God;--also patience to hear what is said by their advocates,
+and to weigh well what you hear. Let mercy ever temper justice in your
+dealings with your dependents; and condemn not those who are not at
+one with you without pausing to understand the nature of all they are
+striving to accomplish. The evil and the good will and must grow up
+together till the day of the harvest. The wheat and the tares cannot
+be sorted out till the reapers are sent forth from God. But let us
+strive with eyes anointed from above to distinguish in our own path
+that which is good, and not cast it scornfully aside, nor rush after
+what is evil because it approves itself to the great ones of the earth.
+I am sure that God will lead and guide all those who truly turn to Him
+in these times of darkness and perplexity. My dear, dear husband, if I
+could feel sure that you would be amongst those who would thus turn to
+Him now, I should pass away with a sweeter sense of trust and hope--a
+brighter confidence in that most blessed meeting on the other shore.”
+
+The white head of the husband was bowed upon the pillow. He did not
+weep--the fountain of his tears lay too deep for him to find relief
+thus--but a few deep breaths, like gasps, bespoke the intensity of his
+emotion, and when he could articulate, he answered briefly--
+
+“My life, I will try--I will try--so help me God!”
+
+“He will help you, my precious husband,” she answered, with quivering
+tenderness of intonation, “and you know the promise that cannot fail,
+‘All things are possible to him that believeth.’”
+
+And then from that bowed head there came the earnest cry--
+
+“‘Lord, I believe; help Thou mine unbelief.’”
+
+After that followed a pause of deep silence. The Duchess, exhausted
+but content, lay back on her pillow with closed eyes. The Duke held
+her hand between his, and fought out his battle in silence and alone.
+He was passing through deeper waters than the dying woman; for her
+peace was made, and she was going confidently forth to meet Him who had
+bidden her to come; whilst he was fighting in doubt and helplessness
+the tempestuous winds and waves, feeling every moment that they must
+engulf him. And yet never had the two loving hearts beat more in
+sympathy and unison. Those moments were unspeakably precious to both,
+although no word passed between them.
+
+The silence was scarcely broken as the door opened softly, and Bride
+stole back to her mother’s side. She had been caught by her old nurse
+meantime, and had been dosed with soup and wine, while some of the
+dishevelment of her dress and hair had been removed. Her aching eyes
+had been bathed, and she looked altogether strengthened and refreshed.
+The dying eyes turned upon her took in this, and the Duchess smiled
+with a sense of relief to think that there was one faithful woman
+beneath the castle roof who would make Bride her first care.
+
+The girl’s eyes sought her mother’s face with wistful intensity of
+gaze, and at once noted a change that even that brief half-hour had
+brought with it. The shadow had deepened; there was a dimness coming
+over the bright eyes, the hand she touched was icy cold.
+
+“Mother!--mother!--mother!” she cried, and sank down on her knees
+beside the bed.
+
+“My child, my little Bride. You have been a dear, dear child to me.
+In days to come, if you live to have children of your own, may you be
+rewarded for all the tenderness you have shown to me.”
+
+“Mother, mother, let me die too! I cannot bear it! I cannot live
+without you!”
+
+“Dearest, you must live for your father; you must comfort each other,”
+and with a last effort of strength, the dying woman brought the hands
+of father and daughter together across her emaciated form, and held
+them locked together so in her stiffening fingers.
+
+When the end came they neither knew exactly. Bride was on her knees,
+her face hidden, the shadow seeming to weigh her down till all was
+blackness round her, and she felt sinking, sinking, sinking down into
+some unknown abyss, clinging frantically to something which she took
+to be her mother’s hand. The Duke, with his eyes upon his wife’s face,
+saw the fluttering of the eyelids, heard a soft sigh, and then watched
+the settling down upon that wan face of a look of unspeakable rest and
+sweetness.
+
+If that was death, why need death be dreaded? It was like nothing that
+he had seen or imagined before. The only words which came into his mind
+were those of a familiar formula never understood before--
+
+“The peace of God that passeth all understanding.”
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+_THE HOUSE OF MOURNING_
+
+
+Eustace Marchmont came in sight of Penarvon Castle just as the last
+rays of the winter sunset were striking upon its closed windows and
+turning them into squares of flashing red light dazzling to the eye.
+The castle stood commandingly upon its lofty promontory of jagged
+cliff, and from its garden walls, as the young man remembered well, the
+spectator could look sheer down a deep precipice into the tossing waves
+of the sea beneath. He remembered the long side terrace of the castle,
+against which the thunder of the surf in winter months made a perpetual
+roar and battle; whilst even on summer evenings, when the sea lay like
+a sheet of molten gold beneath them, the ceaseless murmur was always to
+be heard, suggestive of the restless life of the ocean. It was natural
+perhaps that Eustace should draw rein and look at the majestic pile
+with something of pride in his gaze, for he was the Duke’s next of kin,
+and in the course of nature would one day be master here. Yet there was
+no exultation in the steady gaze he fixed upon his future home: it was
+speculative and thoughtful rather than triumphant. There was a shade of
+perplexity in the wide-open grey eyes intently fixed upon the place,
+which looked at the moment as though lit up for illumination, and the
+firm lips set themselves in lines that were almost grim.
+
+Eustace Marchmont was clad in a suit of black, which was evidently
+quite new, although slightly stained and disordered by the evidences of
+a long and hasty journey. He had, in fact, ridden hard from town ever
+since the news of the Duchess’s death reached him, now three days ago.
+He knew that propriety demanded he should be present at her funeral,
+even without the invitation from the Duke. He had come as fast as
+post-horses could bring him, with his two servants in attendance, and
+had travelled without mischance.
+
+It was many years now since Eustace had visited Penarvon. His father
+(dead two years since) and the Duke were cousins, and the Duke had no
+brother. As young men there had been some attachment between them,
+but they had grown apart with the advance of years. The Duke was by
+many years the elder of the two; and perhaps on account of seniority,
+perhaps from his position as head of the family, had striven with
+possibly unwise persistence to mould his cousin after his own wishes.
+Disagreement had ended in coolness, and the intercourse had become
+slacker. Although Eustace had visited his “uncle’s” house (he had been
+taught so to speak of the Duke), he did not remember ever having seen
+his father there, and since his own boyhood he had not seen the place
+himself.
+
+He had not understood at the time why his visits ceased, but he knew it
+well enough now. Although the Duke long cherished hopes of a son of his
+own to succeed him, he had always regarded Eustace as a possible heir,
+and had desired to have a voice in his education. The boy had been sent
+to Eton at his suggestion; but when his school-days were ended, and his
+uncle naturally supposed that the University would be the next step
+in his training, Mr. Marchmont had suddenly decided to travel abroad
+with the boy and see the world--the close of the long war having just
+rendered travelling possible with safety. When he himself returned
+to England at the end of two years, it was with the news that Eustace
+had been left behind in Germany to finish his education there; and the
+indignant remonstrances of the Duke had resulted in a coolness which
+had never been altogether conquered. He considered that the young man
+would be rendered entirely unfit by such training, for the position
+every year seemed to make it more probable he would one day hold,
+whilst Mr. Marchmont argued that, the youth’s heart being set upon it,
+it was far better to give him his own way than try to force him into
+paths uncongenial and distasteful.
+
+Eustace was now seven-and-twenty, and in command of an ample fortune.
+Both his parents were dead--his mother he did not even remember, and
+he had neither brother nor sister. His second cousin, Lady Bride
+Marchmont, whom he dimly remembered as a shrinking little girl, for
+ever clinging to her mother’s hand, was the only relative of his own
+generation that he possessed; and it had naturally occurred to him
+before now that to marry the Duke’s daughter, if he could learn to
+love her and teach her to love him, would be the best reparation he
+could make to her for the lack of brothers of her own. It seemed to
+him a hard and unjust thing that her sex should disqualify her from
+succeeding to her father’s wealth and title. Eustace was no lover of
+the time-honoured laws of primogeniture, entail, or the privileges of
+the upper classes. The leaven of the day was working strongly in him,
+and he was ready to break a lance in the cause of freedom and brotherly
+equality with whatever foe came in his way.
+
+His face bespoke something of this temperament. He had the broad lofty
+brow of the thinker, the keen steady eye of the man of battle, the open
+sensitive nostril of the enthusiast, and the firm tender mouth of the
+philanthropist. Without being handsome he was attractive, and his face
+was worthy of study. There was something of quiet scorn lying latent in
+his expression, which argument easily called into active existence.
+The face could darken sternly, or soften into ardent tenderness and
+enthusiasm, as the case might be. He had the air of a leader of men.
+His voice was deep, penetrating, and persuasive, and he had a fine
+command of language when his pulses were stirred. In person he was tall
+and commanding, and had that air of breeding which goes far to win
+respect with men of all classes. He moved with the quiet dignity and
+ease of one perfectly trained in all physical exercises, and in whom
+no thought of self-consciousness lurks. He looked well on horseback,
+riding with the grace of long practice. As he followed the windings of
+the zigzag road which led up to the castle, looking about him with keen
+eyes to observe what changes time had made in the old place, he looked
+like one whom the Duke might welcome with pride as his heir, since it
+had not pleased Providence to bestow upon him a son of his own.
+
+He rode quietly up to the great sweep before the gateway and passed
+beneath it, answering the respectful salute of the porter with a
+friendly nod, and found himself in the quadrangle upon which the great
+hall door opened. His approach had been observed, and the servants in
+their sombre dress were waiting to receive him; but the drawn blinds
+over all the windows, and the deep hush which pervaded the house,
+struck a chill upon the spirit of the young man as he passed beneath
+the portal, and a quick glance round the hall assured him that none but
+servants were there.
+
+A great hound lying beside the roaring fire of logs rose with a
+suspicious bay and advanced towards him, but seeming to recognise
+kinship in the stranger, permitted him to stroke his head, as Eustace,
+standing beside the hearth, addressed the butler in low tones:--
+
+“How is it with his Grace?”
+
+The man slowly shook his head.
+
+“Sadly, sir, but sadly. He keeps himself shut up in his own room--the
+room next to that in which her Grace lies--and unless it be needful
+nobody disturbs him. He looks ten years older than he did a month back:
+it has made an old man of him in a few weeks.”
+
+“And the Lady Bride?”
+
+“She is bearing up wonderfully, but we think she has scarce realised
+her loss yet. She seems taken out of herself by it all--uplifted
+like--almost more than is natural in so young a lady. But she was
+always half a saint, like her Grace herself. She will be just such
+another as her mother.”
+
+“And the funeral is to-morrow?”
+
+“Yes, sir--on the first day of the new year. Her Grace died very early
+upon the morning of Christmas Day--just a week from now.”
+
+Eustace was silent for a few minutes, and then turning to the servant,
+said--
+
+“Does his Grace know I am here? Shall I see him to-day? Does he see
+anybody?”
+
+“If you will let me show you your rooms, sir, I will let him know you
+have arrived. He will probably see you at dinner-time. He and Lady
+Bride dine together at five--their other meals they have hitherto taken
+in their own rooms, but that may be changed now. You will join them at
+dinner, of course, sir.”
+
+“If they wish it, certainly,” answered Eustace; “but I have no wish to
+intrude if they would prefer to be alone. Is anybody else here?”
+
+“There is nobody else to come, sir. Her Grace’s few relatives are in
+Ireland, and there has not been time to send for them, and they were
+not nearly related to her either. I am glad you are here, sir. It is a
+long time since Penarvon has seen you.”
+
+“Yes, I have been much abroad, but the place looks exactly the same. I
+could believe I had been here only yesterday.”
+
+And then Eustace followed the man up the grand marble staircase and
+down a long corridor, so richly carpeted that their foot-falls made no
+sound, till they reached a small suite of apartments, three in number,
+which had been prepared for the use of the guest, and which were
+already bright with glowing fires, and numbers of wax candles in silver
+sconces arranged along the walls.
+
+The costliness and richness of his surroundings was strange to Eustace,
+for although wealth was his, his habits were very simple, and he
+neither desired nor appreciated personal indulgences of whatever kind
+they might be. He looked round him now with a smile not entirely free
+from contempt, although he recognised in the welcome thus accorded him
+a spirit of friendly regard, which was pleasant.
+
+“Unless, indeed, it is all the work of hired servants,” he said, after
+a moment’s cogitation. “Probably it is so--who else would have thought
+to spare for a guest at such a time as this? This is the regular thing
+at the castle for every visitor. There is nothing personal to me in all
+this warmth and brightness.”
+
+His baggage had arrived, and his servant had laid out his evening
+dress: but Eustace never required personal attention, and the man had
+already taken his departure. The young man donned his new suit of
+decorous black with rapidity and precision. He was no dandy, but he
+was no sloven either, and always looked well in his clothes. After
+his rapid toilet was completed, he sat down beside the fire to muse,
+and was only interrupted by the message to the effect that his Grace
+desired the pleasure of his company at the dinner-table that evening.
+
+This being the case, and the hands of the clock on the mantelpiece
+pointing ten minutes only to the hour of five, Eustace at once rose and
+descended to the drawing-room, the door of which was thrown open for
+him by one of the footmen carrying in some logs to feed the huge fire.
+One glance round the once familiar apartment showed him that it was
+empty. It was the smallest of the three drawing-rooms, opening one into
+the other in a long suite, and formed indeed the ante-chamber to the
+larger ones beyond; but it was the one chiefly used when there were no
+guests at the castle; and Eustace remembered well the pictures on the
+white and gold walls, the amber draperies, and the cabinets with their
+treasures of silver, china, and glass.
+
+Nothing seemed changed about the place, and the sense of stationary
+immutability and repose struck strangely upon the alert faculties of
+the young man, whose life had always been full of variety--not only of
+place and scene, but of thought and principle. A dreamlike feeling came
+over him as he stood looking about him, and he did not know whether the
+predominant sensation in his mind were of satisfaction or impatience.
+
+The door slowly opened, and in came a slim black-robed figure. For a
+moment Eustace, standing near to an interesting picture, and shadowed
+by a curtain, passed unnoticed, so that he took in the details of
+this living picture before he himself was seen. He knew in a moment
+who it was--his cousin Bride--the little timid girl of his boyish
+recollections; but if all else were unchanged at Penarvon, there was
+change at least here, for had he seen her in any other surroundings he
+would never have known or recognised her.
+
+Bride’s face was very pale, and there were dark violet shadows beneath
+the eyes which told of vigil and of weeping; yet the face was now not
+only calm, but full of a deep spiritual tranquillity and exaltation,
+which gave to it an aspect almost unearthly in its beauty. Bride had
+inherited all her mother’s exceptional loveliness of feature, but she
+owed more to that expression--caught from, rather than transmitted
+by, that saintly mother--which struck the beholder far more than mere
+delicacy of feature or purity of colouring. Eustace was no mean
+student of art, and had studied at the shrine of the old masters
+with an enthusiasm born of true appreciation for genius; yet never
+had he beheld, even in the greatest masterpieces, such a wonderfully
+spiritualised and glorified face as he now beheld in the person of his
+cousin Bride. A wave of unwonted devotional fervour came suddenly upon
+him. He felt that he could have bent the knee before her and kissed the
+hem of her garment; but instead of that he was constrained by custom to
+walk forward with outstretched hand, meeting the startled glance of her
+liquid dark eyes as she found herself not alone.
+
+“You are my cousin Eustace,” she said, in a low melodious voice that
+thrilled him strangely as it fell upon his ear; “my father will be glad
+you are come.”
+
+For once Eustace’s readiness failed him. He held Bride’s hand, and knew
+not how to address her. His heart was beating with quick strong throbs.
+He felt as though he were addressing some being from another sphere.
+What could he say to her at such a moment?
+
+Perhaps his silence surprised her, for she raised her soft eyes again
+to his, and the glance went home to his soul like a sword-thrust, so
+that he quivered all over. But he found his voice at last.
+
+“Forgive me,” he said, and his voice was soft and even tremulous. “If
+I am silent, it is because I have no words in which to express what I
+wish. There are moments in life when we feel that words are no true
+medium of thought. I remember your mother, Bride--that is all I can
+find to say. I remember her--and before the thought of your great loss
+I am dumb. Silence is sometimes more eloquent that any speech can be.”
+
+He still held her hand. She raised her eyes to his, and he saw that he
+had touched her heart, for they were swimming now in bright tears, but
+her sweet mouth did not quiver.
+
+“Thank you,” she said, in tones that were little raised above a
+whisper. “I am glad you have said that. I am glad you remember her. I
+think she was fond of you, Eustace.”
+
+Then the door opened and the Duke appeared.
+
+Eustace was shocked at his aspect. He remembered him as a very upright,
+dignified, majestic man, whose words were few and to the point, whose
+personality inspired awe and reverence in all about him, whose wishes
+were law, and whose will none ventured to dispute. He beheld before him
+now a bowed, white-headed man, out of whose eyes the light and keenness
+had passed, whose voice was low and enfeebled, and whose whole aspect
+betokened a mind and heart broken by grief, and a physique shattered by
+the blow which had desolated his home.
+
+Nevertheless this form of grief did not appear to the young man so
+pathetic as Bride’s, and he was not tongue-tied before the Duke. His
+well-chosen words of sympathy and condolence were received kindly by
+the old man, and before the first dinner was over Eustace felt that the
+ice was broken, and that he began to have some slight knowledge of the
+relatives with whom he felt he should in the future have considerable
+dealings if he succeeded in winning their favour. Their loneliness,
+isolation, and weakness appealed to the manly instincts of his nature,
+and he resolved that any service he could perform to lighten their
+burden should not be lacking.
+
+When left alone with the Duke after Bride had vanished, little passed
+between them. The host apologised for his silence, but said he could
+not yet begin to talk of common things, and contented himself by
+obtaining a promise from Eustace to remain some weeks at the castle as
+his guest. In those days visits were always of considerable length, and
+Eustace had made his preparations for a lengthened absence from London,
+in case he should be required here. He accepted the invitation readily,
+and the Duke, rising and saying good night, with an intimation that
+he should retire at once to his room, Eustace strolled across the vast
+hall to the drawing-room, half expecting to find it empty; but his
+heart gave a quick bound as he saw it tenanted by the slim black-robed
+figure, and met the earnest gaze of Bride’s soft eyes.
+
+She rose as he appeared, and advanced to met him. Upon her face was an
+expression which he did not understand till her next words explained it.
+
+“Would you like to come and see her for the last time? To-morrow it
+will be too late.”
+
+Eustace bent his head in voiceless assent. He could not say nay to such
+an invitation, albeit he thought that there was something morbid in the
+feeling which prompted it. Habituated to foreign ways and customs, this
+keeping of the dead unburied for so many days was in his eyes slightly
+repulsive; but he followed the noiseless steps of his guide, and was
+at last ushered into a large dim room, lighted by many wax tapers, the
+light of which seemed, however, absorbed into the heavy black draperies
+with which the walls were hung.
+
+In this sombre apartment the Duchess had lain in state (if such a
+phrase might be used) for many days. The whole population of St. Bride
+and St. Erme had combined to plead for a last look upon her who in life
+had been so greatly beloved; and both the Duke and his daughter had
+been touched by the request, which was promptly gratified.
+
+And so Eustace now found himself before a prostrate figure that bore
+the likeness of a marble effigy, but was clad in soft white robes
+of sheeny texture, the fine dark hair being dressed as in life, and
+crowned by the film of priceless lace which the Duchess was wont to
+wear. Tall lilies in pots made a background for the recumbent figure,
+and the wax tapers cast their light most fully upon the tranquil
+face of the dead. And when once the eye rested on that face, the
+accessories were all forgotten. Eustace looked, and a great awe and
+wonder fell upon him. Bride looked, and her face kindled with that
+expression which he marked upon it when first he had seen her, and
+which afterwards, when he heard the words, seemed to him best described
+in this phrase, “Death is swallowed up of victory.”
+
+She knelt down beside the couch on which all that was mortal of her
+mother lay, and when Eustace turned his eyes away from the peaceful
+face of the dead, it was to let them rest for a moment upon the
+ecstatic countenance of the living.
+
+But after one glance he softly retired, unnoticed by Bride, and shut
+the door behind him noiselessly.
+
+In the shelter of his own room the sense of mystic awe and wonder that
+possessed him fell away by degrees. He paced up and down, lost in
+thought, and presently a frown clouded the eyes that had been till now
+full of pity and sympathy.
+
+“She looks as though she had been living with the dead till she is more
+spirit than flesh. How can they let her? It is enough to kill her or
+send her mad! Well, thank heaven, the funeral is to-morrow. After that
+this sort of thing must cease. Poor child, poor girl! A father who
+seems to have no knowledge of her existence, her mother snatched away
+in middle life. And she does not look made of the stuff that forgets
+either. She will have a hard time of it in the days to come. I wonder
+if she will let me help her, if I can in any wise comfort her. That
+must be a heart worth winning, if one had but the key.”
+
+Upon the forenoon of the next day the funeral of the Duchess was
+celebrated with all the pomp and sombre show incident to such occasions
+in the days of which we write. Bride did not accompany the sable
+procession as it left the castle and wound down the hill. Women did not
+appear in public on such occasions then; and she only watched from a
+turret window the mournful cortège as it set forth, the servants of the
+household forming in rank behind the coaches, and walking in procession
+in the rear, and as the gates were reached, being followed in turn by
+almost every man, woman, and child within a radius of five miles, the
+whole making such a procession as had never been seen in the place
+before.
+
+Hitherto the girl had been supported by the feeling that her mother,
+although dead, was still with her; that she could gaze on that dear
+face at will, feel the shadowing presence of her great love, and know
+something of the hallowing brooding peace which rested upon the quiet
+face of the dead. Moreover, she was upheld all these days by a wild
+visionary hope that perhaps even yet her mother would be restored
+to her. Her intense faith in the power of God made it easy to her
+to imagine that in answer to her fervent prayer the soul might be
+restored to its tenement--the dead raised up to life. If the prayer
+of faith could move mountains--if _all_ things were possible to him
+that believeth, why might not she believe that her own faith, her own
+prayer, might be answered after this manner? Had not men been given
+back from the dead before now? Why not this precious life, so bound up
+in her own and in the hearts of so many?
+
+Thus the girl had argued, and thus she had spent her days and her
+nights in fasting and prayer, raised up above the level of earth by her
+absorbing hope and faith, till she had almost grown to believe that
+the desired miracle would become a reality. And now that the dream
+was ended, now that she stood watching the disappearance of that long
+procession, and knew that God had not answered her prayers, had not
+rewarded her faith as she felt it deserved to be rewarded, a strange
+leaden heaviness fell upon her spirit. The reaction from the ecstatic
+fervour of spirit set in with somewhat merciless force. She felt that
+the earth was iron and the heavens brass, that there was none below
+to love her, none above to hear her. A sense akin to terror suddenly
+possessed her. She turned from her post of observation and fled
+downwards. She felt choking, and craved the fresh salt air, which had
+not kissed her cheek for more than this eternity of a week. At the foot
+of the turret was a door opening into the garden. She fled down, and
+found herself in the open air, and with hasty steps she passed through
+the deserted gardens till she came to the great glass conservatory,
+which had been erected at no small cost for the winter resort of the
+Duchess since she became so much the invalid; and flinging herself
+down upon the couch which still stood in its accustomed place in the
+recess made for it, the girl burst into wild weeping, and beat her head
+against the cushions in a frenzy akin to despair.
+
+How long she thus remained she knew not. Darkness seemed to fall upon
+her, and a great horror of she knew not what. The next sensation of
+which she was really conscious was the touch of a hand on her shoulder,
+and the sound of a kindly and familiar voice in her ear--
+
+“Lady Bride, ladybird, don’tee take on so bitterly, my lamb. It is not
+_her_ they have put underground. May be _she_ is near yu now whilst
+you weep. May be it was she who put it into my heart to come here just
+at this time. If they can grieve whom the peace of God Almighty has
+wrapped round, I think ’twould grieve her to see yu breaking your heart
+to-day.”
+
+“O Abner!” cried the girl, sitting up and pushing the heavy hair out of
+her eyes, “I am glad you have come! I felt as though there was no one
+left in the wide world but me--that I was all alone, and all the world
+was dead. But I have not been like this before. Till they took her
+away I felt I had her with me. I knew that she was near--that she was
+watching over me. There was always the hope that she was not dead--that
+her spirit might come back once more. O Abner, Abner! why does God
+always take those who can least be spared? There are so many who would
+scarce be missed, and she----”
+
+Bride could not complete her sentence, and the old gardener looked
+tenderly at her. He had known her from her birth. He had guided her
+tottering steps round the garden before she could fairly walk alone.
+He had watched her growth and development with an almost fatherly
+tenderness and pride. She was as dear to him as though she had been his
+own flesh and blood; and the mother who was now taken away had never
+interfered with the friendship between the child and the old servant;
+nay, she had many and many a time held long talks herself with Abner,
+and knew how strong a sympathy there was between his views and her own,
+despite their widely different walk in life. And so in the old gardener
+Bride had a friend to whom at such a moment as this she could talk more
+freely than to any other living creature.
+
+“May be the Lord wants the most beautiful flowers for His own garden,
+my Ladybird,” answered the old man, using the familiar pet name which
+had grown up between them in childhood. “When I used to gather flowers
+for her Grace’s room, I chose the sweetest and most perfect blossoms I
+could find. We mustn’t wonder if the Lord sometimes does the same--nor
+grudge Him the fairest and purest flowers, even though the loss is
+ours.”
+
+Slightly soothed by the thought, Bride tried to smile.
+
+“Only it seems as though we wanted them so much more,” said she.
+
+“I don’t know. The dear Lord must have loved her full as much as we do.
+He lent her to us for many years; may be He knew she would be better
+placed in His garden now, where no pruning-knife need ever touch her,
+and no suns can scorch her, and where her leaves will never wither.
+Sure, my Ladybird, yu du not grudge her her place in God’s garden of
+Paradise?”
+
+“O Abner! I will try not. I know what you mean; she did have much
+suffering to bear here, and I am thankful she will have no more. But
+there are some things so hard to understand, even when we believe
+them. I cannot bear to think of her body lying in the cold ground, and
+becoming--oh! it does not bear thinking of.”
+
+“Then, why think of it, Ladybird?--why not look beyond this poor
+corruptible body, and think of the glorious resurrection body with
+which we shall all arise?”
+
+“Oh, it is so hard to understand!” cried Bride, pressing her hands
+together--“it is so hard to understand!”
+
+“I think it is not possible to understand,” said the old man quietly,
+“but surely it is easy to believe, for we see it every day and every
+year.”
+
+“How do we see it?” asked Bride, almost listlessly.
+
+Abner put his hand in his pocket and drew forth a little packet of
+seed, some of which he poured into his palm.
+
+“Lady Bride,” he said in his grave meditative way, “it does not seem
+wonderful to yu that each of these tiny seeds will, after it has rotted
+in the ground, germinate and bear leaves and flowers and fruit. But if
+yu did not know it from constant seeing it year by year, if it was a
+strange thing that yu have been told, and yu would not believe it, and
+yu said to me, ‘No, Abner, that cannot be. It is not sense. It cannot
+be understood. I must prove it first before I believe it.’ And suppose
+yu took that seed and put it under that glass which clever men use for
+discoveries, and suppose beneath that powerful glass yu pulled it bit
+by bit to pieces to see if it contained the germ of the mystery, du yu
+think yu would find it there? Du yu think your seed would grow after
+being treated so?”
+
+“No, of course not,” answered Bride.
+
+“Well, isn’t it just so with the mysteries of God? He gives them to
+us, and says, ‘Here is your body. It is corruptible and mortal; but
+it has within it the germ of immortality, and though it will die and
+perish in the ground, yet it will rise again glorified when the day of
+resurrection comes.’ But men in these days take that mystery and say,
+‘We will not take God’s word for it; we will put it beneath the glass
+of our great intellects, and examine and see if it be true, and if we
+may not prove it by examination, then we will not believe it!’ And so
+they set to work, and when they have done, they tell men not to believe
+God any longer, because they have proved Him a liar by the gauge of
+their own intellects. Du yu think these men would believe that this
+seed would sprout into a flower if they did not see it do so with their
+own eyes? No; they would laugh yu to scorn for telling them so. And so
+they laugh us to scorn who tell them that there will be a resurrection
+of the dead. But, Ladybird, never let your heart fail you. Never let
+doubt steal over your mind. What God has promised we know He will
+surely accomplish--and His words cannot fail.”
+
+She rose with a faint smile and held out her hand, which the old
+gardener took reverently and tenderly between both of his own.
+
+“I will try to think of that if ever I doubt again,” she said softly.
+“I do know--I do believe--but sometimes it is very hard to keep fast
+hold on the faith.”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+_THE DUKE’S HEIR_
+
+
+“Your name is Tresithny, is it not?--and you are the gardener here, by
+what I understand, and have lived at Penarvon all your life. Is that
+so?”
+
+“Yes, sir. My father was gardener to the old Duke, and he brought me
+up to take his place; and I’ve been working on the place here, man and
+boy, these fifty years. I was only a lad of eight when first I used to
+help my father with some of the lighter tasks, and now I have all the
+men on the place working under my orders. It is a long while since you
+paid us a visit, sir; but I remember you well as a little fellow when
+you came to Penarvon.”
+
+“I’m afraid I don’t remember you. Boys are selfish little brats, and go
+about thinking of nothing but their own amusement. But, Tresithny, I
+have come to you now for information. They tell me you are a thoughtful
+man, and have educated yourself soundly in your leisure hours. One can
+almost see as much by looking at you and hearing you speak. I feel as
+though you are the man I want to get hold of. I have been here nearly
+a month now, and I have not been idle meantime: I have come here with
+an object, and I have been collecting information as far as I have been
+able to do so alone; but I believe you will be able to help me better
+than I can help myself.”
+
+The gardener raised his head, and looked at the young gentleman before
+him with thoughtful mien. Although this was the first time he had been
+addressed by Eustace, he had seen him often pacing the garden paths in
+meditative abstraction, and had heard of him from others as walking or
+riding over the country roads, and asking strange questions of those he
+encountered in his rambles. He had been down amongst the fisher-folk
+of the bay. He had been up amongst the downlands, talking with the
+shepherd-folk who dwelt in the scattered stone huts that were met with
+from time to time there. He had been seen at various farmsteads, making
+friends with their inhabitants, and people were beginning to ask in a
+puzzled way what he meant by it all, and to wonder at the nature of his
+questions, albeit the stolid rustic mind was not wont to disturb itself
+much by inquiry or speculation. When asked a question of the bearing
+of which he was doubtful, the peasant would generally scratch his head
+and look vacantly out before him; and again and again, when pressed by
+Eustace for an answer, would drawl out something like the following
+reply--
+
+“Zure, thee’d better ask Maister Tresithny. He mid knaw. He du knaw a
+sight o’ things more’n we. ’E be a’most as gude as Passon tu talk tu.
+Thee’d best ask he.”
+
+And after some time Eustace had followed this counsel, and was now face
+to face with his uncle’s servant, although in the first instance he had
+told himself that he would speak of these things to nobody at Penarvon
+itself.
+
+“I’ll be pleased and proud to help any one of your name and race, sir,”
+answered Abner quietly, “so far as I may rightly do so. What can I do
+for you, sir? You have been main busy since you came here, by all I see
+and hear.”
+
+“You have heard of me, then?” questioned Eustace, with a smile. “People
+have talked of my comings and goings, have they?”
+
+“Folks here mostly take notice of what goes on up to the castle,”
+answered Abner, “and they say that the young master is wonderful little
+there, but out all day on his own business, which is what they cannot
+make out.”
+
+Eustace laughed pleasantly, and then his face grew grave again.
+
+“I should be more at the castle if I could be of service to his Grace
+or Lady Bride; but there is a sorrow upon which a stranger may not
+intrude, and at present I can call myself little else. In time I trust
+I may win my way there; but during these first days I believe the
+truest kindness is to keep away from them for the greater part of my
+time. And I have my own object to pursue, which is one that may not be
+ignored; for it is a duty, and I am resolved to do it to the utmost of
+my power.”
+
+Abner nodded his head in grave approval.
+
+“That is the way our duties should be tackled, sir. It is no good
+giving half our energies to them. We have our orders plain and
+simple--‘What thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.’”
+
+“Yes--just so,” answered Eustace, with a quick glance at the man, whose
+hands were still at work amongst his pots, even whilst he talked. He
+was in the potting-shed, pricking out a quantity of young seedlings;
+and although he gave intelligent heed to the words of the young
+gentleman before him, he continued his employment with scrupulous care
+and exactness. “By-the-bye, Tresithny,” Eustace suddenly interpolated,
+“aren’t you something of a preacher, by what they say? Don’t you hold
+meetings in St. Bride’s amongst the fisher-folk? I have heard something
+of it down amongst the people there.”
+
+“Well, sir,” answered Abner, “it isn’t so to say a service; but we’ve
+got men-folk down there as will not enter the doors of a church, do
+what you will; and though they be good enough friends with the Rev.
+Tremodart when he comes down on the bit of a quay to chat with them,
+they won’t go to church, and he’s too wise, may be, to try and force
+them. But they’ll sometimes come of a Sunday evening to Dan Denver’s
+cottage, and listen whilst I read them a chapter and talk it over
+afterwards. Some days they don’t seem to have much to say, and leaves
+it most to me, and then it du seem to them almost like a bit of a
+sermon. But that’s not what I mean it to be. I want to get them to
+think and talk as well.”
+
+The young man’s eyes suddenly flashed, and he took up the word with
+suppressed eagerness.
+
+“Ah! Tresithny, that’s just it! That’s the very pith of the whole
+matter. You and I ought to be friends. We both want to rouse the people
+to think. If we could do that--how much could be achieved!”
+
+“Ay, indeed it could, sir. There be times when it seems as though it
+would be as easy to get the brute beast of the field to think, as it is
+to rouse them up to do it. And yet they have all immortal souls, though
+they care no more what becomes of them than the beasts that perish.
+Think of it!--think of it!”
+
+Eustace gave Abner a quick keen look of mingled sympathy and criticism.
+He saw that their minds were working on absolutely different lines, but
+was by no means sure that these lines might not be made to coincide
+by a little gentle diplomacy. He recognised at once in this upright
+and stalwart old gardener a man of considerable power and influence,
+who might be a valuable ally if won over to the cause. But he knew,
+too, that the limitations imposed upon his intellect by the manner of
+his life, and his opportunities of self-culture, might form a serious
+barrier between them, so he resolved to feel his way cautiously before
+advocating openly any of those opinions of which he was apparently the
+pioneer in these parts.
+
+“Ah!” he said, with a long-drawn breath, “that hopeless apathy towards
+everything ennobling and elevating comes from centuries of oppression
+and injustice. Whilst men are forced to live like beasts, they will
+grovel in the mire like beasts, and not even know that they are treated
+like beasts. But let them be raised out of their helpless misery and
+grinding poverty, and their minds will grow healthy with their bodies.
+The state into which the people of this land have fallen is a disgrace
+to humanity; and all men of principle must stand shoulder to shoulder
+together to strive to raise and elevate them. It is a duty which in
+these days is crying aloud to Heaven, and to which thinking men in all
+countries are responding with more or less of zeal and energy. Things
+cannot go on as they have been doing. France has taught us a grim
+lesson of what will happen at last if we continue to tread down and
+oppress our humble brethren, as we have been doing all these long years
+and centuries!”
+
+Eustace threw back his head, and the fire flashed from his eyes. His
+nature was always stirred to its depths by the thought of the wrongs of
+humanity. He had not found round and about Penarvon quite that amount
+of physical misery that he had heard described in other places; yet he
+had seen enough of the bovine apathy and stolid indifference of the
+rustics to rouse within him feelings of indignation and keen anger. He
+argued fiercely within himself that men were made into patient beasts
+of burden just to suit the selfish desires of the classes above them,
+who dreaded the day of reckoning which would follow any awakening on
+their part to a sense of their wrongs. The artisans of the Midlands and
+the North had partially awakened, and from all sides was the cry going
+up--the cry for justice, for a hearing, for some one to expound their
+grievances and make a way out of them. Their helpless rage had hitherto
+been expended in the breaking of machinery, which they took to be their
+worst enemy, and in riots which had brought condign punishment upon
+them. Now they were being taken in hand by men of wealth and power,
+and were raising the cry of reform--crying aloud for representation
+in Parliament--agitating for a thing the nature of which they hardly
+understood, but which they were told would bring help and well-being
+in its wake. And men like Eustace Marchmont, with generous ardour all
+aflame in the cause which they held to be sacred and righteous, longed
+to see the spread of this feeling through the length and breadth of the
+land. The agricultural labourers were far more difficult to arouse than
+the artisan classes had been; but if the whole nation with one accord
+raised its voice aloud in a cry for justice, would not that cry prevail
+in spite of the whole weight and pressure brought to bear against it,
+and carry all before it in a triumphant series of long-needed reforms?
+
+So Eustace argued in his hot and generous enthusiasm, and gently and
+cautiously did he strive to explain his views to Abner and win his
+sympathy for them. Here was a man who loved his fellows with a great
+and tender love--in that at least the two men were in accord--but
+whilst Abner thought almost exclusively of their immortal souls,
+Eustace’s mind was entirely bent upon the improvement of their physical
+condition. He was by no means certain in his heart of hearts whether
+they possessed souls at all. As to everything connected with the
+spiritual world his mind was altogether a blank. There might or might
+not be a life to come; he could not profess any opinion of his own on
+such a point as that, but at least of this present life he was sure,
+and his religion, in as far as he could be said to have one, was
+directed with perfect singleness of purpose towards the attainment
+of what he held to be the loftiest aim and object a man could have,
+namely, raising his fellow-men to a sense of their own responsibilities
+and rights, to ameliorate their condition, teach them self-restraint,
+self-culture, rational and intelligent happiness, to give them sunshine
+in their lives here, and a high code of moral ethics to live up to when
+they were able to receive it.
+
+Something of all this did he strive to make plain to Abner as he sat
+beside him at his work. That he succeeded in winning the interest of
+his hearer was abundantly evident from the expression of the thoughtful
+intelligent face, and that the gardener understood a good deal of the
+questions of the day appeared from the nature of the questions and
+comments he made from time to time.
+
+When Eustace had said his say there was silence for a while, and he
+waited with some eagerness to hear the effect produced upon the old
+man. He felt that Abner was a power in the place, and that a good
+deal of his own success might depend on how far he could get him to
+be a partisan in the good cause. Abner was slow to speak when his
+mind was not made up, and he was not one to reach a conclusion in a
+hurry. It was some time before he spoke, and then he said slowly and
+meditatively, “There’s a deal of good in what you say, sir, and a deal
+more good in what you mean; but yet for all that I can’t quite see as
+you do. There’s something in it all that’s like putting the cart before
+the horse, to use a homely phrase, and that’s not a thing as is found
+to answer when folks come to try it on.”
+
+“I don’t think I quite take your meaning, Tresithny.”
+
+“No, sir? Well, I’ll try to make it plainer like--that is, if you care
+to hear what an old man like me thinks, who has picked up his knowledge
+a bit here and a bit there, and less from books than from men.”
+
+“I do care,” answered Eustace, “and yours are the best methods of
+gaining instruction. You are a man of the people and a thinking man. I
+do value your opinion, and should like to have it.”
+
+“Well, sir, you shall. I am, as you truly say, a man of the people, and
+I think I may lay claim to understand my people as well as gentlefolks
+can do; and I’m very sure of one thing, that I’d be very sorry to live
+in a country where they were the rulers; for they haven’t either the
+patience, or the knowledge, or the faculty of government; and things
+will go badly for England if the day comes when the voice of the people
+shall prevail as the voice of God.”
+
+“Ah! but the people have to be elevated and educated to be fit to
+rule,” said Eustace. “They are not fit now, I admit, but we are to seek
+to raise them, body, soul, and spirit, and then a vastly different
+state of affairs will be brought about.”
+
+But Abner’s face was very grave, and anything but acquiescent.
+
+“Sir,” he said, “I can’t see that as you do. I’ve read a bit of history
+here and there, and I’ve seen too in my own lifetime something of what
+comes when the voice of the people prevails.”
+
+“It is not fair to charge upon the people the horrors of the French
+Revolution,” interposed Eustace quickly. “The tyrants who provoked it
+were the people really to blame. They had made brutes and devils of the
+people, and they only reaped what they had sown.”
+
+“Very well, sir, I know in part at least you are right. We will say no
+more about history that may be open to such arguments as yours. But we
+always have our Bibles to go to when in doubt and perplexity, and we
+have it there in black and white that the powers that be are ordained
+of God, that riders and men of estate are to be reverenced, obeyed, and
+feared, that we are to submit ourselves to them as the ordinance of
+God.”
+
+“Yes, yes, Tresithny, in moderation; and if they do their duty on their
+side, that would be all right enough,” answered Eustace, who began to
+feel that Abner was taking an unconsciously unfair advantage of him in
+adducing arguments drawn from Holy Writ, which had no value for him
+whatsoever. “But when kings and men of estate abuse their powers and
+become tyrannical and oppressive, then the compact on both sides is
+broken, and the people must stand up for themselves and their rights,
+or they will only fall into absolute slavery.”
+
+“Well, sir, I can’t quite see that,” answered Abner thoughtfully. “When
+St. Paul wrote by the power of the Holy Ghost about the reverence due
+to the great men and rulers of the earth, he was speaking in the main
+of heathen tyrants, of whom he stood in peril of his own life; but he
+still recognised them as the ordinance of God, as our Lord Himself did
+when He stood at the judgment-seat of Pilate. It isn’t that I deny the
+wrongdoing of kings and nobles, but that I don’t think you’ve got hold
+of the right way of making things better. I said it was like putting
+the cart before the horse, and that’s just how it appears to me.”
+
+“But you have not explained how.”
+
+“Well, sir, that’s soon done. My way of thinking is this. God meant
+first of all, in the early dispensations, to rule the world directly
+Himself, through His prophets and faithful servants; but the hardness
+and perverseness of man stood in His way, and so He gave them rulers
+and governors of their own to be their natural heads; and before the
+Christian dispensation had come, this was the ordered method, and He
+Himself gave it His sanction and blessing in many ways when He lived
+on earth: ‘Render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar’s,’ and so
+forth. Now, knowing that God has ordained kings and rulers, it seems
+plain to me that we should continue to give them reverence and honour;
+and if the world is going wrong through those evils which you speak
+of as abuses, that instead of the wise, and earnest, and good men
+(such as yourself, sir) coming to the people and trying to stir up in
+their hearts hatred and ill-will towards those above them--which your
+doctrine will and does do, sir, whether you mean it or not--you should
+go to the kings and the nobles. Why not strive to stir _them_ up to
+do their duty by the people, to be just and merciful and liberal, to
+cease from oppression where it exists, and give them such things as are
+good for them to have by free and willing pleasure, instead of teaching
+the people to wring them from them little by little grudgingly and
+unwillingly? If men like you, sir, and those you have told me of, born
+to wealth and all that is great in the world, can feel for the wrongs
+and distresses of the poor of the land, surely others can be brought
+to do the same, the more so when they learn that mercy and liberality
+and justice are enjoined by God Himself. Then the people would learn
+to love and trust those above them, and would rejoice in their rulers
+as the Lord means them to; but teach them discontent and hatred and
+rebellion, and indeed, sir, I know not where it will end.”
+
+Eustace smiled with something of covert triumph.
+
+“No; we do not know where it will end, save that it will end in the
+emancipation of the people from tyranny and oppression, which is what
+we aim for. That is the fear which holds men back from the good cause;
+but we are careless of that. Do what is right and leave the rest: that
+is our maxim. You who are such a theologian should know, Tresithny,
+that all things work together for good.”
+
+“To those who love the Lord, sir,” answered Abner quietly, and then
+there was silence for a moment between the men.
+
+“Your plan is not bad in theory, Tresithny,” broke out Eustace, after
+a pause, “but practically it is unworkable in these days. It would not
+accomplish our ends. We should not be listened to. We are not listened
+to. We are scouted and held in abhorrence of rulers.”
+
+“You might not be listened to all at once,” said Abner, as the young
+man paused; “but neither will the people listen all at once. You say
+yourself it will take a generation, perhaps two or three, to accomplish
+what should be done. Suppose those generations were given to the other
+attempt--the striving to work upon the hearts of those in high places
+to study the needs of the land, and do justly by its humbler sons,
+might not there be hopes of a better result? I am but an unlettered
+man; I am scarce fit to dispute with you; but I think I know the nature
+of the classes you wish to see holding power, and I should not desire
+to be ruled by them.”
+
+“Well, well, we must agree to differ in some things, I see,” said
+Eustace, rising with a smile, and holding out his hand in token
+of good-fellowship; “all this sounds strange and sudden to you.
+Men’s minds have to grow into new ideas. But at least you love your
+people--in that we are agreed; and you would fain see them raised, and
+their condition improved, if it could be achieved. In that at least we
+agree. So we will part friends, and not oppose each other, even though
+we each see the shield on a different side.”
+
+Abner’s smile was pleasant to see, and Eustace sauntered away, a little
+disappointed perhaps--for Abner’s look of intellect had made him hope
+to win a disciple here--but pleased and interested in the man, and by
+no means despairing of winning him at last.
+
+A few days later the Duke spoke to him upon a subject of keen interest
+to him. Both the Duke and his daughter had kept themselves very much
+secluded since the funeral, as was rather the custom of the day,
+although in their case it was real broken-hearted sorrow which held
+them aloof from all the world at this juncture. But February came with
+sunshine and soft south winds, and the old nobleman began to resume his
+ordinary habits, and was pleased in his silent way to have a companion
+in Eustace. The young kinsman was sincerely attached to the head of his
+house, and his quick sympathies were aroused to real tenderness for him
+in his great sorrow. He had hitherto avoided any sort of speech that
+could possibly raise any irritation in the Duke’s mind. Their talk had
+been of a subdued and quiet kind, so that nothing had arisen to disturb
+the harmony that existed between them.
+
+Yet Eustace knew that he and his kinsman differed widely in thought
+and opinion, and that some day this divergence must appear in their
+talk. He meant to be very moderate and reasonable in all he might be
+forced to say, but to hide his views either from cowardice or motives
+of policy was a thing abhorrent to his nature, and could not be
+contemplated for a moment.
+
+The first note of warning was struck one day when the pair were riding
+together across a stretch of bleak down. The Duke suddenly looked at
+his companion and asked--
+
+“Do you ever think of standing for Parliament, Eustace?”
+
+The young man flushed quickly.
+
+“I have had some thoughts of it,” he answered with subdued eagerness,
+“but I do not know of any constituency that would accept me. I am
+almost a stranger to my country.”
+
+“Ah! yes--that German education of yours was a great mistake--a great
+mistake,” said the Duke, with drawn brow; but after a few moments his
+face cleared and he drew rein, his companion following his example.
+“But after all, you might manage it--it might be done. Do you see
+yonder heap of stones away there to the left? Well, that marks the
+site of an old manor belonging to us. That heap of stones returns a
+member to Parliament. _I_ return the member, in point of fact, as you
+doubtless know. The old member now sitting is growing infirm and deaf:
+he feels the journeys backwards and forwards too much for him. I think
+it will not be long before he resigns. When he does so, the borough
+will fall vacant, and I can give it as I please. Then would come your
+chance, boy.”
+
+Eustace had flushed quickly; now he grew pale. The whole iniquity of
+this system of rotten boroughs was one of the flagrant abuses of the
+day, which he stood pledged to sweep away. Whilst growing and opulent
+cities like Manchester, Birmingham, and Sheffield had no representation
+of any kind, a heap of stones, a lonely field, a tiny group of hovels
+frequently returned a member to Parliament. Practically the House of
+Lords returned half the House of Commons, and the middle and lower
+classes were scarcely represented in any way.
+
+Eager as Eustace was for a voice in the legislation of the future, he
+hesitated to think of gaining it in such a fashion.
+
+“You are very good, uncle, he said”--he found it pleased the Duke to be
+so addressed. “But I am afraid I should hardly be a candidate to your
+mind. Times advance, and men’s views change, and I suspect that mine
+and yours are scarcely in accord.”
+
+He had expected a sharp and almost scornful answer, and certainly
+a close and sifting examination; but nothing of the kind came, and
+looking into his kinsman’s face, Eustace was surprised to see a
+strangely far-away and softened expression stealing over it.
+
+“Times change!--ay, verily, they do--and men with them,” he said, in a
+very gentle tone, “and we must learn to be patient with new ways and
+not condemn them unheard. Boy, I am not fond of change. I have lived my
+life from day to day and year to year in quiet and peace, and I have
+not seen that good follows on the steps of those things that men call
+reform. But I am an old man now, and shall not be here much longer.
+What I think matters little, so that the right be done. Do not be
+afraid to speak to me freely. I will, at least, hear you patiently. I
+have learned that God’s purposes may be fulfilling themselves when we
+can least see it. I may not agree, nor yet approve, but at least I can
+strive after patience.”
+
+Greatly surprised at a development altogether unexpected in the
+irascible old Duke, as he remembered him in the past, with his
+intolerance of anything but the strongest Tory statesmanship and the
+most conservative fashion of regarding everything, Eustace spoke with
+an answering moderation and sympathy, ignoring nothing that was wise
+and good in the old régime, but pointing out that the day for advance
+had come, and that the good of the country was at stake. He spoke well,
+for he had education and enthusiasm, and had thought for himself as
+well as having learned from others.
+
+The Duke rode on very silently, only putting in a word here and there,
+but listening with close attention; and as they entered the courtyard,
+at last, still in earnest talk, he said--
+
+“I do not agree with you, Eustace. I cannot see things as you do; but
+I will not go so far as to say you are altogether wrong. There may be
+two sides to the question, and we will talk more of it another time.
+I am sorry you take such pronounced views upon a side I hold to be in
+error, but you do so with pure motives and honest conviction. Youth is
+always ardent, and you are young. Perhaps in days to come you will
+see that we are not altogether to blame for a state of things such as
+exists in the country to-day. I have lived longer than you have done in
+the world, boy; and I do not think you are going to rid the world of
+sin, misery, oppression, and degradation by your methods. If you have
+strength to carry them, you will work a silent and I trust a bloodless
+revolution; but you have an enemy to fight stronger than you think for.
+You may reduce the power of the Crown to a mere cipher. You may abolish
+privilege, prerogative, and a hundred other bugbears against which your
+ardent spirits are chafing. But when you have hurled them down from
+their places, do you think you will have contented the seething masses
+you are stirring up to ask for their ‘rights?’ Do you think crime,
+misery, vice, and degradation will be lessened? _I_ think they will
+steadily increase, and that you will find yourselves, you reformers,
+fifty years hence, face to face with problems in comparison with which
+these before you now are but molehills to mountains. But go your way,
+go your way. Only experience can teach you your lesson; and that is the
+dearest master you can have--and generally teaches his lessons just a
+generation too late!”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+_MAN OF THE WORLD AND MYSTIC_
+
+
+“There be no zarvice in the church to-day, my lady--not to St.
+Bride’s,” said a garden lad to Bride one bright Sunday morning in
+February as she was returning from a walk along the cliff in time for
+the eight-o’clock breakfast. Eustace had met her strolling homewards
+and had joined her. This had happened once or twice lately, and the
+strangeness of the feeling of having a companion was beginning to wear
+off.
+
+“No service?” questioned the girl, pausing in her walk. “Is Mr.
+Tremodart ill? I had not heard of it.”
+
+The lad scratched his head as he replied in the slow drawl of his
+native place--
+
+“’Tisn’t ezactly that, my lady. Passon isn’t zick; but he du have
+one of his hens a settin’ in the pulpit, and zo he du not wish her
+distarbed.”
+
+Eustace broke into a peal of laughter. It seemed a delicious notion to
+him that the service of the parish church was to be suspended because
+an erratic hen had chosen to sit herself in the sacred building. It
+chimed in with many notions he already held of the effeteness and
+deadness of the Church. He glanced into his companion’s face for an
+answering smile, but Bride was looking straight before her with an
+expression in her liquid dark eyes which he was quite unable to fathom.
+
+“You can go to hear Mr. St. Aubyn at St. Erme, George,” she said kindly
+to the lad, after a moment’s pause, but he only scratched his head
+again, and said--
+
+“Mappen I’ll go tu Dan’s and year Maister Tresithny. They du zay as
+he’ll read a bit out o’ the book and tell folks what it all means.”
+
+“That will be better than getting into mischief,” said the lady, with a
+grave though kindly look at the lad; and then she passed onwards to the
+house, Eustace walking beside her, smiling still.
+
+“Are the services of the Church often suspended here for such weighty
+reasons?” he asked.
+
+“Not often,” answered Bride, still in the same gravely quiet way; “but
+Mr. Tremodart is hardly alive to the sacredness of his calling nor the
+sanctity of his office. He is a kind man, but he does not win souls by
+his teaching. The church is very badly attended: no doubt he thinks
+one service more or less of small importance. The people, I believe,
+like him all the better for giving them an occasional holiday from
+attendance, even though they may be very irregular in coming.”
+
+“I should think that highly probable,” answered Eustace, still
+examining Bride’s face with some curiosity, as if anxious to gauge her
+thoughts on this subject and to seek to find in them some accord with
+his own. “My experiences of the services at St. Bride’s Church are not
+very stirring. The smell of dry-rot suggests the idea that it has been
+caught from the calibre of the discourses heard there. Our friend Mr.
+Tremodart may have many virtues, but he has not the gift of eloquence.”
+
+Bride made no response. In her eyes there was a look akin to pain, as
+though she felt the truth of the stricture, and yet it went against her
+to admit its truth.
+
+Eustace waited for a moment and then continued in the same light way--
+
+“And will the service of the parish church be suspended for three
+Sundays?--for, if my boyish recollections serve me, that is the time
+required by a hen for bringing off her brood.”
+
+“Oh, no,” answered Bride, with a quick earnestness and energy, “that
+will certainly not be. Poor Mr. Tremodart, he knows no better perhaps;
+but it is very, very sad. I suppose it was only found out last night
+or this morning. There was no sermon last Sunday, so I suppose the
+eggs collecting in the pulpit were not noticed. Of course they should
+have been taken away at once. But Mr. Tremodart is very fond of his
+animals, and he does not think of sacred things quite as--as--others
+do. Of course it will be done before next Sunday. Oh, I am sorry it has
+happened. I am sorry for the poor people.”
+
+Eustace could not understand her mood. He saw only the humorous side
+of the incident, but he would not say so to her. He was very anxious
+to approach nearer in thought and feeling to his beautiful cousin, who
+was as yet almost as much of a stranger to him as she had been upon
+the day of his arrival. Although he saw her daily, sat at table with
+her, and sometimes spent an hour over the piano with her in the evening
+(for both were good musicians, as things went in those days), he still
+felt as though she were a thing apart from him, wrapped in a world
+of her own of which he knew nothing. The barrier which divided them
+was at once impenetrable and invisible, yet he had never succeeded in
+discovering wherein its power lay, and what might be done to break it
+down and bring them together.
+
+“You will go to St. Erme’s Church to-day, I suppose?” he said next,
+without trying to solve the problem suggested by her speech. “I have
+never attended St. Erme for a service, although I have met Mr. St.
+Aubyn. Will you let me be your escort there? I suppose your father
+will hardly walk as far.”
+
+“No, I think not. He seldom goes out when there is no service at St.
+Bride. He does not care for Mr. St. Aubyn’s preaching as I do: he
+prefers that of Mr. Tremodart.”
+
+Eustace secretly thought it must be a queer sort of preaching that
+could be inferior to that of the parson of St. Bride’s; but he made no
+remark, and merely asked--
+
+“Then you will let me be your escort?”
+
+“Thank you,” answered Bride quietly; “if you wish to go, I think you
+will be rewarded.”
+
+Eustace felt that his reward would be in the pleasure of the walk to
+and fro with his cousin; but he did not say so, even though rather
+exaggerated and high-flown compliments were then the fashion of the
+day more than they have since become. Something in Bride’s aspect and
+manner always withheld him from uttering words of that kind, and his
+own honesty and common-sense kept him at all times within bounds, so
+that he had never acquired the foolish foppery that was fashionable
+amongst the gilded youth of the aristocracy. In one thing at least he
+and Bride were agreed--that life was given for something more than mere
+idle amusement and pleasure-seeking. And when they started off together
+for their two miles’ walk across cliff and down for the little church
+of St. Erme, Eustace began to ask questions of her as to the condition
+of the people, their ignorance, their poverty, their state of apathy
+and neglect, which all at once aroused her interest and sympathy, and
+caused her to open out towards him as she had never done before.
+
+Bride loved the people--that was the first fact he gathered from the
+answers she made him. She loved them--and he loved them too. He was
+conscious that they loved them with a difference--that when they
+spoke of raising them and making them better and happier, she was
+thinking of one thing and he of another. He was conscious of this, but
+he did not think she was; and he was very careful to say no word to
+check the impulse of confidence which had arisen between them. Bride
+was grieved for the state of things about her: she mourned over the
+degradation, the apathy, the almost bestial indifference to higher
+things that reigned amongst the humble folks about her home. She spoke
+with a glimmer as of tears in her eyes of their absolute indifference
+to all that was high and noble and true; of the deep superstitions,
+which stultified their spiritual aspirations, and the blind error and
+folly of those who, turning away from God, sought wisdom and help from
+those calling themselves witches--many of whom did possess, or appear
+to possess, occult powers that it was impossible altogether to explain
+away or disbelieve.
+
+“Yes, Bride, it is very sad to hear of,” said Eustace gravely, “and it
+all points to the same thing. We must teach the people. We must raise
+them. We must feed them with wholesome food, and then they will turn
+away in disgust from these effete superstitions, which are only the
+outcome of ignorance and degraded minds.”
+
+“I fear me there is something worse in them than that, Eustace,” said
+Bride, looking out before her with that luminous gaze he often noticed
+in her, which suggested a mind moving in a sphere above that of the
+common earth. “It is the work of something more than blind ignorance.
+It is the work of the devil himself. The powers many of these witches
+exert is something beyond what any mere trickery can account for. There
+is an agency beyond anything of that sort--it is the devil who endows
+these miserable beings with powers above those of their fellows. God
+have mercy on the souls of such! For in an evil hour, and for the hope
+of worldly gain, they have placed their neck beneath an awful yoke, and
+God alone knows whether for such there can be pardon and restoration!”
+
+Eustace listened in silent amazement. He knew that gross superstition
+reigned amongst the degraded and ignorant; but he had always believed
+that it was confined to them, and that those who had enjoyed the
+advantages of education were far above anything so credulous as a
+belief in a personal devil working through the medium of men. It
+was an age when materialism and rationalism in one form or another
+stalked triumphantly over the earth. Spirituality was at a low ebb;
+the Catholic revival was in its infancy. The wave of earnestness and
+spiritual light which had been awakened by Wesley had dwindled and
+spent itself, leaving many traces behind of piety and zeal, but without
+accomplishing that work of awakening its founders had hoped to do. The
+Court set a bad example; the people followed it more or less. It was
+an age of laxity both in morals and in thought; but the prevailing
+tone of ordinary men was one of condescending scepticism--tolerating
+religion, but believing that a new era was coming upon the world in
+which Christianity should be superseded by “natural religion”--a thing
+far purer and higher in the estimation of its devotees.
+
+That the world was evil, and in the greatest need of reform, Eustace
+would be the last man to deny; but to refer the gross superstitions
+of a benighted peasantry to the direct agency of a personal devil
+savoured to his mind of utter childishness, although possibly it was
+not more logically untenable than a belief in a personal Saviour, from
+whom proceeded all holy impulses, all elevating and pardoning love,
+all earnest searchings after the higher life. But if he was equally
+sceptical on both of these points, he would fain have gauged the soul
+of his companion, being keenly interested, not only in herself, but in
+every aspect of thought as it presented itself to minds of different
+calibre.
+
+“You mean that you still believe in a certain devil-possession?” he
+asked tentatively; and Bride turned upon him one long inscrutable
+glance as she answered, after a long pause--
+
+“Has the world ever been without devil-possession of one kind or
+another, varying infinitely in its forms, to blind and deceive those
+who dwell on the earth? What is sin at all but the work in men’s hearts
+of the devil and his angels, ever prompting, deceiving, suggesting? But
+where ignorance is grossest, and the light of God shines least, there
+he finds the readiest victims to listen to his seducing whispers.” She
+paused a moment, looked first at Eustace, with the earnestness that
+always perplexed and stimulated his curiosity, and then added, in a
+much lower tone, “And are we not to look for more and more indications
+of his powers, more manifestations of them in forms of every kind, in
+the days that are coming?”
+
+“Why?” asked Eustace, in a tone as low as hers.
+
+She clasped her hands lightly together as she made reply--
+
+“Ah! because the days of the end are approaching--because the great
+day of Armageddon is coming upon us, and the armies of heaven and hell
+are mustering in battle-array for that awful final struggle which
+shall mark the end of this dispensation, in which the Antichrist
+shall be revealed--the man of sin, in whom the great apostasy shall
+be consummated, and whom the Lord shall finally destroy when He rides
+triumphant to do the final will of God, with the armies of heaven
+following Him on white horses. And will the devil be idle when he knows
+that his time is but short? Will he fail to send the strong delusion to
+blind men’s eyes, and make them ready to hail the Man of Sin when he
+shall arise? Men have thought that they saw him in the great conqueror
+whose power was broken but a few short years ago; but there is another
+and a greater to arise than he, and the devil is working now in the
+hearts of men to prepare them for his coming.”
+
+Eustace regarded her with keen interest and curiosity as she spoke.
+Her face had kindled in a wonderful way. In the liquid depths of her
+eyes there were strange lights shining. That she saw before her as in
+a picture all that she spoke of he could not doubt, nor yet that she
+hoped herself to be numbered in the armies of the Lord of Hosts when He
+went forth conquering and to conquer. He had never before met mysticism
+carried to such a point, and it stirred his pulses with quick thrills
+of wonderment and curiosity.
+
+“But, Bride, I would understand more of this,” he said very gently, so
+as not to rouse her from her trance of feeling. “How do you know that
+the days of the end are approaching so near? Why should not the world
+be, as many believe her to be, still in her infancy?”
+
+“Because the voice of God has been awakened in the Church,” answered
+Bride, in a low tense tone. “Because God has at last answered the
+prayers of those who, ever since those awful days of the uprising in
+France, have been sending up supplications to His throne to send us
+light and help from above. He has answered. He has shown us through
+holy men, who have been, with fasting and prayer, making study of the
+prophetic books of Scripture, so long sealed to man, what all this
+stirring and uprising of the nations portends; and He has told us that
+this is the beginning of those judgments of God, which in the last
+days He will pour out upon the earth, when the apostasy of the world
+and of the Church shall be avenged, and the Lord will purify the earth
+before He comes to reign there. We know, because the voice of the
+Lord has spoken it. But the world will not hear His voice. The world
+will not listen; and the devil, for fear lest it should, sends false
+voices--messages from the dead--teaches men to inquire of spirits that
+peep and mutter, instead of inquiring to the living God; and so we see
+an awakening of the spirits of evil as well as of those of good; and so
+it will go on, each party growing stronger and stronger; though that
+of the evil one will have the seeming mastery, till the final struggle
+shall be consummated, and the enemies of God overthrown for ever.”
+
+Eustace was saved the perplexity of trying to find an answer by the
+sudden approach of Mr. St. Aubyn (whose old-fashioned rectory house
+they were now passing) just as he turned out of his gate in the
+direction of the church. He greeted Bride and her companion cordially,
+made them promise to come to his house at the conclusion of the service
+and refresh themselves before their walk home, and then had them
+ushered into the rectory pew, which was always empty at this time of
+year, for his wife was a great invalid, and could only get out of doors
+in the most genial season of the year.
+
+The little church of St. Erme was very antiquated, and interesting
+to archæologists; but under Mr. St. Aubyn’s care it had lost the air
+of neglect and desolation which was so common in rural churches. The
+congregation was good for the size of the place, and the service was
+reverently and intelligently conducted. The sermon was very simple,
+in accordance with the needs of the flock; but there was a vein of
+spirituality and piety running through it that struck Eustace as being
+unusual and original, and kept alive his interest in the views of
+“pietists,” as he classified them in his mind. He had been taught to
+regard every form of belief or unbelief as a portion of a classified
+system of speculation or philosophy; and he was glad to think he might
+have an opportunity of some conversation with Mr. St. Aubyn after the
+service, as he had struck him on other occasions when they had met as
+being a man of intellect and wide reading.
+
+The Rector himself escorted the guests to his house, and Bride
+went upstairs to see the invalid, who reminded her a little of her
+own mother, and whose presence always acted on her soothingly and
+gratefully.
+
+She felt refreshed by the hour spent in that quiet room, refreshed in
+body and mind. She had had food given her to eat; and communion of
+thought with one who sympathised with her, even where their opinions
+might not be altogether in accord, was more to her in those days than
+any bodily sustenance could be. Since her mother’s death Bride had been
+shut up entirely within herself, and it is not good for such an ardent
+soul as hers to be deprived of the natural outlet of speech with her
+fellow-man.
+
+When the girl went downstairs again, she found the two men deep in
+talk, and sat quietly down in a shadowy corner to wait till they had
+finished. Mr. St. Aubyn observed her entrance, though Eustace, whose
+back was towards her, did not. The two were keenly interested in their
+discourse, and continued it with animation. Bride soon began to pick
+up the drift of it, and listened with wonder and amaze, a sense of
+indignation and sadness inextricably mixed together falling upon her as
+she realised what it all meant.
+
+The two scholars were discussing the various phases of German
+rationalism which had arisen close on the heels of French and
+English deism; and from the tone taken by Eustace it was abundantly
+evident that he was deeply bitten by the philosophy of Wolff, by the
+destructive rationalism of Semler and Bretschneider, and the subjective
+philosophy of Kant and his followers, who evolve all things in heaven
+and earth from their own consciousness of them, on the principle that
+“cogito, ergo sum.”
+
+He had been educated at Jena and Weimar, where this school of
+philosophy had its headquarters; and he was deeply impregnated with
+the teaching of those who had followed upon the first bold propounders
+of its doctrines. The names of Descartes and Locke, Spinoza and Fichte,
+fell glibly from his tongue, as he ran through in a masterly way
+the methods of these great thinkers of the different centuries, and
+strove to show how, one after another, each in a different way had
+struggled to show a blinded world that there could be no religion that
+did not appeal to the reason; that the allegorical and the dogmatic
+methods of interpreting Scripture had been tried in the balances
+and found wanting, and that only the historic--the true rational
+interpretation--could be found lasting with thinking men.
+
+It was with a smile, and with great courtesy and patience, that Mr. St.
+Aubyn listened to the clear and terse arguments of his intellectual
+guest; and then he asked him what he thought of the Berlin school of
+thought, which had trodden quickly upon the heels of the one he had
+been ardently advocating--asked him what had been the teaching of
+Schleiermacher and Neander and De Wette, and whether they had been able
+(whilst giving all due weight to the value of reason) to remain where
+the destructive rationalist thinkers had left them. Already they had
+begun to strive to reconstruct a living and personal Christ out of the
+ruins of the historic method, which would have robbed Him of all but a
+shadowy existence as a misguided though well-meaning fanatic, deceiving
+and deceived. How was it men could never rest without some theory of
+a Divine personality, call it by what name they would? Was it not the
+most rational deduction to admit that the reason for this inherent
+longing (which none of the world’s greatest thinkers had ever attempted
+to deny) was that the subjective philosophy never can content the
+heart of man; that man _must_ have an object of worship, an external
+standard, a living Head, and not an abstraction, simply because there
+_is_ a living God, who created him in His own image; because he _has_
+been redeemed by a living and incarnate Saviour, and because the Spirit
+of the Eternal God the Father and the Son is for ever working in his
+heart, and seeking to bring it back to uniformity with the heart of
+Christ, overflowing with love towards God and towards man?
+
+That, in brief, was the argument on both sides, only argued out at
+length with skill and knowledge and versatility of thought by each
+combatant. Bride, in her dim corner, sat and listened, and sometimes
+shivered in horror, sometimes glowed with an ecstatic rapture, but
+always listened with undivided attention, for these matters were not
+to her the dry arguments of philosophers merely, but indications of
+the spirit of perversity and blindness at work in the world in the
+latter days--the spirit of the lawless one, coming in every insidious
+form; first under the guise of liberality of thought and intellect,
+then teaching men to throw off from them all the fetters imposed by the
+precepts of Christ, all the external authority of the Church; paving
+the way for that other rising against kings and rulers and external
+authority of any kind whatsoever which she had been warned was one
+of the signs of the latter days, when the voice of the people should
+prevail once again, and they should give the power to him who should
+come “in his own name.”
+
+But the discussion ended at last as all such do, each man thinking as
+he did before, though glad of the opportunity of exchanging ideas with
+a scholar and person of intellectual acumen.
+
+“We can at least agree to differ,” said Mr. St. Aubyn, as he shook
+hands warmly. “We can be friends, even though we have our private
+thoughts about each other’s folly. You are young yet. You have
+your tilt with the world before you. It is natural to your age and
+temperament to take nothing on trust, to examine all for yourself.
+Perhaps in the days to come you may learn the lesson which other
+philosophers of your own school have done--that there is no living on
+systems and philosophies--that the hungry human heart of man must have
+more to feed on than husks. Well, there is the Bread of Life waiting
+for you when you are willing to receive it. I think the day will come
+when you will take it at the hands of the all-forgiving and all-loving
+Father.”
+
+Eustace smiled, and pressed the hand he held. He was no bigot, and he
+had a vein of poetical imagination within him to which these words
+appealed. Besides, Bride was standing by, and he would not willingly
+have pained her. He did not know how much she had heard of the previous
+discussion, nor how much she would have understood if she had heard. He
+said his adieus cordially, hoped he and Mr. St. Aubyn would often meet,
+and gave his arm to his cousin to escort her home again.
+
+He was sufficiently thoughtful himself that his silence did not strike
+him till they had walked some way; but when he did strive to speak
+on subjects which generally commanded her interest, he found her
+absolutely unresponsive.
+
+He looked at her, and saw that her face was cold and tranquil in its
+statuesque beauty. The light which so often beamed in her eyes was
+extinguished now. She was very pale, and moved mechanically, and as
+though with something of an effort. He asked her if she were tired, but
+received a monosyllabic negative; and then he made one more effort to
+interest her by a theme which had never failed heretofore.
+
+The ignorance of the peasantry was with her, as with him, a source
+of pain and dissatisfaction. She and her mother had been planning,
+before the death of the latter, how some small beginning might be
+made to get the children taught just such rudiments of knowledge as
+should raise them above the level of the beasts they tended. Hardly a
+single labourer or respectable working man in country districts could
+either read or write. Sometimes a substantial farmer could do no more
+than set his name to a bill; and clever lads, who might have raised
+themselves in the world, were kept down and hampered all their lives by
+the inability to master the rudiments of education. Bride’s grief was
+that none of the villagers and fisher-folks could read the Bible--that
+it must remain to them a sealed book, save when others expounded it to
+them. Eustace’s objection to ignorance was very differently grounded;
+but hitherto the subject had been one of common interest, and when
+together they had taken pleasure in discussing Bride’s favourite plan
+of erecting a small school in memory of her mother, where such men,
+women, and children as could find time and had the desire to learn
+might be taught by a qualified person, and gradually win for the
+place a higher standard of life and faith than was to be found in the
+surrounding villages.
+
+But even this subject to-day did not rouse in the girl any spark of her
+wonted interest. She looked at him with steadfast sadness, as he spoke
+of what he meant to try to do in this matter in other places (he did
+not, from motives of delicacy, identify himself too much with St. Bride
+in talking to his cousin), and said very gently, but with a severity
+which was not altogether without intention--
+
+“I am not sure that the people will not be better as they are, Eustace,
+than taught as you will be likely to teach them.”
+
+The young man flushed quickly. Philosopher though he was, he was human,
+and this was a taunt he hardly cared to let pass.
+
+“Do you mean to say that you think I should do them harm and not good
+by helping them out of their mists of darkness?” he asked, with slight
+incisiveness of manner.
+
+“Do you think you _would_ be helping them out of the mists of
+darkness?” asked the girl, suddenly turning her eyes upon him, with a
+look he could not fathom.
+
+“Certainly,” he answered quickly, and without hesitation.
+
+Her face was turned away then. He only saw the pale pure profile
+outlined against the sky.
+
+“I am afraid not,” she answered, in a quiet serious way, that indicated
+sadness if not depression; “there are worse forms of darkness than
+intellectual darkness.”
+
+“Do you think so?” he answered, in a tone that implied absolute
+disagreement.
+
+“I know it,” she answered, without the smallest hesitation.
+“Intellectual darkness is sad, carried to the extent we see it here.
+But spiritual darkness is a thousand times sadder, and, oh! how much
+more difficult to enlighten!”
+
+He said nothing. “Why try to argue with a fanatic?” he thought, and
+they took their homeward way in silence.
+
+Bride left him at the castle door and went quietly up to her room.
+Eustace stood looking after her.
+
+“You are very beautiful, my cousin,” he said to himself, “and you
+fascinate me as no woman has fascinated me yet; but you are a mystic
+and a fanatic both--and both these are beings inexplicable to me--and
+yet I shall try to find you out, and teach you that there are nobler
+things a woman can be than you have dreamed of as yet.”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+_THE GOSPEL OF DISCONTENT_
+
+
+Saul Tresithny was in a restless and disturbed frame of mind just now.
+He did not himself know what was creeping over him, but he had been for
+some time now experiencing a change of feeling,--a sense of weariness
+and disgust with his daily toil, with the people about him, with the
+world in general, that he had never felt before, and which perplexed
+him not a little.
+
+A few weeks earlier, when this state had first assailed him, he
+believed it to be the outcome of his growing affection for Genefer, the
+farmer’s daughter, and thought, if he could but assure himself that his
+affection was returned, he should be himself once more; but in this
+conjecture he had not proved right. Genefer had admitted her preference
+for him; they held stolen interviews at all manner of times in and
+about the farm; she took care that his material comforts were greater
+than they had ever been before, and he could (if he chose) look forward
+to settling in life at no very distant date with a wife and home of his
+own. And yet he was not happy--he was more restless and discontented
+than ever in his life before.
+
+Was it the monotony of farm labour that was the cause of this? Of
+course Saul and those about him had long known that he could do much
+better for himself if he wished. His grandfather had always told him
+that there was a home open to him in his comfortable cottage if he
+ever chose to avail himself of it, and that a wife of his would be
+warmly welcomed to make the home bright and cheerful for them both.
+He knew that the Duke would at any time give him employment in his
+stables, for Saul had a knack with horses that was well known all
+through the neighbourhood, and often caused him to be summoned to look
+at some refractory animal, and assist in the task of breaking him.
+Mr. St. Aubyn had more than once offered him the post of “odd man” at
+the rectory, where his one servant kept the flower garden and looked
+after the one stout cob which the Rector rode on his parish rounds,
+and had a comfortable little cottage at the gates for his home. But
+for some unexplained reason Saul had always declined these chances of
+bettering himself, and remained obstinately at his ill-paid farm work,
+greatly to the satisfaction of the farmer, who had never had so good an
+all-round man before, and who always treated Saul with consideration
+and affability, recognising qualities in him that he would have been
+loth to part with.
+
+But perhaps no man of latent talent and energy is really content long
+together in a life that gives no scope for the exercise of his higher
+powers. Possibly it was merely this sense of constraint and uselessness
+which was at the bottom of Saul’s inexplicable and little understood
+depression. However that maybe, he had certainly taken to a mood
+of sullen brooding, which could hardly be dignified by the name of
+thought. He avoided his grandfather’s cottage on Sunday, preferring to
+work off his oppression by taking long walks across the cliffs; often
+finding himself in the little town of Pentreath before he was ready for
+a halt; and it was in this place that he first began to know and hear
+something of the questions of the day that were stirring in the great
+world around his humble home.
+
+Newspapers never found their way to St. Bride’s, save to the castle;
+but Saul had formed the acquaintance of a cobbler in Pentreath, who
+was an ardent politician in his own way, and, with the natural and
+unexplained bias of his class, was a red-hot Radical to boot, and loved
+nothing so well as to inveigh with untrained and perfervid eloquence
+against the evils of the day--the oppression and misery of the poor,
+the tyranny and licentiousness, the cruelty and selfishness, of the
+rich. He prognosticated a day when there should be a general upheaval
+and turning of the tables, when every man should have his “rights,” and
+the tyrants of the earth should quake and tremble before their outraged
+slaves, as had been the case in France but a generation ago--the
+fearful story of which was well known to him, and over which he gloated
+with eager delight, even in its most ghastly details.
+
+With this man we have no concern in these pages. He was one of that
+class of demagogues and agitators which was arising in England, and has
+flourished there to a greater or less extent ever since. Hundreds and
+thousands of these men were too obscure and too ignorant ever to make a
+name in the world, but they acted on the ignorant people about them as
+the leaven in the pan, and did much to bring about the state of general
+discontent and revolt which preceded the era of reform.
+
+All through the month of January, when Saul would not spend his Sundays
+at the farm, on account of the visits of young Farmer Hewett, who was
+his especial aversion, he walked over to Pentreath and passed several
+hours with the cobbler, whose acquaintance he had made some time
+previously. At first the man’s talk had small interest for him, but he
+had a natural thirst for information; and great enthusiasm is like to
+kindle sparks in the minds of others, even when at first there seems
+small sympathy between them. Almost in spite of himself, Saul began
+to feel interested in the monologues and diatribes of the bright-eyed
+little artisan, and whether or no he agreed in his conclusions, he did
+come to have some notion of the state of the country at this time, the
+abuses which reigned there in many quarters, and the general sense
+amongst the people that something had got to be done to remedy this
+state of affairs--or they would know the reason why!
+
+Thus it came about that when Saul first came into contact with Eustace
+Marchmont, he was not in that state of blank ignorance which was the
+usual attribute of the rustic of those parts, but had been instructed,
+although in a one-sided and imperfect way, upon the grievances of his
+class, and had, at least, been aroused to a sense that the world was
+all wrong, whether or not he was to have a hand in the setting of it to
+rights.
+
+Eustace had seen Saul once or twice before he attempted to speak with
+him. His fine presence always attracted attention, and in his case the
+strong likeness to Abner gave him another mark of interest for those
+who knew the elder man. Eustace would have tried to get speech with him
+before, being impressed by the intelligence and character of the face,
+but had been somewhat deterred from the fact that he heard Abner had
+had the bringing up of the boy, and if so, he felt he might not find
+there the sort of soil he wanted. He liked a talk with the gardener
+at any time he could get him to engage in conversation, but the two
+never agreed in their conclusions. Both fully admitted the evils of
+the day and the need for reformation, but how that reformation was to
+be effected they never could agree; and although they parted friends,
+and had a warm esteem one for the other, Eustace secretly wished that
+Tresithny either knew a little more or a little less, and that his
+uncle did not possess a servant of such strong and peculiar views, and
+with so much influence in the place.
+
+If Saul should prove to be a disciple of his grandfather’s, Eustace
+felt that it would be time wasted to seek to win him to his own view of
+the situation; whilst, on the other hand, if he could gain the young
+man as a convert to the new gospel, such a recruit would be a great
+power in his hand; for no one could look into Saul’s dark handsome
+face, and note the development of brow and head, without being certain
+that he possessed intelligence beyond the wont of his fellows, and
+force of character, which went farther in such a cause than keenness of
+wits.
+
+But though Eustace often tried to get speech with the young man in a
+casual and incidental way, he never succeeded in doing so. He went to
+the farm from time to time and made himself pleasant to the farmer and
+his family. He walked about the place, and chatted as occasion served
+with the broad-faced, soft-spoken labourers, who grinned at any small
+sally he might make, and looked bland, though deferential, if he spoke
+of matters beyond their ken, as he had a way of doing tentatively,
+although with an object in view. He began to be talked of as a man with
+something in his head that was quite unfathomable. All agreed that he
+was an affable young gentleman, and well-spoken and friendly; but the
+rustics were shy of him nevertheless, and his chief friends were made
+amongst the bold and lawless fisher and smuggling folks down in the
+cluster of hovels beneath the shelter of the cliff. They were more or
+less at war with the law as it was--at least with the excise laws,
+which were the only ones about which they knew or cared a halfpenny;
+and it was easy to convince them that there was something rotten in
+the present system of administering the law generally, and that the
+people must combine to insist on a reformation. But even whilst
+winning grunts and snorts of approval from these rough fellows, Eustace
+felt that his mind and theirs were really poles asunder, and that the
+lawlessness they looked upon as the embodiment of welfare and happiness
+was an altogether different thing from that beautiful justice, law,
+and order which he strove to believe was to come into the world when
+his doctrines had leavened and fermented and taken shape. Sometimes he
+was almost disheartened with his want of success, wondering whether
+this doctrine of discontent were a wise one to instil into the minds of
+these wild, fierce fisher-folk. Some of the conclusions they drew from
+his teaching startled him not a little, as when one of them remarked
+that, since the great folks were so tyrannical and wicked and selfish,
+it would be no more that right and a just judgment to lure them to
+their death by false lights some stormy night, that their goods might
+fall a prey to the suffering poor; and this savage suggestion was
+hailed with such enthusiasm that Eustace was sternly horrified, and
+spoke with terse eloquence against any such wickedness, only to find,
+as other teachers and orators have found before him, that though it
+was easy to convince men of the truth of a doctrine towards which they
+were predisposed, it was altogether another matter to hinder them from
+deductions altogether false, and foreign to the matter in hand, when
+these also were to their liking; and that they were far less patient in
+listening to words that opposed these deductions than they had been to
+those which suggested them.
+
+It was after some such experiences as these that Eustace had left the
+fishermen and striven to win the friendship of the rustics, but had
+been met by the placid stolidity and uncomprehending ignorance which
+seemed to form almost as absolute a barrier between them as the lack
+of reason and speech in brute beasts. Indeed, they and their sheep and
+oxen seemed to understand each other better than he and the labouring
+men upon the land. It was discouraging and uphill work from first to
+last; and the one man whom he really desired to gain, and felt certain
+possessed the stamp of mind and the intelligence he longed to meet,
+avoided him with a persistence which led him to the conclusion at last
+that Tresithny had warned his grandson to have no dealings with the
+gentleman from the castle.
+
+But accident led at last to a meeting, and from that meeting dated the
+train of circumstances which led to a strange but lasting friendship
+between the two men whose walks in life lay so widely apart.
+
+Eustace was out upon the downs riding a mettlesome young horse from the
+Duke’s stable. He was a fearless horseman, but not an experienced one.
+During the years he had spent in travel and in Germany, horse exercise
+had not come much in his way, save as a means of locomotion, and then
+the animals ridden had not been of a fiery kind. He had a firm seat and
+a steady hand, but he was by no means familiar with the tricks of a
+flighty young mare, when the spring of the year sets the hot blood of
+all young things stirring joyously in their veins, and incites them to
+all sorts of vagaries and extravagant gambols. Eustace was possessed
+with the master-mind that must always gain the upper hand of any
+creature under his control; and perhaps he was a thought too stern in
+his desire after discipline; for in lieu of indulging the wild spirits
+of his steed with a healthy gallop over the short elastic turf, which
+might soon have reduced her to quietness and submission, he held her
+with a strong firm hand, resolved that he and he alone would decide
+the time when her limbs should be allowed to stretch themselves as
+they longed to do;--with the effect that the beautiful, high-spirited
+creature, fretted beyond the limits of endurance, commenced to
+buck-jump with such alarming persistence and velocity, that Eustace
+was at last unseated, and measured his length ignominiously upon the
+short turf, whilst his horse, tossing her dainty head with a gesture
+of visible triumph, set off at a mad gallop straight across the green
+down, which she hardly seemed to touch with her feet.
+
+Eustace was not hurt. He had kicked his feet free of the stirrups
+before he slipped off, and the ground was soft. The mare had avoided
+touching him with her feet as she sped off, and, save for the
+humiliation of the fall, and the fear lest the horse should be hurt,
+Eustace cared little for the accident. He could no longer see the
+flying steed. The ridge of swelling down hid her from him; but he
+picked himself up and wondered what he should do next, and whether the
+creature would find her way home or should be pursued, for she had not
+headed for her stable, but had gone tearing away over the green turf
+in a diagonal direction. Brushing the traces of his accident from his
+clothes, Eustace slowly mounted the low ridge, and then to his relief
+saw a horseman cantering towards him up the opposite side. A second
+glance told him that the horseman was none other than Saul Tresithny,
+and that he was mounted upon the runaway mare, whom he had evidently
+captured before she had had time to do herself a mischief.
+
+Two minutes later Saul had come to a standstill beside him, and was on
+his own feet in a twinkling.
+
+“I hope you are not hurt, sir,” he said shortly.
+
+“Not at all, thank you--only humiliated. I did not mean to let her have
+her own way, but she took it in spite of me. How did you manage to
+catch her? And how come you to be so good a rider? You manage her far
+better than I do.”
+
+“I broke her in, you see, sir,” answered Saul, who was stroking the
+glossy foam-flecked neck of the beautiful creature, whilst she dropped
+her nose into his palm, and was evincing every sign of satisfaction in
+the meeting. “His Grace bought her from Farmer Teazel. She was bred
+on these downs, and I had the breaking of her. She’ll make a capital
+hunter one of these days; but it’s not every rider she’ll let mount
+her, nor yet keep mounted when once they’ve been on her back. She’ll
+give you some trouble, I expect, sir, the next time you try to ride
+her. But Lady Bride can guide her with a silken thread. She took to her
+ladyship from the first moment she mounted her.”
+
+“And she seems to take to you too. I think your name is Tresithny,
+isn’t it? You are grandson to the gardener at the castle?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” answered Saul, and said no more, holding the stirrup for
+Eustace to mount, but without anything the least servile or obsequious
+in his attitude. The young man noted also in his speech the absence
+of the vernacular peculiarities that characterised all the ordinary
+rustics of the place. Saul’s voice was soft, and his speech had an
+intonation that bespoke him a native of these parts, but that was all.
+Just as it was with the grandfather, so it was with the grandson: they
+could put off the dialect when they chose, and use it when they chose.
+Abner had early taught his young charge the same purity of diction as
+he had acquired himself, and in speaking to his superiors Saul adopted
+it naturally.
+
+“I don’t think I’ll ride again just yet, thanks,” said Eustace, with
+his frank and pleasant smile. “If you don’t object, I’ll walk your way,
+Tresithny. I’ve often wanted to talk with you, but I’ve never had the
+opportunity before.”
+
+Saul’s face was not responsive; but he was too well trained to refuse
+to lead the horse for the gentleman when asked, and after all it was
+not so very far back to his work, where he must of necessity shake off
+this undesirable companion.
+
+“I want to speak to you, Tresithny, about the cause which (in addition
+to the death of the Duchess) brought me just now into these parts. You
+know of course that, in the natural order of things, I shall one day be
+master here. It is not a position I covet. I hold that there is great
+injustice in making one man ruler and owner of half a county perhaps,
+and of huge revenues, holding vast powers in his hand whether he be
+capable or not of ruling wisely and well--simply from an accident of
+birth, whilst hundreds and thousands of his fellow-men are plunged in
+untold misery, and vice that is the outcome of that undeserved misery.
+I believe myself that the whole system of the country is rotten and
+corrupt, and that the day has come when a new and better era will dawn
+upon the world. But meantime, in the present, I have to look forward to
+succeeding his Grace, and I am naturally very greatly interested in the
+people of this place, and intensely anxious to see them elevated and
+ennobled.”
+
+Saul suddenly looked at the young man as he had never looked at him
+before, and said between his teeth--
+
+“That’s a strange thing for _you_ to say, sir.”
+
+“Why strange?” asked Eustace, half guessing the answer,
+
+“Because, sir, if once the people begin to think for themselves, to see
+for themselves, and to understand the meaning of things around them,
+they soon won’t stand what they see--won’t stand that one set of men in
+the country should have everything, and roll in wealth and wallow in
+luxury, whilst they can’t get bread to put in their children’s mouths.
+They’ll think it’s time their turn came--as they did in France, I’ve
+heard, not so very long ago, and that’ll be a bad day for you and for
+all those like you.”
+
+“Yes,” answered Eustace, with emphasis, “such a bad day for us, and (if
+_that_ form of revolution were repeated) such a bad day for England
+too--ay, and for you, Tresithny, and your class--that we men who
+recognise and deplore the injustice and tyranny of the present system
+are resolved to try and prevent it by making the people’s cause ours,
+and ridding them of their grievous wrongs before they shall have been
+goaded to madness and rise in ignorant savagery, and become butchers
+and not reformers. The French Revolution turned France into a veritable
+hell upon earth. What we are striving to accomplish is to bring a day
+of peace and plenty, and justice and happiness upon England, without
+the shedding of one drop of blood, without any but gentle measures, and
+the increase of confidence and goodwill between class and class.”
+
+“And do you think you are going to do it?” asked Saul, with a grim look
+about his mouth, which Eustace did not altogether understand.
+
+“I think so--I trust so. Earnest and devoted men of every class are
+banded together with that object. But, Tresithny, we want the help of
+the people. We want the help of such as you. What is the use of our
+striving to give their rights to the people if they remain in stolid
+apathy and do not ask for them? We must awaken and arouse them; we must
+teach them discontent with their present state of misery and ignorance,
+and then open the way for them to escape from it. Do you understand
+at all what I mean? We must awaken and arouse them. They are--in this
+part of the world, at least--like men sleeping an unnatural drugged
+sleep. The poison of ignorance and apathy is like opium in its effects
+upon their spirits. We must awaken and arouse them before there is hope
+for cure. Tresithny, we want men of intelligence like you to help in
+this work. You know their ways and their thoughts. You can appeal to
+their slumbering senses far better than we can do. We want to interest
+those who live with them and amongst them, and whose language they
+understand as they cannot understand ours. There is a great work to be
+accomplished by such as you, Tresithny, if you will but join the good
+cause.”
+
+Saul was roused by a style of talk for which much of his recent
+brooding had prepared the way, and made a reply which showed Eustace
+that here at least there was no impassable barrier of ignorance or
+apathy to be overcome. In ten minutes’ time the men were in earnest
+talk, Eustace giving his companion a masterly summary of the state of
+parties and the feeling of the day (vastly different from anything he
+had heard before, and before which his mental horizon seemed to widen
+momentarily), and he joining in with question and retort so apt and
+pointed, that Eustace was more and more delighted with his recruit, and
+felt that to gain such a man as Saul Tresithny to his side would be
+half the battle in St. Bride’s.
+
+But even here he could not achieve quite the success he coveted. He
+could implant the gospel of discontent easily enough--the soil was just
+of the kind in which the plant would take ready root; but with that
+other side of the doctrine--that endeavour to make men distinguish
+between the abuses, and the men who had hitherto appeared to profit by
+them--ay, there was the rub!
+
+“You speak, sir, sometimes of doing all this without making the people
+hate their tyrants and their oppressors; but that isn’t human nature.
+If they’ve a battle to fight against those that hold the power now, and
+if they are stirred up to fight it, they will hate them with a deadly
+hatred; and even when the victory is ours, as you say it will and must
+be one day, the hatred will go on and on. It’s in our blood, and it’ll
+be there till the world’s end. We may forget it whilst we’re sleeping;
+but once you and the like of you wake us up, it won’t sleep again in a
+hurry; no, and it shall not either!” And the young man raised his arm
+and shook his fist in the air with a wild gesture, as though hurling
+defiance at the whole world.
+
+“Ah! Tresithny, that is a natural feeling at the outset; and although
+we regret it, we cannot wonder at it, nor try to put it down with too
+strong a hand. But it is not the right feeling--and the right one will
+prevail at last, as I fully hope and trust. When we are boys at school
+and under restraint, against which we kick and fret, we look upon our
+masters as natural enemies; yet as we grow to manhood and meet them
+again, they become valued friends, and we laugh together over former
+animosities. And so it will be when the great work of reform is carried
+out in the generous spirit that we strive to instil; and you amongst
+others will be the first to hold out the hand of fellowship to all men,
+when wrongs have been righted, and society has come forth purified and
+ennobled by the struggle.”
+
+“Never!” cried Saul, with a look of such concentrated hatred that
+Eustace was startled. “You may talk till you are black in the face,
+sir, but you’ll never talk out the hatred that is inborn between class
+and class. I know what that is. I am a man of the people, and for the
+rights of the people I am ready to live and to die. But I HATE THE RACE
+OF TYRANTS AND OPPRESSORS. I hate, and shall always hate and loathe
+them. Do not talk to me of goodwill and friendship. I will have none
+of it. I would set up a gallows over yonder, if I had my way, and hang
+every noble of the land upon it--as the French set up their guillotine,
+and set the heads of the king and queen and nobles of the land rolling
+from it!”
+
+This was not by any means the spirit Eustace had desired to kindle in
+his disciple; but, after all, might not such sentiments be but the
+natural ebullition of enthusiasm in one who was young, untrained, and
+ardent? Certainly it was preferable in his eyes to apathy, and he was
+not disposed to strain the relations newly set up between them by
+opposing such sanguinary statements.
+
+“The wrongs of humanity do indeed set up a strong sense of righteous
+indignation,” he said quietly; “but, believe me, the fierce and
+sanguinary revolutions of history have not had half the lasting effects
+of the bloodless ones accomplished by nations within themselves, by
+the accord of all classes concerned. That is what we are now bent upon
+striving to accomplish. We want your help, Tresithny, but not all the
+bloodthirsty eagerness you are disposed to give us. You must temper
+your zeal with discretion. Have you any personal cause to hate the
+so-called upper classes as you do?”
+
+The young man’s face was so dark and stern that Eustace almost repented
+of his question.
+
+“Have I?--have I? Have I not, indeed! The upper classes! Ay, indeed,
+they are well called! Oh, can I but help to hurl them down to the dust,
+my life will not have been lived for nothing!”
+
+Eustace looked earnestly at him.
+
+“Can you not tell me what you mean, Tresithny? Believe me, I would be
+your friend, if you would permit it. I have seen no one since I came
+here in whom I take so warm an interest.”
+
+There was this about Eustace that always made him popular wherever he
+went, and that was his perfect sincerity. When he spoke words like
+these, it was obvious that he meant them, and those whom he addressed
+felt this by instinct. Saul did so, and the fierce darkness died out
+of his face. He turned and looked into Eustace’s eyes, and Eustace
+returned the glance steadily, holding out his hand as he did so.
+
+“I mean what I say, Tresithny,” he said, with a smile. “If you will
+have me for a friend, I will be worthy of your confidence.”
+
+And then Saul, by a sudden impulse, put his hand into that of the Duke
+of Penarvon’s heir, and the compact was sealed.
+
+“I will tell you my story, or rather my mother’s story,” he said,
+after a few moments of silence, “and then perhaps you will understand
+what I have said. It is common enough--too common, perhaps, to
+interest you; but to me it can never become common. My grandfather was
+gardener to the Duke. He had a loving wife, and one daughter, whom
+they both loved as the apple of their eye. When she was old enough to
+do something for herself, she was taken into the castle and rose to be
+second maid to her Grace, who was always very kind to her attendants,
+and took pains that the girl should be taught many things that would
+be of value to her as she grew up in life. There was plenty of fine
+company at the castle then: it was before Lady Bride was born, and her
+Grace’s health gave way. Of course I cannot tell what went on; but a
+day came when my mother disappeared from St. Bride, and none knew where
+she had gone. It killed her mother, for there was no manner of doubt
+but that she had been persuaded to go with or after one of the fine
+gentlemen who had been visiting there.”
+
+“Or one of their servants,” suggested Eustace, very quietly.
+
+For a moment Saul paused, as though such an idea had never entered his
+head before, as indeed it never had done. He had heard very little of
+his young mother’s mournful tale, but he had always believed that she
+left her parents for the protection of one of the Duke’s fine popinjay
+friends.
+
+“I don’t know,” he answered sullenly, “but they all said it was a
+certain gentleman. She broke her father’s heart, and killed her mother,
+and came back at the end of a year to die herself. She could never tell
+her story--or would not--whether or not she had been betrayed. That
+we shall never know; but she left me behind her to my grandfather’s
+care, and I have grown up knowing all. I never would enter the castle
+as servant. I never would, and I never will. I will carry my enmity to
+your class, sir, to my life’s end, and I will fight against it with
+might and main, and with all the powers that I have. I have taken your
+hand in friendship, because I see you mean well by us, and because I
+cannot help it; but I will never do so a second time. I will not make a
+second friend of one above me in rank. I will keep the right to fight
+against them and to hate--_hate_--HATE them--and not all your honeyed
+pleadings can change that. Now I have told you all, and you can choose
+whether you will have me or not; for it will be war to the death when I
+fight, and you may as well know it first as last!”
+
+Eustace smiled at the vehemence of his disciple as he said quietly--
+
+“We will have you, Saul, hatred and all. You are too useful a tool to
+be spared because your edge is over sharp.”
+
+And thus the compact was sealed between them.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+_THE KINDLED SPARK_
+
+
+“I don’t approve of it,” said the Duke, bringing his hand down upon
+the table with an emphasis that made all the glasses on it ring. “You
+may talk as you will, Eustace; you may mix argument with sophistry as
+much as you like, but you’ll never make black white by all the rhetoric
+of the world. I don’t like it. I don’t like the whole movement, and I
+don’t believe that good will ever come of it; but leaving alone that
+point, on which we shall never agree, I hold that your methods are
+vile and hateful. You are setting class against class; you are rousing
+ill-will and stirring up hatred and enmity; you are teaching men to be
+discontented with their position in life----”
+
+“Yes, sir, I know I am, because they _ought_ to be discontented with
+degradation, ignorance, and hopeless misery. There is no reason why it
+should continue and increase as it does. We want them to be disgusted
+and discontented with it. Would there ever have been any civilisation
+and culture in the world had men always been contented to remain
+exactly in the position in which they were born?”
+
+“Don’t talk your stump-orator nonsense to me,” said the old Duke
+sternly. “Confusion of terms does all very well to blind and deceive
+an ignorant mob; but keep it for them, and don’t try to advance
+your flimsy arguments by using it to men who can think and reason.
+The gradual growth of science and art and learning--the building on
+and on from an original foundation as the mental horizon extends--is
+generically different from the aimless discontent and selfish desire
+to rob and plunder, which is the outcome of the vaunted discontent you
+wish to inspire in the breasts of the people; and you know it as well
+as I do. You may keep _that_ sort of talk for those who cannot see
+through it, and answer the fool according to his folly. But when you
+have men to deal with, and not ignorant children, you must think of
+sounder arguments if you desire to be listened to patiently.”
+
+Eustace flushed rather hotly at the taunt, which was hardly deserved
+in his case, although he was aware that his cause--like too many
+others--was promoted by means of arguments which could be torn to
+shreds by any shrewd thinker. But for all that, he had a profound
+belief in the gospel of discontent as the most powerful factor in the
+world’s history, and he used it with a genuine belief in it, not with
+the desire to promote confusion in the minds of his hearers. But he did
+not reply to his kinsman’s sharp retort, and after a brief pause the
+Duke recommenced his former diatribe.
+
+“I have been patient with you, Eustace. I recognise fully your position
+here, and that you have a certain latitude with regard to the people
+which would be accorded to no one else; but----”
+
+“Indeed, uncle, I hope you do not think I have presumed upon that,”
+cried Eustace, with almost boyish eagerness, and a sidelong look
+at Bride, who was leaning back in her chair, a silent but watchful
+spectator of the little drama, and a keenly interested listener to the
+frequent arguments and dialogues which passed after dinner between her
+father and her cousin. It had become a regular custom with them to
+discuss the questions of the day during the hour they passed at the
+exit of the servants and the advent of dessert. Neither of them were
+drinkers of wine, but both were accomplished talkers; and Bride, though
+seldom speaking, had come to take a keen interest in these discussions,
+which were adding to her store of facts, and admitting her to regions
+of debate which had hitherto been sealed to her. She was not ignorant
+of the events passing in the world. She had read the newspapers to her
+mother too regularly for that; but naturally she had not seen those
+organs of the press which advocated the new and more liberal ideas
+coming then into vogue; and many of her cousin’s harrowing pictures of
+the fearful miseries of certain classes of the community haunted her
+with terrible persistency, and awakened within her an impotent longing
+to be able to do something to rescue them from such degradation and
+misery.
+
+Her father, too, listened to Eustace with a moderation and patience
+which surprised her not a little, since up till the present time the
+very name of Radical filled him with disgust, and provoked him to an
+outbreak of scornful anger. If Eustace did not openly proclaim himself
+one of this party, he was advocating every principle of reform with
+all the ardour of one; and yet, until the present moment, the Duke
+had heard him expound his views, and had answered his arguments with
+considerable patience, and often with a certain amount of sympathy.
+To-day, however, the atmosphere was more stormy. Something had occurred
+to raise the displeasure of the old man, and soon it became apparent
+what the grievance was.
+
+“I do not accuse you of presuming upon that,” he said, still speaking
+sternly--“not intentionally, at any rate; but you do wrong in being led
+blindfold by your youthful and headstrong passions, and by teaching
+others to follow in your wake, without your substratum of sense and
+moderation. That young Tresithny has been openly teaching the people
+in St. Erme’s and St. Bride’s to set law and order at defiance, and
+if necessary to avenge their so-called ‘wrongs’ at the sword’s point.
+He is collecting a regular following in the place, and there will be
+mischief here before long if things go on at this rate. On inquiry I
+found, of course, that he has been seen frequently in conversation with
+you, Eustace. Of course the inference is plain. You are teaching him
+your views, and trying to make a demagogue and stump-orator of him,
+with apparently only too much success. And he is just the type of man
+to be most dangerous if he is once aroused, as you may find to your
+cost one of these days, Eustace.”
+
+“Most dangerous--or most useful--which is it?” questioned Eustace
+thoughtfully; yet, remembering some of the words and looks that had
+escaped Saul during their conversations, he could hardly have answered
+that question himself.
+
+“From whom have you heard this?” he asked. Eustace had himself been
+absent from the castle for a few days, spending his time in the
+neighbourhood, but not returning to his kinsman’s house to sleep. He
+had returned this day only, to find the Duke’s mood somewhat changed,
+and he began now to suspect the cause of this.
+
+“Mr. Tremodart is my informant,” answered the Duke briefly. “He will
+give you any information on the subject that you desire. I shall say
+no more. The subject is very distasteful and painful to me. I am well
+aware that I am growing old, and that the world is changing around
+me. I know perfectly that no power of mine will suffice to stem the
+current, and I shall therefore refrain from futile efforts. But none
+the less does it pain me that one bearing my name, and coming after me
+when I am gone, should be one of the foremost to stir up strife and set
+class against class, as you are doing, Eustace. And let me add just
+one more word of warning. It is an easy thing to set a stone rolling
+down a hill-side; but no man can foresee where it will stop when once
+in motion, and no human power can stop it when once the impetus is upon
+it. It will go hurtling down, carrying death and destruction with it;
+and those who have set it in motion can simply stand helplessly by,
+looking with dismay at the ruin they have provoked. Beware how you set
+in motion the forces of anarchy, Eustace, for Heaven alone knows what
+the end will be when that is done!” and the old man rose from his seat
+and walked from the room with a quiet and sorrowful dignity of aspect
+which struck and touched both his hearers. It was so unusual for him to
+break through the trifling ceremonial rules of life, that the very fact
+of his leaving the table before his daughter had risen showed that he
+must be greatly disturbed in mind. Bride looked after him with wistful
+eyes, and then suddenly turned upon Eustace with an imploring air,
+which was harder still to resist.
+
+“You will not go on grieving him, Eustace!” she pleaded; “you will give
+it up?”
+
+“Give what up, Bride?” he asked quietly.
+
+“The actions which grieve him, which stir up strife in our peaceful
+community, which rouse hatred and foment discontent. Ah! Eustace, if
+you would only give yourself to a nobler task, how much you might do
+for the cause of right!--whilst now you are, in the hope of doing good,
+fomenting the worst passions of the human heart, and leading men to
+break not only the laws of man, but those of God.”
+
+Perhaps never before had Eustace been so strongly tempted as at that
+moment to abandon the cause to which he was pledged. Through all the
+weeks he had spent beneath the roof of Castle Penarvon, he had been
+conscious of two strong influences working upon him--one the desire to
+enkindle in the minds of the ignorant rustics the spark of discontent
+and revolt against needless wrongs, which should result in reformed
+legislation, and the raising of the whole country; the other, the keen
+desire to win for his wife the beautiful and unapproachable girl he
+called cousin, and who every day exercised over him a stronger and
+stronger power. With him it had been a case of love almost at first
+sight. Eustace was one of those men who are always striving to attain
+and obtain the best and highest good which the world has to offer, not
+as a matter of preference only, but as a matter of principle. Hitherto
+he had never seen a woman who stirred his heart, for he had never
+seen one who in any way corresponded to the lofty ideals of womanhood
+which he had kept pure within him from boyhood. His whole mind and
+soul had been given to study, to learning, and to the attainment of
+those objects upon which, as his mind matured, his whole being became
+set. Woman as an individual had neither part nor lot in his life until
+he met his cousin Bride, and knew before he had been many days at
+Penarvon that in her he had found his ideal. That she was a mystic,
+that she held extraordinary and altogether impracticable views of
+life, and lived in a world of her own which could never be his, he was
+perfectly aware; but then he was also aware that the ideal woman of
+his dreams must likewise live a life apart, wrapped in her own pure
+imaginings and Divine ideals, until the power of love should awake
+within her another and a deeper life, and bring her to a knowledge of
+joys hitherto unknown. A sceptic himself, he was in nowise daunted to
+find that the woman of his choice was as devout, and almost as full of
+mystic fervour, as a mediæval nun. Somehow it all pieced in with his
+preconceived ideas of perfect womanhood, and he said within himself
+that this single-minded devotion and power to lead the higher life,
+when directed into other channels by the kindling touch of a great
+love, was exactly the force and power most needed for the work which
+must be that of his own life and of hers who became bone of his bone
+and flesh of his flesh.
+
+The cause was first with him, the woman second, when Bride was not
+present; but when confronted by her soft deep eyes, when beneath
+the spell of her thrilling voice and the magnetic attraction which,
+with absolute unconsciousness, she exercised upon him, he was often
+conscious that the cause was relegated to the second place, and that
+the desire to win this woman for his wife took the foremost position
+there. It was so just at this moment. The words spoken by the Duke
+had struck somewhat coldly upon him. They were the echo of a thought
+which sometimes obtruded itself unsuggested when he was in conversation
+with those very men of whom he hoped most in the forwarding of the
+cause--the thought that after all he and such as he were playing with
+edged tools, and were rather in the position of boys experimenting with
+explosives of unknown force. They might safely reckon that what they
+desired might be accomplished by their means, but were they equally
+certain that, whereas they only meant to break down and overthrow
+certain obstructions which were standing in the way of progress and
+a better order, the forces they had set in motion might not sweep
+over all appointed bounds and land them in a state of confusion and
+anarchy they never contemplated for a moment at the outset? This was,
+he knew, the cry of all supporters of the old order, the time-honoured
+cry against any sort of progress or reform. But might there not be
+perhaps some sound substratum of truth at the bottom?--and were he and
+his comrades wise to listen always with a smile of pity, and even of
+contempt, when that plea was brought forward?
+
+Just for a moment, under Bride’s pleading glances, under the impression
+produced by the Duke’s warning, Eustace was tempted to fling to the
+winds everything save his overmastering desire to call Bride his own,
+to win her love even at the sacrifice of his own career; but before
+the burning thoughts had been translated into words or had passed his
+lips, other and cooler considerations pushed themselves to the front,
+and he checked himself before attempting a reply. After that his words
+were chosen with care, and fell quietly and resolutely from his lips.
+
+“I would do much, very much, for you and for your father, Bride; but
+I cannot, even for you, be untrue to myself, and to the cause of
+suffering humanity. The woes of our brethren are crying aloud for
+redress. Christianity and humanity are alike disgraced by the scenes
+which are daily enacted in this Christian land. Believe me, Bride,
+you and I are nearer in heart than you are able yet to see. You have
+lived your life in this peaceful spot, and know little or nothing of
+the fearful abuses which stalk rampant through the land. Did you know
+what I know, had you seen what I have seen, you would know that I am
+embarked upon a righteous cause, and that the power you call God--which
+is in very truth the spirit of justice, mercy, and true and lasting
+peace--is with us. I do not deny that, in stirring up men’s hearts,
+even in a righteous cause, evil and selfish passions are too often
+inevitably stirred also. Human nature finds it all but impossible
+to hate the abuse without hating those who in their eyes at least
+are the living embodiment of that abuse. We have a twofold mission
+to execute--to rouse in men a hatred of evil and oppression, whilst
+at the same time striving to inculcate patience towards those who
+appear to them to be the incarnation of that evil. The one task is of
+course easier at the outset than the other; but we do not despair of
+accomplishing both. No reformation of abuses was ever yet made without
+the stirring up of evil passions--without many and great dangers and
+mistakes; yet the world has been better, and purer, and wiser for these
+same reforms, and so it will be again. Ah! Bride, my beautiful cousin,
+we want noble-hearted women to aid us in the task. If we men can rouse
+the slumbering to claim the rights of humanity for themselves, you
+women can pour oil on troubled waters, and instil gentle and tender
+feelings into rude hearts that we find it hard to subdue. If you would
+walk hand in hand with me in this thing, Bride, how much might not be
+accomplished for Penarvon and those poor benighted people in whom your
+own interest is so keen! Bride, will you not let it be so? Will you not
+help me? Will you not help a cause which is pledged to raise the people
+of this land from misery and degradation, and teach them that even for
+them there is a higher and a better life, if they will but strive and
+attain to it?”
+
+The girl’s eyes were fixed upon his face in one of her inscrutable
+gazes, in which she seemed to be looking him through and through, and
+reading his very soul, whilst hers was to him as a sealed book.
+
+“Ah! Eustace,” she said very softly, “would that you _were_ striving to
+teach to them the true meaning of the higher life. Then, indeed, would
+I most gladly, most willingly, follow where you lead; but, alas, alas!
+I fear me it is not so. Oh, my cousin, can you truly tell me that you
+yourself are striving after the higher life--the highest life--the life
+of the Kingdom--so that you can teach it to another?”
+
+He did not answer--for, indeed, he did not fully understand her;
+he only knew that in speaking of the higher life he and she meant
+something altogether different, although he still trusted that the
+difference was but superficial, and that deeper down lay an accord
+which would some day become patent to both. Meantime, with her eyes
+upon him, he knew not what to say; and Bride, with a look of sorrow and
+gentle compassion that went to his heart, rose and glided away, leaving
+him alone in the great dining-hall, with the flicker of many wax
+candles mingling with the fading light of the March evening.
+
+It was half-past six, and the light without, although fast dying, was
+not yet gone. Eustace felt it impossible after what had passed to join
+either the Duke in his study or Bride in the drawing-room; and taking
+his hat and putting on a thin overcoat, he sallied out from the castle,
+and after descending the road by the wide zigzag drive, he paused a
+moment at the lodge gate, and then turned off in the direction of the
+parsonage, where Mr. Tremodart lived alone in the solitude of childless
+widowhood.
+
+Eustace had been to that house before. He knew its disorderly and
+comfortless aspect, the long low rooms littered about with pipes and
+books and papers, fishing-tackle and riding-whips. He knew well the
+aspect of the tall gaunt parson, seated at some table with a pipe
+between his lips, and his long fingers busy over the manufacture of
+artificial flies. For Mr. Tremodart was a mighty fisherman, and there
+was excellent trout-fishing in the many streams that watered the plains
+above, and pike-fishing in the land-locked lakes high up in the moors.
+The season dear to the heart of anglers was coming on apace, and
+Eustace found the master of the ramshackle abode deep in the mysteries
+of his craft.
+
+Eustace had not pulled the cracked and broken bell. He knew that the
+deaf old crone who lived at the parsonage, and did as much or as little
+of the needful work there as her goodwill or rheumatism permitted,
+deeply resented a needless journey to the door, which always stood wide
+open from morning to night, save in the very bitterest weather. He
+walked straight in, and after glancing in at one or two open doors, was
+at length guided by a small stream of light beneath the one farthest
+down the passage, to that place where the parson was found at work. Mr.
+Tremodart had long since ceased to have a regular room in which either
+to sit or to eat. He would use one of the many apartments upon the
+ground-floor of his rambling parsonage for both purposes, until it grew
+too terribly dirty and untidy to be borne, and then he would move into
+another, gradually making the whole round. At the end of some three or
+four months he would turn in a couple of stout young women, with pails
+and brooms and dusters, and have the whole house swept and garnished,
+whilst he spent the day on the moors with rod and gun; and then the
+rotatory fashion of living would begin over again, the old woman
+confining her labours to her kitchen, preparing the needful meals in
+such fashion as she chose, and making her master’s bed and setting his
+sleeping chamber to rights in the morning. Mr. Tremodart appeared quite
+content with his _ménage_ as it existed; and if he were satisfied,
+there was no need for any one to waste pity on him.
+
+He welcomed Eustace with a smile, his plain broad face lighting up
+genially, in a fashion that redeemed it from ugliness, despite the
+blunt features and tanned skin. He did not rise, or even hold out his
+hand, having both well occupied in some delicate operation of tying;
+but he indicated with a nod a chair for his guest, and asked if he
+would smoke.
+
+Eustace had acquired in Germany a habit which was still in his own
+country designated as “filthy” by a large section of the upper classes;
+and though he never smoked at the castle, was not averse to indulging
+himself in the recesses of the parsonage. He took a pipe from his
+pocket and filled it leisurely, coming out at last with the matter next
+his heart.
+
+“What is this I hear about young Tresithny? He seems to have been
+setting the place by the ears in my absence.”
+
+The parson gave him one keen quick glance out of his deep-set eyes,
+and remarked in the soft drawling tone that had a strong touch of the
+prevailing vernacular about it--
+
+“I think yu should know more about it than I du, sir. I take it he is
+your disciple. It is yu who are going about teaching our country-folk
+that they are being ground down and oppressed, is it not? Well, may be
+it will please yu tu know that young Tresithny is following in your
+steps and making all St. Bride writhe under a sense of a deep and
+terrible oppression she never found out for herself before.”
+
+Eustace flushed very slightly. He was keen to note a touch of irony
+when directed against the cause he had at heart. He looked to meet it
+in many quarters, but he had hardly expected to find it here, nor was
+he absolutely certain of the drift of Mr. Tremodart’s remark.
+
+“What has he been doing?” he asked briefly.
+
+“Why, I think yu would call it turning stump-orator,” was the reply,
+as Mr. Tremodart bent over his work again. “He hasn’t any time by the
+week to help enlighten the ignorance of his fellow-men, but he was
+good enough to invite them to a preaching or a speaking on the shore
+on Sunday morning in church hours, so we had an empty church save for
+the Duke and Lady Bride, and some of the castle servants.” The parson
+raised his head and gently scratched his nose with his forefinger as
+he concluded reflectively, “If yu come tu think of it, ’tis a curious
+thing how much more attractive it is to mankind to know how they may
+rob their neighbours than how they may save their souls.”
+
+Eustace could not for the life of him refrain from the retort which
+sprang to his lips--
+
+“And you hold that they do learn that important lesson by coming to the
+weekly service at St. Bride’s church?”
+
+Mr. Tremodart continued gently to rub his nose with his forefinger.
+His rugged face expressed no annoyance, rather some compunction and
+humility, and yet he answered with the quiet composure which in most
+cases appeared natural to him.
+
+“I know what yu are thinking, young man. I can tell yu that without
+either feeling or meaning offence. Yu are thinking that my poor
+discourses in yon pulpit are but sorry food for the souls of men--and
+I am with yu there. Yu are thinking that if I shut up the church on a
+Sunday from time to time on some paltry excuse, I cannot greatly value
+its services for the poor. Yu could say some very harsh things of me,
+and I in shame and sorrow would be forced to say ‘Amen’ to them. I am
+a sorry minister, and I know it; but for all that, I would have yu
+distinguish between the unworthy servant and the Master he serves. My
+incapacity, idleness, and mistakes must not be set down to Him. A most
+unworthy and disobedient servant may yet serve in some sort the best of
+masters.”
+
+“Forgive me,” said Eustace frankly; “I should not have spoken as I did;
+although I confess I was thinking of the service suspended on account
+of the sitting hen.”
+
+“Yes, I made an error there,” answered Mr. Tremodart, pushing his
+hands through his hair; “but she was the best hen in my yard. I had
+set my heart on having a brood of her chickens to bring up, and she
+was so wild and shy that I feared we’d never find her, and that the
+foxes would get at the eggs of the chicks before ever we could make
+sure of them. I had a bad cold too, and was in bed when the old sexton
+came hurrying in to tell me of the find. I knew once we rudely and
+hastily disturbed her she would never sit again, and I had no other
+broody hen to take her place; so I just said we’d have no service that
+day, thinking David would go and say it was my cold that kept me to
+home. But instead, he told the story of the hen, and shamed me before
+my flock. And yet I cannot complain--it was my own sinfulness. But
+mark my word, my young friend: however sinful the minister may be, the
+church is the house of God, and a blessing rests on those who come
+thither to worship Him, talk as you hot-headed young reformers may of
+your newer and more rational religions which are to take the place of
+that ordained by God.”
+
+With Mr. St. Aubyn Eustace would have argued, but this man had not the
+learning to enable him to support his beliefs, and Eustace declined
+controversy by saying, with a smile--
+
+“I am, at least, quite ready to admit that if we have souls in your
+sense of the word, they may easily be saved through regular attendance
+at St. Bride’s or any other church.”
+
+The Cornishman threw back his head with a gesture that was at once
+emphatic and picturesque.
+
+“Young man, do not mock,” he said in his deep-toned, resonant voice.
+“The soul of man is a mystery which your philosophy will never fathom;
+and mark me again--when I speak of saving souls and attendance at
+church in one breath, I mean something far different than what yu imply
+in your light phrase. What I should say is this--let the preacher
+be never so ignorant and unworthy, in our churches we have forms of
+prayer which embrace the whole circle of Christian doctrine. On our
+knees we confess our sins to God; on our knees we hold up before Him
+the one Atonement of the Cross as our only hope of salvation, and pray
+for the guidance of the Holy Spirit to rule and direct our hearts.
+We read the word of God in our midst. We offer psalms, and hymns,
+and spiritual songs. And I say again that Christ has taught us that
+penitent confession, coupled with faith in Him, is sufficient for
+salvation--that every erring sinner coming to Him is never cast out,
+and that He has given His Spirit to be our guide and comforter through
+life. Wherefore I say and maintain that all those who truly follow
+the services offered in our churches week by week may find in them
+salvation, whether he who offers them be as weak and unworthy as the
+man before you now.”
+
+Eustace rose and held out his hand.
+
+“Believe me, sir, I had no such stricture in my mind when I spoke. I
+respect solid conviction and true faith wherever I meet it, even when
+I hold that the faith is misplaced, and that the day is coming when a
+sounder and truer form of worship will be seen in this earth. At least
+we are in accord in wishing the best for the people we both love; only
+at present we disagree as to what is the best. In days to come I trust
+and believe that we shall be in accord even here. Meantime I will see
+this hot-headed young Tresithny, and warn him not to hold his addresses
+at times when men should be in church. The young and ardent have more
+zeal than discretion, but if I can help it you shall not be annoyed
+again.”
+
+“Nay, I am not annoyed,” said the parson, with a broad smile; “his
+Grace was more annoyed than I. But yu will have a tougher job in
+holding back yon mettlesome lad, I take it, than in starting him off
+along the road. But there is good in the Tresithnys, though there is a
+tough grain in them which makes it no light task to try and carve them
+into shape. Must yu go? Then fare yu well, and give you a good issue to
+your mission.”
+
+Eustace strode away, and without any pause set off in the direction
+of Farmer Teazel’s farm in the next parish. He walked rapidly, as a
+man does when burning words are welling up in his heart, and he seeks
+to prepare himself for an interview in which strong arguments may be
+needed. But when he returned along the same road, it was with slower
+step and bent head. He had found his disciple, and had spoken long
+and earnestly with him, but had come away with the conviction that
+he had spoken in vain. He had kindled a spark in Saul’s passionate
+heart which had lighted a long-smouldering flame. Now this had burst
+into active conflagration, and what the result would be no man could
+yet say. At present a violent class hatred was raging within him, and
+he was bent upon setting class against class in the spirit of the
+true demagogue. The wiser and more moderate teachings of Eustace fell
+upon deaf ears. The young man began to see that Saul was growing far
+less keenly interested in the wrongs of his fellow-men, which it was
+right and needful to alleviate and remove, than in the opportunity
+afforded by a general movement after reform for a rising against the
+privileged classes, for whom he had long cherished an undying hatred.
+The very intelligence and quickness of the young man made him the
+more dangerous. He could turn upon Eustace with some argument of
+his own, used perhaps for another purpose, and by no means intended
+to be universally applied, and deduce from it conclusions only too
+mercilessly logical, tending to the subversion of the empire and
+the awakening of a spirit of lawless violence, which of all things
+Eustace desired to prevent. He had hoped, when first he took to giving
+instruction and counsel to so apt and attentive a pupil, that he should
+retain over Saul the influence he gained in the first place; and even
+now he recognised that the young man was deeply attached to him, and
+believed that so long as his eye was upon him he would keep within
+bounds. But the limits of Eustace’s visit to Penarvon were drawing
+near, and he did not think, in face of what was occurring, that the
+Duke would press him to remain. He would leave, and then what would
+happen to that wild spirit? Already the farmer had threatened him with
+dismissal if he persisted in his obstinate courses, and tried to instil
+and introduce lawless opinions amongst his servants. Saul had not been
+daunted by that threat. It appeared that already he had made friends
+amongst kindred spirits in the town, and would find support and
+employment there if he chose to break away from his old associates.
+
+Eustace walked back to the castle in a state of mind that was by no
+means happy or satisfied. He had made a great step in Penarvon since
+his arrival; but was it altogether such a step as was wise or right?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+_BRIDE’S PERPLEXITIES_
+
+
+But if Eustace suffered from doubts and fears, even when embarked
+upon a cause which he fully believed to be that of right and justice,
+other people were not exempt from their share of perplexity and mental
+distress, and certainly the youthful Lady Bride was no exception
+to this rule. For her, things seemed to have come hardly. Just as
+she was deprived of the loving counsels and tender training of a
+mother whom she literally adored, was she confronted by problems and
+questions which had never entered into her inner life before, and which
+threatened at times to upheave many of her most cherished notions, or
+to land her in a perfect sea of doubt and bewilderment.
+
+True, she had not grown up in actual ignorance of the questions
+beginning to agitate the world, but hitherto she had regarded them, as
+it were, from an infinite distance: they had not penetrated to her own
+sphere. She could regard them in perspective, and moralise upon them in
+an abstract fashion totally distinct from that which confronted her,
+now that they had in a sense intruded into her very home, and risen
+up in altogether unexpected proportion before her eyes. Calm as she
+appeared to the eyes of those about her, remote and aloof as Eustace
+felt her to be, dwelling in a world of her own, and hardly awake to
+the throbbing life of that other world of which he was a member,
+she was in reality far more aware of its pulsating life than he ever
+dreamed, and far more perplexed by the problems of the times than
+he as yet suspected. Pity and love for the humble and poor had been
+instilled into Bride’s heart by her mother from her earliest years,
+and it was a lesson not likely to be ignored now that she was left so
+lonely and desolate in her palatial home. Towards her father she felt
+a deep and reverential affection and compassion, and they had drawn
+a very little nearer together during this time of common sorrow; but
+the habits of a lifetime are seldom broken through, even when there
+is willingness to break them, and the Duke found himself unable to
+open his heart to his young daughter, as he had learned to do to his
+gentle wife, even when he was conscious that if the effort could be
+made it would be abundantly rewarded. He was gentle towards her, and
+more tender than he had ever been in his life before, but there was no
+impulse of confidence between them. It was just as hard for Bride to
+try to speak to him out of her heart (as she had been wont to do to her
+mother) as for him to cast off his reserve before her; so that when
+perplexities arose within her, the girl had to fight them out alone,
+and increasingly hard did she find the battle as day by day fresh
+thoughts and problems presented themselves before her mental vision.
+
+Mr. St. Aubyn might have helped her, but she was timid of seeking him
+out. She felt towards him a deep and reverential affection. She had
+always hung upon his words when he visited her mother, and the two
+talked together long and earnestly of the coming crisis in the world’s
+history of which both were keenly conscious, and for which both were
+preparing themselves in different measure. But the girl had never
+opened her own heart to the clergyman, or indeed to any person except
+her mother, and she did not know how to make the first advance now,
+although feeling often in sore need of guidance and help.
+
+But there was still one person to whom she sometimes spoke when the
+sense of the burden became greater than she could bear, and that was
+to the old gardener, Abner Tresithny. She had a great respect, and
+indeed affection, for the faithful old servant, who from childhood
+had always been ranked as one of her friends, so that the habit of
+reserve had not extended to her intercourse with him. Bride had her
+own outdoor pursuits in the garden, which Abner superintended with his
+advice and assistance, and as the pair worked together in greenhouse or
+potting-shed, they often talked of many other matters than the plants
+they tended. Bride had gained much of her insight into human nature
+and the state of the village from Abner; and now when Saul’s fervid
+discourses had stirred up so much excitement there, it was natural that
+the matter should be mentioned, and that other things of a kindred
+nature should be discussed.
+
+Abner had been pained and grieved by his grandson’s (apparently sudden)
+development, and Bride saw that the subject was a sore one with him.
+With her ready tact she avoided the point which most pained the old
+man, and opened her heart to him on the subject which had been with her
+night and day for many a long week now, and which will raise itself
+before each one of us with a ceaseless iteration so long as this state
+of sin and misery lasts in the world.
+
+“O Abner, can we wonder?--can we blame them so very much if they do
+rise in rebellion and revolt? Why is it--ah! why is it that some--not
+just a few here and there, but hundreds and thousands--even millions
+of human beings are born into the world to a life of hopeless misery,
+degradation, and poverty, from which not one man in a thousand has
+power to raise himself? My cousin has been telling me things--I have
+heard him and my father talking--and it goes to my very heart to think
+what it all means. I know--oh! I can never doubt it--that in every
+human soul there is the power to live the higher life by the grace
+of the Spirit of God; but oh! Abner, how is it, humanly speaking,
+possible that this germ of heavenly fire should be developed in such
+surroundings? How can those encompassed by every physical misery and
+degradation ever lift their hearts and their hopes heavenward? How
+can it be looked for? And why does God permit such awful inequalities
+in the destinies of His children? If He loves us all--as we know He
+does--why, oh! why are these things allowed?”
+
+The pain in her face and in her voice plainly showed how deeply she had
+taken to heart what she had gleaned of late respecting the condition
+of a large section of the population at that time. Abner looked at his
+young mistress with a world of sympathy in his steady, deep-set eyes,
+and slowly shook his head.
+
+“There be many of us ask that same question, my Ladybird, as we go
+on in life, and none of us can rightly answer it. And yet may be the
+answer is under our hand all the while. It is the sin of man that
+brought the curse into the world; and ever since the hardness of man’s
+heart has been making him choose the evil and the curse instead of the
+way of the Lord and the blessing, and every generation sinks the world
+deeper and deeper into the slough.”
+
+“I know, I know that. Sin is at the root of all,” answered Bride, with
+quick eagerness, “but that does not seem to answer everything. It is
+the awful inequalities of the world that frighten me, and the sense of
+the terrible gulf that seems to divide such lives as mine from those
+of the miserable women and children born in the midst of a squalor and
+misery of which my cousin tells me I can have no conception. We are all
+born in sin, but we are not all born to utter want and wretchedness.
+God loves all His children alike: why should such things be? Oh, why
+should they be?”
+
+She clasped her hands together in a passion of perplexity and pain.
+The eyes which were so deep and inscrutable to Eustace were full of
+a pleading intensity of gaze, as though she would wring an answer to
+her appeal from the heavens themselves. Abner looked at her with a
+softening of the lines of his rugged face; and as he steadily pursued
+his task of cleansing from blight a great camellia tree that stood in
+the centre of the conservatory, he made an answer that was eminently
+characteristic of him, and which roused the instant interest of the
+girl.
+
+“My Ladybird, I think we can none of us rightly answer such a question,
+because the ways of the Almighty are past finding out, and we can by no
+stretch of our poor finite minds hope to understand the eternal wisdom
+of the Infinite. And yet, inasmuch as we have God’s own word that we
+are made in His image, we can just get here and there a glimpse into
+the workings of His mind; and I often think that a gardener at his toil
+gets a clearer bit of insight into His dealings than some others can
+do.”
+
+“Oh, tell me how,” cried Bride, who dearly loved to listen to Abner’s
+deductions from the world of nature to the realm of human experience.
+She had been used to listening to his allegories from childhood, and
+always found in them food for thought and farther research.
+
+Quietly pursuing his task, as was his way when thinking most deeply,
+Abner took up his parable again.
+
+“It sometimes comes to me like this, my lady, when I am amongst my
+flowers and plants and seeds, and folks come to me and say, ‘Abner, why
+do you do this?’ and ‘Abner, why do you do that?’ Look at the little
+seeds as they lie on your hand--seeming so like to one another that
+even the best of us would be puzzled to know some kinds apart; but
+when they grow up, how different they appear, and how different they
+have to be treated! Some are hardy things, and are put out to face
+the biting winds and cruel snows of winter, and nothing given them
+for protection, whilst others are tenderly protected from the least
+hardship, and grow up in the soft warm air of the hot-house, watered
+and tended and watched over like petted children. Is it because the
+gardener loves one sort of seed more than another that he treats them
+so differently? What sort of a garden would he have when the summer
+came had he put the tender hot-house seeds out in the cold ground, and
+tried to grow the hardy seedlings in a hot-house? And then again, see
+how the different plants are treated as they grow up under the same
+gardener’s eye. Look at these great specimen heliotropes and fuchsias
+and petunias. How were they treated when they were young?--pinched
+in, trained, clipped, kept back, as it seemed, in every possible way,
+everything against them, everything, as one would say, taken from them,
+till the right stature and height and growth had been attained, and
+then encouraged to bud and break where it had been decided they should;
+and now see the beautiful graceful trees--a joy to the eye and to the
+heart--covered with blossom, rejoicing as it seems in their beauty, the
+pride of the gardener who seemed at first so cruel to them, so resolved
+to keep them barren and unlovely.”
+
+Bride drew a long breath and clasped her hands together. She had asked
+sometimes deep down in her heart why her own life had been left so
+desolate by the death of her mother. Was she in some sort finding an
+answer now? Was it perhaps for her ultimate good and for the glory of
+God that she was thus heavily chastened in her youth?
+
+Abner had made a slight pause, but now he continued, speaking in the
+same slow way, with the same rather remarkable choice of words for a
+man of his class.
+
+“And again, look at another class of plants--look at our bulbs. Does
+not the gardener find a quiet nook for them in the garden where they
+will never be disturbed, and put them in, and let them come up year
+after year undisturbed and unmolested? Is it because he loves them
+more that he leaves them to bloom at their own time and in their own
+fashion, and does not even cut down their leaves when the blooming
+season is over? Why is he so cruel (as the ignorant folk might put it)
+to some of his plants, and so tender to others? Why does he treat them
+so differently? Why do some grow up and flourish for a season only,
+and are rooted up and cast away at its close, whilst others remain
+year by year in the ground, or are tended in warmth and luxury in the
+glass homes provided for them? Why such inequalities when originally
+all start alike from a tiny seed germ, one of which scarce differs from
+another? Is it because the gardener is partial or cruel? or because he
+knows as no untrained person can, what is best for each, and how in the
+end, after patient waiting and watching, the most perfect garden will
+arise up under his hand? And if this is so in our little world, can we
+not understand that it must be something the same in the great garden
+of God--that kingdom of Christ for which we are waiting and watching,
+and for which He is working in His own all-powerful and mysterious way?
+Ah! how often I think of that as I go about my daily toil--that reign
+of the Lord’s upon earth, when the wilderness shall blossom as the
+rose, where sorrow and pain and sin shall be done away, and we shall
+see the meaning of all those things which perplex and bewilder us now,
+and understand the love in the Father’s heart, although the discipline
+seemed hard to understand at the first.”
+
+Bride raised her eyes with the light shining in them which the thought
+of the coming kingdom of the Lord always brought there.
+
+“Ah! yes,” she said softly, “we shall know then--we shall understand
+then--we shall see face to face. O Abner, would that that day might
+come quickly! Ah! why does not God hear the cry of His people in their
+trouble and perplexities, and send forth the Great Deliverer? Are we
+not praying for His appearing hour by hour and day by day? Why does He
+tarry so long?”
+
+Abner slowly shook his head. He understood perfectly those utterances
+of the girl, which from time to time filled Eustace with absolute
+bewilderment. One result of the awakening of spiritual perception,
+and of the unceasing prayer which had been offered up by all sorts
+and conditions of men for many years, had been a deep and earnest
+conviction that the Second Advent was at hand, that the French
+Revolution was but the commencement of the Great Apostasy of the latter
+days, and that the times of the end were approaching. Amongst all the
+confusion of prophetic interpretation stirring the minds of men and
+raising up countless differences of opinion and beliefs as to what
+was coming upon the earth, there stood out one paramount conviction
+which attracted multitudes to adhere to it, which was that before the
+final judgments were to be poured upon the earth, as foretold in the
+Revelation according to St. John, there would be a gathering together
+of the first-fruits to Christ--the dead and living saints called alike
+to meet Him in the air, and thus escape the horrors that were coming
+upon the world--the company typified in Scripture as the hundred and
+forty-four thousand sealed ones standing with the Lamb upon Mount
+Zion before the last vials of wrath are poured out, and before the
+resurrection of the multitude whom no man can number, who have come
+scathlessly through the great tribulation of the days of Antichrist.
+
+This had been the unshaken conviction of the Duchess, and Bride had
+received it from her mother with an absolute trust. Abner, like many
+men of his class and race, was equally filled with a devout hope
+and expectation of living to see the Lord appear without sin unto
+salvation. The wave of revived spirituality and personal faith which
+had swept over the West-Country with the advance of Methodism a
+generation before, had, as it were, prepared the minds of men for a
+fresh development of faith in the fulfilment of God’s prophetic word.
+Methodism itself had already begun to fossilise to a certain extent
+into a system, and had been rent by faction and split into hostile
+camps; but this new wave of awakened spirituality was sweeping over the
+land with all its first strength, and destined in one form or another
+to do a great work in the Church. The thought and the hope of the
+Kingdom was one so familiar and so congenial to those who had accepted
+it, that already they were striving after the life of the Kingdom in
+the present world of sorrow and sin. To Bride it was the very source
+and centre of all her happiness in life, and anything that turned her
+thoughts back to it again brought solace and comfort with it; so that
+even the hope that the darkness and perplexity around her would be
+explained and made clear in the Kingdom, and that what she now saw with
+pain and shrinking would at last prove to be God’s way of bringing good
+out of the mass of evil engendered by the sin and disobedience of man,
+brought a measure of comfort with it, and Bride walked through the
+sunny gardens in a deep reverie, looking around her at the awakening of
+nature with a strange but intensely real hope that it was but the type
+and foretaste of another and more wondrous resurrection, in which she
+might be counted worthy to have a share, perhaps even before this same
+young year had run its appointed course.
+
+Her meditations were interrupted by the sudden appearance at her side
+of her cousin Eustace. How he came she knew not. She had not observed
+his approach, but here he was walking beside her; and as she raised
+her eyes for a moment to his face, she was aware that it wore an
+expression of strange concentration, whilst at the same time in his
+voice there was a tone which she did not remember ever to have heard
+there before.
+
+“Bride,” he said, speaking more abruptly than usual, “you know that I
+am going away soon?”
+
+“I had heard something of it. I did not know the day was fixed. I think
+you must feel glad. There is so little to do at Penarvon--for one like
+you.”
+
+“I fear your father thinks I have done too much, as it is,” answered
+Eustace hastily. “Bride, have I made him hate me? Has he spoken with
+disapproval of me to you?”
+
+“Oh, no!” answered Bride. “My father seldom speaks disparagingly of any
+one who is not there to defend himself. He would say nothing to me that
+he did not say to you; and if he did. I could not repeat it, of course.”
+
+“No,” answered Eustace quickly; “I was wrong in asking; but I was
+nervously afraid, I think, lest he should have said something to do
+hurt to my cause. Bride, are you sorry I am going away? Will you miss
+me when I am gone?”
+
+He spoke with covert eagerness, almost with excitement, and Bride was
+puzzled at the note of emotion in his voice, and paused to consider her
+answer. She was always transparently truthful and sincere, and although
+brought up to show courtesy to all with whom she came in contact, she
+had never taught herself to utter the platitudes and shallow untruths
+of society, and chose her words with care when appealed to in such a
+fashion.
+
+“I think I shall miss you,” she answered, looking reflectively before
+her. “It will seem strange not to see your face at table, or to have
+some one to talk to in the evenings. I think father will miss you too.
+He likes to converse with one who knows the world and can understand
+him. Perhaps you will come again some day, Eustace?”
+
+“Do you ask it, Bride?” he questioned, his voice quivering.
+
+“I have no power to invite guests to Penarvon,” she answered gently.
+“My father has never given me leave to do so; but I think he will be
+glad to think you will come again: he has so few belonging in any way
+to him now.”
+
+“Would you be glad, Bride?” he asked, in the same tense and almost
+impassioned way; “that is what I wish to know. Would you be glad to
+think that I should come again soon?”
+
+Something in his tone aroused in Bride a vague sense of shrinking and
+distaste. She could not understand exactly what produced this feeling;
+but at that moment her impulse was to leave her cousin hastily and fly
+to the shelter of her own room. That being impossible, she could only
+retire into the shell of her own impenetrable reserve, and Eustace was
+at once aware that some of the light had gone out of her eyes, and that
+she very slightly drew away from him.
+
+“I do not know,” she said very quietly; “that depends upon so many
+things. You have been very kind, Eustace, and yet you have done things
+which have brought great trouble to us. If you could learn to be a
+comfort to my father, I would welcome you gladly again; but you can
+hardly expect it when you trouble and distress him.”
+
+“Bride, Bride, do not speak so! do not drive me to despair!” cried
+Eustace suddenly, losing his long-preserved self-control. “Do you not
+know that I love you, that I have loved you almost ever since I saw you
+first three months ago? Oh, my love, my life, only love me in return,
+and do what you will with me! I am yours, body and soul, and together
+we will walk through life, and yours shall be the guiding and directing
+will, for you are the guiding star of my life! Bride, Bride! hear me!
+Be my wife, and I will be in the future what you will. You shall rule
+my life for me. Only let me know that your love is mine, and I care for
+nothing else!”
+
+She understood then, and the surprise of it all held her mute and
+spellbound. Perhaps no maiden in the length and breadth of the land
+had grown up more oblivious of the thought of love and marriage than
+Lady Bride Marchmont. No young companions had she ever known to suggest
+such ideas. Her mother had preserved the guarded silence on the subject
+that mothers are wont to do whilst their daughters are yet young, and
+her father had followed his wife’s example. She had seen the best and
+happiest side of married life in the tender love and dependence of her
+parents; but as a thing applied to herself she had never given it a
+thought, and now she recoiled from this passionate appeal with a sense
+of shrinking and distaste which she found it difficult to refrain from
+expressing in words that would inflict pain on the man before her. She
+did not wish to pain him. She was woman enough to know that he meant to
+do her honour by this proffer of love and service; but he had utterly
+failed to awaken any answering chord in her heart, and she felt that he
+ought not to have spoken as he had done, or to use such arguments to
+her.
+
+“No, Eustace,” she said, not ungently, as he tried to take her hand.
+“You must not speak to me so. It is not right. It is not even manly.
+I think you can know very little of me when you speak of offering
+yourself to me body and soul, or tell me that you care for nothing
+else if you can have my love. Do you think I can love any one, save
+with the love of a deep pity, who can place a mere earthly love before
+everything else, and talk as though his soul were his own to give
+into the keeping of another? Do you think I like to hear you say that
+you would even abandon a cause which seemed to you holy and just and
+right, simply because you think I may not approve it? Do you wish to
+make of me your conscience-keeper? O Eustace! think what such words
+mean!--think what treachery they imply, not only to God but to man, and
+I am sure you yourself will be ashamed of them.”
+
+“I can think of nothing but that I love you, Bride,” broke in Eustace,
+hotly and passionately, his heart moved by the wonderful beauty of the
+woman before him; her utter unconsciousness of the wild passions of
+love and tenderness stirring within him only rousing him to a sense of
+wilder resolve to win her at all cost. “I love you! I love you! I love
+you! All my religion, all my faith, all my happiness here or hereafter
+are comprised within the limits of those three little words. I love
+you! Surely you will not tell me in return that you hate me, and would
+spurn me from your presence. O Bride, my life, my love! do not say that
+you have no love to give me in return.”
+
+There was something so appealing in his voice that her heart was
+touched with compassion, though with no answering response. She let him
+possess himself of her hand, but it lay cool and passive in his hot
+clasp.
+
+“I do not hate you, Eustace--why should I? I do not hate any living
+thing. I do not spurn you. I do not spurn your love.”
+
+“My darling, ten thousand thanks for that sweet word. If my love is not
+spurned, surely it will some day be returned! Bride, you will at least
+let me hope that?”
+
+“I cannot help what you hope,” she answered, with childlike frankness.
+“But, Eustace, I do not think I can ever love you as you wish, and
+I can never, never, never be your wife unless I do. I like you as a
+cousin; but indeed that is all. I do not understand what it is that
+makes you wish to marry me. We should be very unhappy together--I am
+quite sure of that.”
+
+“Ah! no, Bride! Do not speak so. Unhappy, and with you!”
+
+“I should be very unhappy,” answered the girl steadily, “and you
+_ought_ to be, Eustace, if you really knew what love meant.”
+
+He looked at her in amaze; that _she_ should be speaking to _him_ of
+the nature of love with that look of divine compassion in her eyes was
+a thing altogether too strange and perplexing. Her very attitude and
+quiet composure told of a heart unruffled as yet by any touch of human
+passion, and yet she was turning upon him and rebuking him for his
+ignorance. It was she who broke the momentary pause, seeming almost to
+read his thoughts.
+
+“You wonder how I know perhaps, but, ah! if you had seen my father and
+mother together you would have understood. If you had known what love
+there was between my mother and me, you would understand. Do not I know
+what love is? Ah! do I not? It is the power to lay bare the innermost
+sanctuary of your soul, and to know that you will be understood,
+helped, strengthened, comforted. It is the knowledge that thoughts
+too deep, and hopes too wonderful and mysterious for words are shared
+together, and can be whispered of together without being tarnished by
+the poor attempt to reduce them to speech; the consciousness that in
+everything we are in accord, that we are often thinking the same things
+at the same moment; the knowledge that the deeper and deeper we go
+the more and more sympathy and sweet accord there is between us; that
+not only are we one in opinion about temporal and changing things,
+but knit close, close together in soul and spirit as well, sharing
+the same faith, the same hope, the same love! Ah! Eustace! if you had
+known such a love as that, you could never think that there would be
+happiness for you and me in linking our lives together!”
+
+He stood silent, almost abashed, before her, marvelling alike at
+her eloquence and at the insight displayed of a union of spirit, of
+which Eustace was forced to admit that he had not thought. To win
+Bride as his wife, to set her up as his object of adoring love, had
+seemed all-sufficient to him hitherto. Now it suddenly dawned upon
+him that with such a woman as this, that would be but the travesty
+and mockery of happiness. She was right and he was wrong: without a
+deeper sympathy and love than any which had come into his philosophy
+as yet, marriage would be a doleful blunder. He would be no nearer to
+her than before--perhaps farther away. He must learn to share with her
+that inner and mystic life of which he saw glimpses from time to time
+when she opened out for a moment and showed him what lay below the calm
+surface of her nature. Either he must share that with her, or wean
+her away from it; replacing mysticism with philanthropy, fanaticism
+with practical benevolence, objective with subjective religion. One of
+those two ends must be accomplished before he could hope to win the
+desire of his heart. As he stood in the bright spring sunshine facing
+her, he became suddenly aware of that, and a new light leaped into his
+eyes--the light of battle and of resolve. He would win her yet, but
+it must be by slower steps than any he had contemplated hitherto. She
+was worthy of better things than becoming a mere dreamer and nunlike
+recluse. It should be his to lead her steps to surer ground, to show
+her that there was a higher Christianity than any of which she had
+hitherto dreamed. Not now--not all at once, but he would come again
+and begin upon a surer foundation. He looked into her eyes, and gently
+taking her hand before she had time to draw it away, he said quietly--
+
+“Do not be afraid, Bride; I see that you judged more wisely than I.
+You are right and I am wrong, and I will go away and trouble you no
+more in the present; but the time will come when I shall return, and I
+trust that by slow and sure degrees we shall draw so closely together
+that you will no longer shrink from me in fear and trembling. You are
+very young, sweet cousin, and there are many things you have yet to
+learn. It is a beautiful thing, I doubt not, to hold commune in the
+spirit with the higher world; but we are set in our place here below
+for something I hold to be more truly noble than that. We are set in
+a world of sin and misery that we may gird our armour upon us and
+fight the battle with this sin and misery--fight it for our poor and
+afflicted brethren, as they cannot fight it for themselves. That is the
+true Christianity; that is the highest form of religious devotion. You
+can read it for yourself in your Bible--‘True religion and undefiled
+before God and the Father is this, to visit the widows and orphans in
+their affliction’--to be ministers, in fact, of mercy and blessing in
+any sphere, of which one is given as the type.”
+
+“Yes,” answered Bride very softly, “and to keep himself unspotted from
+the world.”
+
+She looked straight at Eustace as she spoke, and he looked back at her,
+marvelling at the extraordinary depth and beauty of those dark eyes. He
+longed, as he had never longed before, to take her in his arms and hold
+her to his heart; but he knew that he must not, so with a great effort
+he restrained himself, and kept back the words of passionate love which
+rose to his lips.
+
+“Yes,” he answered steadily; “and for your sweet sake, Bride, I will
+strive to do even that--evil and full of temptation as my world is.”
+
+“Not for my sake, Eustace, not for my sake,” she replied, with an
+earnestness he scarcely understood; “that would be indeed a vain
+resolve. If you cannot yet strive in the power and might of the Risen
+and Ascended Lord, whom you deny, strive at least in the power of the
+right you own and believe in, though you know not from whence it comes.”
+
+He looked at her in some amaze.
+
+“Why do you say I deny your Risen Saviour, Bride?”
+
+“Because I heard you with your own lips do so, in effect if not in
+actual words. You spoke of His miracles as being ordinary gifts
+of healing exaggerated by the devotion of His followers; of the
+Transfiguration being a like delusion--men awakened from sleep seeing
+their Master standing in the glory of the sunrise, and mistaking the
+morning mists for other luminous figures beside Him. You said that the
+Resurrection had been accounted for by the theory that the Saviour did
+not die, but was taken from the Cross in a state of trance, from which
+He recovered in the tomb.”
+
+A flush mounted quickly into Eustace’s face.
+
+“You mistake me, Bride,” he answered hastily. “We were discussing--Mr.
+St. Aubyn and I--some of the teachings of various philosophers and
+thinkers, and I was explaining to him how Paulus had extended to the
+New Testement the method which Eichhorn had applied to the Old. I
+was not defending the theory, but merely stating it as a matter of
+speculation amongst men of a certain school.”
+
+Bride looked at him intently.
+
+“If that is so, I am thankful and glad; but I heard too much not to
+know very well where your sympathies and convictions lie. If you do not
+follow the impious teachings of this Paulus, you are very far along
+the road which does not lead to the Father’s house. No, Eustace; let
+us talk no more of this--it is only painful to both. I shall never
+convince you; but I shall pray for you. And now farewell. I trust when
+next we meet it will be without this sense of unutterable distance
+between us; but it must be you to change--for I never shall.”
+
+She turned and left him standing there in the sunshine. That same day
+Eustace took leave of Penarvon, and commenced his backward journey to
+London.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+_THE WAVE OF REVOLT_
+
+
+“Fegs! if theer’s tu be a bobbery up tu Pentreath, us lads o’ St.
+Bride’s wunt be left owt on’t!”
+
+“Dashed if us wull! Wheer theer’s fightin’ and a fillyboo, theer’s
+more’n hard knocks to be gotten. Us’ll soon see what us can get by un!”
+
+“Aw dally-buttons, that us wull! They du say as our Saul’s theer in t’
+thick of un. But what’s it awl about? Dost any o’ yu knaw?”
+
+The swarthy fishermen looked each other in the face with a grin, but
+nobody seemed ready with an answer.
+
+“May’ap ’tis because the king’s dead,” suggested one.
+
+“Naw, ’tidden that ezakally,” objected another. “’Tis becos they
+Frenchers ’ave abin an’ gone for tu ’ave a new bobbery ower theer--what
+the great folks calls a reverlooshon. They’ve a druv theer king over tu
+England: that’s what ’as set all the lads ower heer in a takin’ after
+theer roights.”
+
+“’Tidden theer roights theer a’ter,” remarked a woman who was sitting
+hunched up in the chimney-corner of the hut where this confabulation
+was going on, “’tis other folks’ goods they want. They thinks wheerever
+a bobbery be theer’ll be gutterin’ and guzzlin’, and that’s all they
+care for. You’d a best ’ave nowt tu du with un.”
+
+But this piece of advice was received with ridicule and disfavour.
+
+“Ef theer be zo much as gutterin’ and guzzlin’ why shetten us be left
+behind? ’Tidden much of either us gets nowadays with those dashed
+customs-men always a’ter we. Crimminy! but us’ll take our share ef
+zo be as theer’s awght to be gotten. I’ve heerd tell theer be a real
+hollerballoo up tu Pentreath. I be agwaine to see un.”
+
+“Zo be I! Zo be I!” echoed in turn a dozen or more voices, and from the
+dim chimney-corner there only came a rough snort of disapproval.
+
+“Go ’long wi’ ye then. When the dowl’s abroad ’twidden be in yer to
+bide tu home. Go ’long and help make the bobbery wusser. ’Tidden hurt
+I. But it’ll be a poor-come-along-on’t for some o’ yu, I take it.
+Theer’ll be trouble at St. Bride along on’t.”
+
+The men hesitated for a moment, for the old woman who thus spoke had
+won the not too enviable reputation of being next door to a witch, and
+of reading or moulding future events--which, it was not altogether
+certain in the minds of the people. She was a lonely widow woman, but
+lived in one of the best cottages in the place, where she kept a sort
+of private bar, selling spirits and tobacco to the fishermen, and
+allowing them to make use of her sanded kitchen, where at all seasons
+of the year a fire was burning, as a place of resort where all the
+gossip of the place could be discussed. They never put two and two
+together in seeking to account for the occult knowledge possessed by
+the old woman respecting the private concerns of the whole community.
+She affected to be rather deaf, and therefore low-toned conversations
+were carried on freely in her presence. Old Mother Clat was quite a
+character in her way, and a distinct power in the fishing community of
+St. Bride.
+
+But her advice was not sufficient to deter the bolder spirits from
+taking part in the exciting scenes known to be passing in the country
+round them. At that moment England was passing through a crisis more
+perilous than was fully realised at the time. The sudden revolution in
+France, which had culminated in the abdication and flight of the king,
+the death of the English king, George the Fourth, at almost the same
+moment, and the whispers in the air that Belgium and other countries
+were about to imitate France, and rise in revolt against the oppression
+and tyranny of princes, acted in an extraordinary fashion upon the
+minds of the discontented population of this land. The long period of
+depression and distress, whilst it had ground down one section of the
+community to a state of passive despair, had aroused in others the
+spirit of insubordination and revolt. Like leaven in the loaf was this
+fermentation going on, greatly helped by the knowledge that the cause
+of the people was exercising the minds of many of the great ones of the
+land, and that in them they would find a mouthpiece if only they could
+succeed in making their voice heard.
+
+Now when there is any great uprising in any one district, there is
+generally a local as well as a general cause of complaint; and in this
+remote West-Country district it was far less the question of reformed
+representation and the abolishment of certain grave abuses which was
+exercising the minds of the community than the fact that new machinery
+had recently been set up in some of the mills at Pentreath, and in
+some of the farmsteads scattered about the district; and the panic
+of the Midlands had spread down to the South and West, the people
+fully believing that this would be the last straw--the last drop of
+bitterness in their cup, and that nothing but absolute starvation lay
+before them unless they took prompt measures to defend themselves from
+the dreaded innovations.
+
+The Midlands and North had set the example. Ever since the rising
+of the Luddites there had been more or less of disturbance in the
+manufacturing districts, where, of course, in the first instance the
+introduction of machinery did throw certain classes of operatives out
+of employment; and they were unable to realise that this would soon
+be more than made up to them by the increase of trade resulting from
+the improvement in the many complicated processes of manufacture. In
+the North the riots were on the wane. It was just beginning to dawn
+upon the minds of the more enlightened artisans, that if they would
+leave matters to take a peaceful course they would soon see themselves
+reinstated in the mills, where trade was growing more brisk and active
+than ever before. But away down in the remote West, any innovation
+was received with the greatest horror and aversion, and the people
+had heard just enough about their wrongs to be in that restless state
+when any sort of activity becomes attractive, and any uprising against
+authority appears in the light of an act of noble resistance to tyranny.
+
+Pentreath was an ancient town, though a small one. It sent a member to
+Parliament, although the huge and fast-increasing towns of the North
+did not. Of late years it had become a small centre of manufacturing
+industry, the water-power there being considerable. There were two
+cloth-mills and one silk-mill, a paper manufactory, and another
+where soap and essences were made. One reason why the district round
+Pentreath was not feeling the general poverty and distress very keenly
+was that from the rural districts men who could not get employment
+upon the land could generally find it in the mills. But when almost at
+one and the same time improved machinery became introduced both into
+agriculture and manufacture, the sense of revolt was deeply stirred. A
+certain number of turbulent spirits had been simultaneously dismissed
+both from the farms and from the mills, and these two contingents
+at once banded together in somewhat dangerous mood to talk over the
+situation and their own private grievances, and to set about to find a
+remedy.
+
+It was the Duke who first introduced the machinery into the
+neighbourhood, although he had dismissed no servant of his until three
+of his men were found tampering with and injuring the new machine,
+when he promptly sent them about their business. Their bad example was
+followed by others, and four more were summarily dismissed; whereupon
+the Duke let it be thoroughly understood that any servant of his taking
+that line would be promptly discharged, but that he had no intention of
+dismissing any of those on his estate who were orderly and obedient,
+and used the improved implements in a right and workmanlike way. This
+declaration had the effect at Penarvon of stopping depredations for
+the moment, and no more labourers were sent away; but those who had
+already received notice were not taken on again: for the Duke, though
+a just and liberal master, was a stern upholder of law and order, and
+had no intention of having his will or his authority set at naught by a
+handful of ill-conditioned fellows, who refused to listen to any other
+guides than their own blind passions.
+
+These men gravitated naturally into Pentreath, in the hope of finding
+employment there, only to be met by the news that the mills were
+turning off hands, owing to the saving of labour by the introduction
+of improved machinery. The band of what in these days would be termed
+“unemployed” gathered together by common accord, and roved the streets
+by day, begging and picking up odd jobs of work as they could get them,
+and meeting at night in a low tavern on the outskirts of the town to
+spend their pittance generally on raw spirit, and to talk sedition and
+treason.
+
+Possibly, had no other power been at work just at that juncture,
+the whole thing might have begun and ended in talk; but there were
+other forces in operation, all favourable to the spirit of revolt and
+vengeful hatred which actuated this small band; and as discontented men
+of every class draw together by common consent, however various their
+grievances may be, so did the newly aroused politicians of the place,
+eager and anxious to awaken the country to a sense of its political
+grievances, and the urgent need of parliamentary reform, gravitate
+towards the little band of discontented labourers and operatives, sure
+of finding in them allies in the general feeling of revolt against the
+prevailing system, which they had set themselves to amend, and hoping
+quickly to arouse in them the patriotic enthusiasm which kindled their
+own hearts.
+
+Saul’s friend the cobbler was the first to address these men on the
+subject of the hoped-for reform. He went to them upon several evenings,
+strove to arouse in them a sense of indignation against prevailing
+abuses and evils, and found his task an easy one. Wherever he made out
+that the country was suffering from the oppression of tyrants and the
+greed of the rich, he was received with howls of approval and delight.
+The answer of his audience was invariably a cry of “Down with it! Down
+with them!” They would have rushed with the greatest pleasure through
+the streets, and attacked the houses of the mill-owners, or have broken
+into the mills and gutted them, had there been any to lead them. But
+the cobbler was a man of words rather than of action. He was one to
+foster fierce passions, but his talents did not lie in directing the
+action which follows upon such an arousing. One Sunday afternoon, it
+is true, he headed a procession which marched through the streets,
+shouting and threatening, so that the people shut their shutters in
+haste, and begged that the watchmen or the military might go out and
+disperse the mob. No harm, however, came of the demonstration, save
+that an uneasy feeling was aroused in the minds of the townfolk, who
+looked askance upon the haggard men seeking alms or employment about
+their doors, and were less disposed to help them than they had been at
+first.
+
+Thus the ill-feeling between class and class grew and increased, and it
+was to a band of men rendered well-nigh desperate by misery and a sense
+of burning wrong that Saul came down one Sunday, his own heart inflamed
+by passion and hatred, to supplement the efforts of the cobbler by one
+of his own harangues, which had already won for their author a certain
+measure of celebrity.
+
+Saul had greatly changed during the past six months, changed and
+developed in a remarkable manner. When he stood by the orchard wall
+making love to Genefer Teazel, he had looked a very fine specimen of
+his race, and superior in many points to the labourers with whom he
+consorted, and whose toil he shared; but since the rapid development
+of his mental faculties had set in, he had altered wonderfully in his
+outward man, and no one to look at him would believe, save from his
+dress and the hardness of his hands, that he had spent his life in mere
+manual toil on a farm. His face, always well-featured, had now taken
+an expression of concentration and purpose, seldom seen in a labouring
+man; the eyes were very intense in their expression, and, as the
+fisher-folk were wont to say, went through you like a knife. His tall
+figure had grown rather thin and gaunt, as though the activity of the
+mind had reacted on the body, or else that he had been denying himself
+the needful support for his strong frame. He looked like a man whom it
+would not be well to incite to anger. There was a sufficient indication
+in his face of suppressed passion and fury held under firm control,
+yet ready to blaze up into a fierce life under provocation. He looked
+like a man born to be an Ishmaelite in his life’s pilgrimage--his hand
+against every man, and every man’s hand against him--a man in revolt
+against the world, against society, against himself. A keen and yet
+sympathetic physiognomist could hardly study that face without a sigh
+of compassion. Saul Tresithny, with his nature, his temperament, his
+antecedents, could scarcely have any but an unhappy life--unless he had
+been able to yield himself in childlike submission to the teachings of
+his grandfather, and look for peace and happiness beyond the troublous
+waves of this world, to the far haven of everlasting peace.
+
+Saul had spent the past six months in close reading and study, whenever
+time and opportunity were his. First from his friend the cobbler, then
+from his friend the Duke’s heir, he had received books and papers; and
+out in the fields in his dinner-hour, or trudging to and fro with the
+plough, or up in his attic at night, with his companions snoring around
+him, he had studied and read and thought--thought till it seemed often
+as though thought would madden him, read until he looked haggard and
+wan from his long vigils, and he found the best part of his pittance of
+wage go in the purchase of the rushlights by which he studied his books
+at night. Eustace had lent him histories of other nations--down-trodden
+peoples who had revolted at last from their oppressors, and had won
+for themselves freedom--sometimes of body, sometimes of mind, at the
+sword’s point. Eustace had tried to choose writers of impartiality;
+but his own bias had been too strong to make him a very good director
+of such a mind as Saul’s; and when a man of that temperament reaches
+passages which are not to his liking, he simply skips over them till
+he reaches what is more to his taste; and Saul had invariably missed
+out those explanatory and exculpatory pages, wherein the historian
+shows the other side of the question, and explains how some of the
+grievances most declaimed against by an oppressed people are the result
+rather of circumstance, and the changing order of the day, than the
+direct outcome of a real injustice and tyranny.
+
+So his mind rapidly developed in a fashion by no means desired by
+his mentor; and so soon as the restraining influence of Eustace was
+removed, the wild and ardent imagination of the young man had full
+sway, and he had none to give him better counsel or strive to check
+the hot intemperance of his great zeal. He avoided his grandfather,
+and Abner was too wise to force his company where it was not wanted.
+He would not speak to Mr. St. Aubyn when the latter found him out, and
+sought, in his gentle and genial way, to get the hot-headed youth,
+of whom much talk was going about, to make a friend of him, and open
+out upon the subjects of such moment to all the country. No; Saul
+maintained a rigid and obstinate silence; and the Rector went away
+disappointed, for he feared there were evil days in store for Saul.
+Farmer Teazel, who was a staunch old Tory, and an ardent believer
+in the existing state of things, even though he admitted times to
+be bad in the immediate present, had no manner of patience with his
+new-fangled notions, that were, as he said, “driving honest folks
+crazy.” He had winked at Saul’s conduct as long as he could, valuing
+the many sterling qualities possessed by the young man, and hoping
+every day that he would turn over a new leaf. But his patience had long
+been sorely tried. Saul, not content with haranguing the fisher-folk
+down in the hamlet, who were always ready to imbibe any sort of lawless
+doctrine--their one idea being that the law and the customs were one
+and the same, and that to revolt against any existing order was a step
+towards that freedom of traffic which was their idea of prosperity and
+happiness. Not that they wished the excise duties withdrawn--for that
+would render abortive their illicit traffic; but they always fancied
+that there was advantage to be gained from stirring up strife and
+revolting against established order, and were eager listeners to Saul’s
+speeches. But not content with that, Saul was working might and main
+amongst the more placid and bovine rustics, his fellow-labourers on the
+farm, to emulate the fisher-folk in their restless discontent, and with
+this amount of success, that when Farmer Teazel, in imitation of his
+noble landlord, introduced with pride and delight a new and wonderful
+machine into his own yard, his own men rose in the night and did it
+some fatal injury, which cost him pounds to repair, as well as delaying
+for a whole month the operations which it had especially been bought to
+effect.
+
+This was too much. The farmer was in the main a placid man and a
+good-tempered one; but he could not stand this, and he well knew whom
+he had to thank for the outrage. Whether or no Saul had prompted the
+men to do the mischief mattered little. It was he who had fostered in
+them the spirit of disobedience and self-will which had been at the
+bottom of the outrage; and so long as he remained on the place there
+was no prospect of things being better. Before his anger had had time
+to cool, he summoned Saul, and a battle of words ensued, which led to
+the summary dismissal of the young man, whilst the farmer strode out of
+the kitchen, in which the interview had taken place, in a white heat of
+rage and disappointment.
+
+Saul stood looking after him with a strange gleam in his eyes, and then
+his eyes caught sight of Genefer crouching in a corner with her hands
+over her face.
+
+Saul had not thought much of Genefer all this while, as presumably she
+had been well aware; but the sight of her distress touched him, and
+he would have approached her to offer some rude sympathy, had she not
+suddenly sprung up and faced him with blazing eyes and a fury only
+second to that which her father had displayed.
+
+In the emphatic and most idiomatic vernacular, which is always used by
+natives in moments of excitement, she told Saul _her_ opinion of him
+and of his conduct; she let loose in a flood all the mingled pique,
+anger, disappointment, and jealousy which his conduct of the past
+months had inspired. That he should presume to ask her love, and then
+care for nothing but wild notions that savoured to her of the devil
+himself, and which all right-minded people reprobated to the last
+extent, was an insult she could not put up with. Woman-like, she had
+looked to stand first and to stand paramount with handsome Saul, when
+once she had permitted him to woo her; and instead of this, he had
+heeded her less and less with every week that passed, and had even
+refused to remain on Sunday at the farm when she had asked it as a
+favour; and at last had done this mischief to her father through his
+mischievous, ill-conditioned tongue. She would have none of him, no,
+not she! He might go to his friends the fisher-folk, or to the slums of
+Pentreath for a wife, if he wanted one!--she would have none of him!
+He had been false to her, he had treated her shamefully, and now he
+might go. She never wished to see him again! And bursting into tears
+(the almost invariable climax to an outburst of anger with women of her
+class) Genefer rushed from the room, and Saul, looking white about the
+lips, but with a blaze in his eyes which made all who met him shrink
+away from him, put together the few things he had at the farm besides
+his books, and stalked away into Pentreath, where he found an audience
+as ready to listen to him as he was to address them.
+
+And this is how it came about that St. Bride was set in a ferment of
+excitement by the news that there were exciting scenes going on at
+Pentreath--mysterious outbreaks of popular fury--machines broken in the
+mills--a statue of the old king standing in the market-place, found
+in the river-bed one morning greatly shattered by the fall--a baker’s
+shop looted in broad daylight another day; and over all a sense that
+there was more to come, and that this was but the beginning of what
+might grow to rival one of the great risings of the Midlands and the
+North, when private houses had been broken into, and an untold amount
+of damage inflicted upon rich men, who had drawn upon themselves the
+popular hatred.
+
+Now St. Bride, as represented by the fishermen, had no wish to be left
+out of any enterprise which promised either excitement or reward. It
+was whispered in all quarters that Saul was at the head of the rioters,
+and that his was the master-mind there. If so, they would be certain of
+a welcome from him if they joined his little band; and so it came about
+that, whilst the boats still lay high and dry upon the beach, the men
+of the place were almost all mysteriously missing, and their womenfolk
+professed absolute ignorance as to what had taken them off.
+
+“Oh, Mr. St. Aubyn,” said Bride, with tears in her eyes, as she
+encountered the clergyman of St. Erme on the downs, bent in the same
+direction as herself, to the cottage where a sick woman was lying, “do
+you think it is true what they are all saying, that Abner’s grandson
+is gathering together a band of desperate men, and intends to try
+and provoke a general rising, and to march all through the district,
+breaking machines and robbing and plundering? It seems too dreadful to
+think of; but wherever I go I hear the same tale. Do you believe that
+it is true?”
+
+“I trust that you have heard an exaggerated account of what is passing,
+Lady Bride,” he said; “though I fear that there are troublous days
+before us; but I think we are prepared for that, and can look without
+over-much dismay around. Remember, my child, that when we see the
+beginning of these things coming to pass, we are to lift up our heads,
+because our redemption draweth nigh. In that is our safeguard and our
+hope.”
+
+The light flashed into Bride’s eyes.
+
+“Ah! thank you for reminding me. It is so hard to keep it always in
+mind; but indeed it is like the beginning--men’s heart’s failing them
+for fear, and for looking after those things that are coming on the
+earth. Mr. St. Aubyn, tell me, _are_ the people altogether wrong in
+demanding redress of those grievances which lie so heavy upon them? Is
+it right that they should have so little, so very little voice in the
+government of the nation, when we call this a free and a constitutional
+form of government? Need we condemn them altogether for doing what
+their ignorance and misery drive them to do? Are we not also to blame
+in that they are so miserable and ignorant?”
+
+“In very truth we are, Lady Bride----”
+
+“Ah! no; not _Lady_ Bride to you, when we are alone like this,” she
+pleaded. “It never used to be so. Let it be Bride again, as though I
+were a child. Ah! would that I were, and that _she_ were with me! Oh,
+it is all so dark and perplexing now!”
+
+“It is, my child, it is, even for the best and wisest on the earth. Let
+us take comfort in the thought that it is light with God, and that He
+sees the working out of His eternal purposes, even where most let and
+hindered by the sin and opposition of man. A time of darkness is upon
+us--that none can deny--not in this land alone, but in all the lands
+of Christendom; and you are right in your feeling that it is not the
+ignorant masses who are alone in fault. We--the Church--the nobility,
+the great ones of the earth, have failed again and again in our duties
+towards those below them, and now they have to suffer. Two wrongs do
+not make one right, and the method in which the ignorant seem like to
+set to work is not only foolish, but sinful also; and in our sense of
+sympathy for the people and our self-reprobation, we must not palliate,
+even though we may partially understand the cause of the sin. It is
+right that the people should be thought of and rightly done by. God has
+taught us that again and again; but it is not the ordinance of God that
+the people should govern--and yet, if I read my Bible and interpret
+aright, that is what we shall come to in the days of the end; it will
+no longer be the voice of God, nor yet the voice of the king which will
+prevail, but the voice of the people; and we shall again hear in newer
+and more subtle forms that word of blasphemy which tells us that the
+voice of the people is the voice of God.”
+
+“Ah! do you think so? That is what I have heard said; but surely it
+will take long, very long, to accomplish?”
+
+“Perhaps; I know not. In France it was accomplished in a few terrible
+years. Methinks in this land, where God has been so gracious times
+and again, it may be differently done and with less of terror and
+bloodshed; but the end will assuredly be the same. One can see, even
+from a worldly aspect, how it will be accomplished. Men say, and with
+justice and truth, that there should be in the community, for the good
+of all, a fair class representation--that is, that each class should
+have such a voice in the discussion of the affairs of the nation as
+will secure for that class the meed of justice and consideration to
+which its position entitles it. At present this is not so. The rising
+and important middle class have almost no representation, and the
+labouring and artisan class none. Yet they have a stake in the country,
+and are entitled to a voice.”
+
+“That is what Eustace says, and it sounds right.”
+
+“It is right, according to my ideas of justice, and will be gradually
+accomplished, as you know, by extension of franchise and so forth. We
+need not discuss that theme now. What I mean to point out to you is
+the danger that threatens us in the future. From claiming a fair class
+representation as the basis of sound government, the next step will be
+the theory that every man--or at least every householder--should have
+a vote, and most plausible reasons will be given for this. Probably in
+time it will be carried into law, and then you will see at once an end
+of class representation as well as of fair constitutional government.
+The power will no longer be balanced. It will all be thrown into the
+hands of one class, and that the most numerous but the least educated,
+the least thoughtful, the least capable of clear and sound judgment,
+because their very conditions of life preclude them from study and the
+acquisition of the needful knowledge requisite for sound government.
+The power will be vested in the class the most easily led or driven by
+unprincipled men, by the class with the least stake in the country,
+and the least power of seeing the true bearing of a measure which may
+be very plausible, but absolutely unsound. It may take the people very
+long to find their power, and perhaps longer still to dare to use it;
+but in time both these things will be achieved, and then the greatness
+of England will be at an end; and, as I think, the state of misery and
+confusion which will ensue will be far, far greater than what she has
+endured beneath the sway of her so-called tyrants and oppressors.”
+
+Bride heaved a long sigh.
+
+“Eustace would not think that,” she remarked softly.
+
+“No, nor many great men of the day; and time has yet to show whether
+they are right, or an old parish priest who has been buried alive
+all his days and knows nothing, as they would argue, of the signs of
+the times;” and here Mr. St. Aubyn smiled slightly. “Well, well, God
+knows, and in His good time we shall know. For the present that must
+content us. Let us not be in haste to condemn. Let us be patient, and
+full of faith and hope. He has always pointed out a way of escape for
+His faithful servants and followers before things become too terrible
+for endurance. Our hope no man can take from us. Let us live in its
+heavenly light, and then shall we not be confounded at the swelling
+of the waters and the raging of the flood--those great waters of the
+latter days--supporting the beast and his scarlet rider, which are
+peoples, and multitudes, and nations, and tongues, the power of a great
+and lawless democracy.”
+
+Bride looked awed and grave, yet full of confidence and hope; but the
+conversation was brought to a close by their arrival at the cottage
+whither both were bound.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+_A STRANGE NIGHT_
+
+
+It was a sultry August night, and Bride felt no disposition for
+sleep. She had acquired during her mother’s long illness the habit
+of wakefulness during the earlier hours of the night, when she was
+frequently beside the sick-bed, ministering to the wants of the
+patient. Since death had robbed her of that office, she had fallen into
+the habit of spending the earlier hours of the night in meditation and
+prayer, together with a study of the Scriptures; and to-night, after
+her old nurse had brushed out her abundant hair, and arranged it for
+the night, and after she had exchanged her dress for a long straight
+wrapper which was both cooler and more comfortable, she dismissed the
+old servant with a few sweet words of thanks, and setting her windows
+wide open to the summer night, knelt down beside the one which looked
+out over the moonlit bay, and was soon lost to all outward impression
+by her absorption in her own prayerful meditations.
+
+The hour of midnight had boomed from the clock-tower before she
+moved, and then she was aroused less by that sound than by a gradual
+consciousness that there was in the sky, to which her eyes were
+frequently raised, a glow that was not of the moon, but was more
+ruddy in tone, and seemed to absorb into itself the softer and whiter
+light. As she remarked this, her thoughts came back to earth again,
+and rising from her knees, she leaned out of the window, and then
+crossed the room hastily towards that other window looking away in the
+direction of Pentreath, and then at once she understood.
+
+A tall column of fire arose from behind the belt of woodland which hid
+the distant town, a beautiful but awful pillar of fire, reaching up as
+it seemed to the very heavens, and swaying gently to and fro in the
+light summer breeze. For a few moments Bride stood gazing at it with
+eyes in which pain and wonderment were gathering, and then a stifled
+exclamation broke from her lips.
+
+“God forgive them!--that is the work of incendiaries!”
+
+She stood rigid and motionless a few moments longer, and then with
+rapid fingers she began unfastening her wrapper, and clothing herself
+in one of her dark walking dresses. Her heart was beating fast and
+furiously. Her face was very pale, for she was taking a resolution that
+cost her a great effort; but she seemed to see her duty clearly mapped
+out before her, and she came of a race that was not wont to shrink from
+the path of duty because the road was rough.
+
+Few knew better than did Lady Bride Marchmont the temper of the rude
+fisher-folk of St. Bride’s Bay. From her childhood she had been wont to
+accompany her mother down to that cluster of cottages and hovels which
+formed the little community, and she had grown up with an intuitive
+understanding of the people, and their ways and methods of thought,
+which had been matured and deepened by her many talks with Abner. She
+knew full well that, although in the main kindly men individually,
+there was a vein of ferocity running through the fibre of their nature,
+which a certain class of events always awoke to active life. Thirty
+years back these men, or their fathers, were professionally wreckers,
+and it had needed long patience, and all the gentle influence of
+the Duchess and her helpers, to break them of this terrible sin. Of
+late years deliberate wrecking had to a very great extent died out,
+but there was still in the hearts of the fishermen an irradicable
+conviction that when “Providence” did send a vessel to pieces on their
+iron-bound coast, the cargo of that vessel became their lawful prey;
+and they were careless enough, in striving to outwit the authorities
+and secure the booty, of any loss of human life which might have
+been averted by prompt measures on their part. They made it rather
+a principle than otherwise to let the crew drown before their eyes
+without any attempt at rescue. When the crew were saved, they had a way
+of claiming the contents of the ship if any came ashore, and that was a
+notion altogether foreign to the ideas of the fishermen of St. Bride.
+
+The same instinct of plunder awoke within them when any misfortune
+occurred in the neighbourhood; and wherever there was booty to be had
+for the taking, there were the hardy fisher-folk of the place likely to
+be found. Bride realised in a moment that if they saw the glow of this
+fire, and understood its meaning as she did, they would set off at once
+to join the band of marauders and incendiaries; and as every addition
+to such a band brings a fresh access of lawlessness and a growing sense
+of power, the very fact of the arrival of this reinforcement was likely
+enough to result in fresh outrage, and fresh scenes of destruction and
+horror.
+
+Whilst standing rigid and silent, watching that terrible pillar of
+flame, Bride had turned the matter over in her mind, and resolved upon
+her own course of action. She knew the fishermen well, and knew their
+nature--at once soft and passionate, gentle and ferocious. Were she
+to alarm the household and get her father to send down a number of the
+servants to try and stop them by force from marching to join the riot,
+she knew that nothing but fighting and disaster would ensue. There
+was a long-standing and instinctive feud between the servants of the
+castle, many of whom were not natives of the place, and the rugged
+fisher-folk of the bay. The servants despised the fishermen, and the
+fishermen hated the servants. No good could possibly result from such a
+course of action. But Bride knew every man amongst them. She had gone
+fearlessly in and out of their houses since childhood. She had sailed
+in their boats on the bay, she had visited their wives in sickness, and
+had clothed their children with the work of her own hands. They loved
+her in their own rough way. She knew that well, and she was a power in
+their midst, as her mother had been before her. They might be stayed by
+her pleading words, when no attempt at force would do more than whet
+their desire after battle and plunder. If she went alone, she had a
+chance with them; if she stayed to get help, all would be lost.
+
+Her resolution was taken in less time than it has taken to read these
+lines. Donning her plainest dress and cloak, and softly summoning
+from the anteroom a great hound, who was the invariable companion of
+her lonely walks, she opened another door into one of the turreted
+chambers of the castle, and found her way down a spiral staircase,
+lighted by broad squares of moonlight from unclosed windows, to a door
+at the base, the bolts of which she drew back easily--for this was her
+own ordinary mode of access to the gardens--and found herself out in
+the soft night-air with the moon overhead, and that glow in the sky
+behind her which told such a terrible tale of its own. There were two
+ways from the castle to the fishing-village lying out of sight beneath
+the shelter of the cliff. One was the long and roundabout way of the
+zigzag carriage-drive, leading through the grounds and out by the
+lodge upon the road, from which a bye-lane led down to the shore. The
+other was a far shorter, but a rough and in some seasons a perilous
+track--a narrow pathway formed by a jutting ledge of rock, extending
+by one of nature’s freaks from a little below the great terrace in
+front of the castle right round the angle of the bluff, and so to St.
+Bride’s Bay itself. A long, long flight of steps led down from the
+sea-terrace of Penarvon to the beach below, where the castle boats lay
+at anchor, or were housed within their commodious boat-house, according
+to weather and season; and from one spot as you descended these steps
+a sure-footed person could step upon the ledge of rock which formed
+the pathway round the headland. Bride was familiar from childhood with
+this path, and had traversed it too often and too freely to feel the
+smallest fear now. The moonlight was clear and intense. She knew every
+foot of the way, and even the hound who followed closely in her wake
+was too well used to the precarious ledge to express any uneasiness
+when his mistress led the way down to it.
+
+With rapid and fearless precision Bride made the transit round the
+rocky headland, and saw the waters of the bay lying still and calm at
+her feet. The ledge of rock sloped rapidly down on this side of the
+bluff, and very quickly Bride found herself quite close to the hamlet,
+which lay like a sleeping thing beneath the sheltering crags. Her heart
+gave a bound of relief. All was still as yet. Perhaps the men had not
+realised what was passing, and were all at home and asleep. She paused
+a moment, reconnoitring, wondering whether she would do better to go
+forward or back. But the sight of a light shining steadily in one
+window, and a shadow passing to and fro within the room it lighted,
+convinced her that something was astir, and decided her to go on.
+She knew the cottage well. It was that of the old woman who went by
+the name of Mother Clat. Bride knew that if any mischief were afoot,
+she would be the first to know it; nay, it was like enough it would
+be hatched and discussed beneath her very roof. Even now the worst
+characters of the place, the boldest of the men, and those most bent on
+riot and plunder, might be gathered together there; but the knowledge
+of this probability did no deter Bride, who had all the resolute
+fearlessness of her race and temperament; and she went composedly
+forward and knocked at the outer door.
+
+“Coom in wi’ ye,” answered a familiar voice, and Bride lifted the latch
+and entered.
+
+A fire of peat turves glowed on the open hearth, over which a pot was
+hanging; but the room was empty, save for the old woman herself, who
+gazed in unaffected amaze at the apparition of the slim black-robed
+girl with her white face and shining eyes.
+
+“Loramassy! ef it ban’t t’ Laady Bride hersen! Mercy on us! What’s
+brought she doon heer at such a time! My pretty laady, you ’a no beznez
+out o’ your bed sech a time as this. You shudden ’ave abin an’ gone vor
+tu leave t’ castle to-night!”
+
+“Why not?” asked Bride, coming forward towards the fire, and looking
+full at the woman, who shrank slightly under the penetrating gaze.
+“What is going on abroad to-night, Mother Clat? I know that something
+is?”
+
+“Fegs! I’m thinking the dowl himsel’s abroad these days,” answered the
+woman uneasily. “The bwoys are that chuck vull o’ mischief. Theer’s no
+holdin’ un when ’e gets un into ’is maw. It du no manner o’ gude to
+clapper-claw un. ’T on’y maakes un zo itemy’s a bear wi’ a zore yed.”
+
+“Where are the men?” asked Bride quietly. The woman eyed the girl
+uneasily and not without suspicion, but the expression of her face
+seemed to reassure her.
+
+“Ye dwawnt mean no harm to the bwoys ef so be as I tellee?” she
+answered tentatively.
+
+“No, indeed,” answered Bride earnestly. “I want to keep them from harm
+all I can. I am so terribly afraid they are running into it themselves.
+I hoped I should be in time to stop it. Oh, I fear I am too late!”
+
+“Crimminy!” ejaculated the old woman, with admiration in her voice and
+eyes, “ef yu came to try an’ stop they bwoys from mischief, yu are a
+righy bold un!--that yu be! But ’tidden no use tu argufy widden. I did
+go for tu try mysen: but twarn’t no use. Et gwoeth agin the grain o’
+men-folk tu listen tu a woman--let alone a bit of a gurl like yu, my
+laady.”
+
+“I think they would have listened to me if I could have found them in
+time,” said Bride softly, with a great regret in her eyes. “You mean
+they have all gone off to join the rioters over at Pentreath?”
+
+“They’ve abin tu Pentreath ever sin’ yestereen. Yu’ve coom tu late, my
+pretty laady. Du ee go back now. ’Tidden no place for yu heer. What
+ud his Graace say ef he heard you was tu St. Bride’s at this time o’
+night?”
+
+The woman was so manifestly uneasy that the girl suspected something,
+though she knew not what. As she stood looking into the fire, Mother
+Clat still urging her to be gone, it suddenly occurred to her that
+possibly the rioters had other plans than those whispered designs
+against the mills of Pentreath. Had not her own father angered one
+section of the community by the introduction of machinery upon the
+land? And when the spirit of revolt was aroused and well whetted by
+scenes of outrage, might not one lead to others?
+
+Looking straight at the old woman with the grave direct glance which
+made this girl a power sometimes with those about her, she asked
+clearly and steadily--
+
+“Do you mean that you are expecting the men back? that they are bent on
+doing mischief here? Do not try and deceive me. It is always best to
+speak the truth.”
+
+The old woman cowered before the girl, as she never cowered in the
+midst of the rude rough men, even when they were in their cups, and
+threatened her with rough ferocity.
+
+“Yu nidden be glumpy wi’ I,” she half whimpered, “I an’t adued nawt but
+try to keep un back. I twold un it ud coom tu no gude. They’d better
+letten bide. But I be terrabul aveared they means mischief. It’s awl
+along o’ that Zaul. He’ve abin arufyin’, and aggin’ un on, and now they
+du zay as ’e’s leadin’ un the dowl on’y knaws wheer; and they’re fair
+’tosticated wi’t all!”
+
+Bride started a little, as though something had stung her, and a look
+of keen pain came into her face.
+
+“Saul,” she said softly, “Abner’s boy! Ah! what a sorrow it will be for
+him! And that is Eustace’s doing! It was he who is responsible, not the
+poor hot-headed youth himself. O Eustace! Eustace! will you ever see
+the danger of the path you are treading, and the peril into which you
+are leading others?”
+
+The woman was loth to speak at first, but the charm of Bride’s
+gentleness, and her absolute sense of security in the goodwill of the
+young lady, overcame her reticence at last, and she told the girl all
+she knew. It was not much; but she had gathered from some news that
+reached her at dusk that she might expect a party some time in the
+small hours of the morning, who would stand in need of refreshment,
+but would pay her well for her trouble. Reading between the lines of
+the message, she had got a shrewd notion that the marauders under Saul
+Tresithny would pay a visit to the neighbourhood of St. Bride’s that
+night, and it might be presumed that the Duke’s new machinery might
+suffer in consequence. This was by no means certain, however. The
+Duke was known to take precautions not possible for smaller farmers
+with fewer servants and less issue at stake, and it might be that the
+attack would be made upon the smaller men, who would less easily recoup
+themselves for the loss. Of that the woman knew nothing; as a matter
+of fact, she did not know, but only guessed, that an attack might be
+made at all. She had soon come to an end of such information as she
+possessed, and Bride was left to consider what she ought to do under
+the circumstances.
+
+Should she go home and rouse her father’s men? or would that only
+bring about the very collision she so much wished to avoid? Was
+the information received sufficient for her to act upon, or had it
+originated with the woman herself, who was evidently not in the
+confidence of the men? Musing for a few moments over this question,
+Bride made a quick resolve, and after saying a brief but kindly
+farewell to Mother Clat, who was anxiously studying her face all the
+while, she slipped out of the cottage, and along the silent little
+street of the village beneath the cliff, till she found herself upon
+the bit of rough road which led upwards from the shore, through a
+narrow gully, towards the church and the rectory.
+
+Bride knew the habits of Mr. Tremodart. He was seldom in bed before
+one or two o’clock in the morning. He was a man of eccentric ways,
+and almost invariably after his supper at half-past eight, sat down
+to smoke in one of his untidy rooms, and at ten o’clock started out
+on a long walk over the moors or along the cliffs, coming home about
+midnight, and sitting up with a book for an hour or two later. It was
+not much after one o’clock now, and she had good hopes of catching him
+before he retired. With all his peculiarities, and his lack of the
+spirituality that was to Bride as the breath of life, the Cornishman
+was a shrewd, hard-headed man, with a large fund of common-sense, and
+a wide experience of St. Bride’s folks and their ways. He would be by
+far the best person to acquaint with the danger of the hour. He was
+(as was usual in those days) magistrate as well as clergyman, had a
+secular as well as sacred charge over his people. To her great relief,
+as she unlatched the garden-gate, she saw him standing out in his
+untidy plot of ground and looking at the red light in the sky. As her
+light footfall fell upon his ear, he turned with a start, and his face
+expressed a great amazement when he saw who had come to disturb his
+solitude at such an hour.
+
+“Lady Bride! Will wonders never cease! And what are yu doing out here
+alone at this time of night, my child? It is hardly fit yu should be
+abroad with no protector but your dog. Is anything amiss at home? And
+why did yu not send rather than come?”
+
+In a few words Bride told the story of her evening’s vigil and
+its result, the clergyman standing and looking down at her in the
+moonlight, and making patterns on the gravel with the point of his
+stick.
+
+“The foolish lads! the foolish, wrong-headed lads! they will bring
+mischief on their heads one of these days, I take it. Well, well, well,
+it is perhaps less their fault than those who egg them on, and puzzle
+their heads by half-truths. Dear, dear, we must stop the mischief if we
+can. I wonder now where they are like to go first. To the Duke’s, think
+you, Lady Bride? ’Twas he who first brought in this new machinery, and
+there would be most glory in destroying his property, as they would
+think it, poor misguided souls!”
+
+“Yes, but they know my father’s men have firearms, and that the dogs
+are left loose in the great yard where the machines are kept, and that
+there is always one man sleeping in the room by the great alarm-bell
+that was put up, who would rouse the whole castle if he heard any sound
+of attack.”
+
+“If they know that, they are hardly likely to be daring enough to try
+to injure his Grace’s property,” remarked Mr. Tremodart thoughtfully.
+“But there are several more in their black books--Farmer Teazel, for
+instance--and that misguided young Tresithny, whom yu say is at the
+head of all this, knows the place well, and would be able to lead them
+to it.”
+
+“Oh, I cannot believe it of Saul!” cried Bride, with a note of pain in
+her voice, “to turn into a leader of cowardly mobs, after the teaching
+and the training he has had! It doesn’t seem possible; yet I fear it
+is too true. And it is, I fear, the doing of my cousin Eustace. Oh, it
+seems too sad that we should first lead them on to riot, and then sit
+in judgment upon them for what we have taught them to do.”
+
+“I must see if I cannot stop this before it has come to a matter
+for the magistrates,” said Mr. Tremodart, with a firm look upon his
+face; “if things go too far, it becomes a hanging matter for the
+ringleaders--examples are made, and the people intimidated by the
+hanging of those who lead them. We must not let Abner’s grandson finish
+his life upon the gallows if we can help it. So come with me, Lady
+Bride; I will see you to the gate of your home, and then go and meet
+these lads if they do pay us a visit. They will most likely take the
+direct road for some distance, and the night is very still. I think I
+shall find them out by the tramp of their feet. I have good ears for
+sound.”
+
+Bride knew that, and walked rapidly by his side up the steep road
+trending upwards towards the castle; but when the lodge gate was
+reached, and he would have opened it for her, she paused and placed her
+hand upon his arm.
+
+“I cannot,” she said; “I must go on. I must see the end of this.
+Indeed, I shall get no harm. Nobody will lay a finger on me. No, do
+not refuse me; do not think me self-willed, but I must go with you.
+Something within me tells me I must. Mr. Tremodart, it has been the
+doing of a Marchmont that Saul Tresithny and these poor ignorant
+fishermen are abroad with evil intent to-night. You must not hinder me
+from striving to do my share to avert the threatened danger, and I know
+I shall not be hurt. You will be with me, and no one will lay a finger
+on either of us. They may not listen to us; but they will not hurt us.
+Our West-Country men are not savages.”
+
+Mr. Tremodart rubbed his chin and shook his head in some perplexity.
+He did not think the delicate girl was suited to the task in hand,
+and he rather feared what the Duke might say when this night’s work
+came to his ears; but then it was very difficult for him to overcome
+the resistance of Lady Bride, whose rank and standing gave her an
+importance of her own quite independent of that exercised by her strong
+personality.
+
+“I will tell my father that it was my own doing,” said Bride quietly,
+observing his hesitation, and taking his arm, she led him onwards, he
+yielding the point, because he did not exactly know what else to do,
+having no authority over her to insist on her return.
+
+The walk was a swift but silent one. The road lay white beneath their
+feet, and the moon, which was now sinking in the sky, threw long
+strange shadows over the world. The track grew rougher as it rose upon
+the down-land, but both were good walkers, and did not heed. The great
+hound paced silently behind them as they moved, till all at once it
+lifted up its huge head, and after sniffing the air suspiciously for a
+while, broke into a low deep bay.
+
+At that sound both pedestrians stopped and listened intently, and in
+a few brief moments they heard a noise. It was not the sound of the
+measured tramping they had expected first to hear, but rather that of
+voices--voices in confabulation or dispute, sometimes low and confused,
+sometimes rising higher and higher, as if in angry debate--the voices
+of a multitude, as was testified by the continual hum, in addition to
+the more distinct sounds of argument or strife. The moon just now had
+passed behind a cloud, and the moor was very dark, but Mr. Tremodart
+and Bride walked swiftly and silently forward, leaving the road for the
+soft grass, as they deflected their course, so as to come near to the
+spot where the colloquy was being held. Their footsteps made no sound,
+and Bride held the hound by the collar and hushed him into silence.
+Very soon they had approached near enough to hear what was passing, and
+to catch every word of a harangue being delivered in a voice which both
+of them knew only too well.
+
+“I tell yu yu are cowards to think only of duing what is safest and
+easiest for yourselves. Are we fighting for ourselves, or for our
+miserable and oppressed brothers? Men, we are bound together in a great
+undertaking; and if we stand shoulder to shoulder in the fight, and
+are true tu ourselves and tu each other all over the land, no power
+can stand against us. We are bound together tu overthrow tyrants and
+oppressors--the great ones of the earth, who fatten upon our misery and
+grind us to the very dust. Those are our enemies, and all of yu know it
+as well as I. And now to-night, when the power is in our hands, are we
+to disgrace our cause by falling upon men only a little better off than
+ourselves, and wrecking their goods and bringing them to misery? No--I
+say no. I say that would be a coward act. And those who want to go to
+yon upland farm, and ruin a man who was once as one of us, till by his
+industry he raised himself to comfort, or his father before him, must
+go alone. I will not be with him. There is one man only in these parts
+upon whose goods I will lay a hand, and that is the Duke of Penarvon.
+He is the type tu us of that wealth and power we are banded together
+tu overthrow, and I will lead yu on tu his place and lay down my life
+in the struggle with all joy. But I will knock down the first man who
+tries to go to the farm, and yu men in the crowd who owe the farmer a
+grudge and hound the rest on to attack him, yu best know whether or not
+I can keep my word!”
+
+There was dead silence after this speech, which was evidently the
+culminating oration of a hot debate, and a voice from the crowd called
+out--
+
+“Us ban’t agwain’ vur tu be a-killed by the Duke’s men an’ theer
+guns--we’m had enough o’ guns. We’ll de dalled ef we du! Ef we can’t
+have a slap at t’old varmer’s ’chines, us’ll gwo home tu our beds. Be
+yu agwaine to take we theer or ban’t yu?”
+
+“I’ll not take yu tu the varm, nor yet stand by and zee yu gwo!”
+answered Saul hotly, lapsing from the dignity of speaker into that of a
+common disputer, and for a minute the battle raged again; but perhaps
+the crowd from Pentreath had about tired itself out, for there was no
+very determined resistance to Saul’s resolute opposition, and evidently
+no disposition in the mob to run the gauntlet of the Duke’s well-known
+and organised opposition to such attacks.
+
+In the darkness of the night--darkest before the dawn--the crowd slowly
+melted away, slowly at first, but with considerable rapidity, as the
+men realised that they were hungry, and tired, and cold, and that
+many of them had plunder from the burning mill to secrete before the
+authorities came in search of them. Before the moon shone out again
+the mob had melted like snow before the sun, and Mr. Tremodart and
+Bride, whose figures seemed to rise up out of the very ground before
+the astonished gaze of one man left standing alone upon the moor, found
+themselves face to face with Saul Tresithny, who looked in the white
+low moonlight as though confronted by veritable wraiths.
+
+“Saul,” said Bride, coming one step forward, “why do you hate my father
+so much? What ill has he ever done to you, or to any in St. Bride?”
+
+The man made no attempt to reply, till the glance fixed full upon him
+seemed to draw the answer, but without his own volition.
+
+“It is not he himself I hate,” he said, speaking with difficulty, “it
+is the whole system he supports. He is one of the enemies of the cause
+of the people. He and all his class are barriers and bulwarks against
+our freedom. You do not understand; you could not. But we do, and Mr.
+Marchmont will tell you all, if you ask him. He knows. It is not the
+men themselves we hate, but the power they hold over us. We will not
+have it longer. We will break the yoke off our neck.”
+
+At this moment the sound of galloping horse-hoofs was heard along the
+soft turf, and the three standing in the moonlight saw a young officer
+of dragoons, followed by three mounted troopers, heading straight for
+them.
+
+“That’s the fellow!” cried the officer; “seize him, men, and make him
+fast. I thought we’d run him to earth here. That’s your man. See he
+does not escape you!”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+_DUKE AND DEFAULTER_
+
+
+Bride made three steps forward and stood beside the horse ridden by the
+young officer, the moonlight shining clear upon her, and adding to the
+pure pale character of her beauty.
+
+“Captain O’Shaughnessy,” she said gently, “I think you are making a
+mistake about this man.”
+
+In a second the young officer was off his horse and on his feet. He
+recognised the speaker now, although his astonishment at such an
+encounter at such an hour of the night--or rather morning, for the dawn
+would soon begin to break--was past all power of expression.
+
+“Lady Bride!--Can it be you? or do I see a ghost?”
+
+“No, it is I,” answered the girl quietly; “I came out with our good
+clergyman, Mr. Tremodart, to see if we could persuade our foolish
+and misguided fishermen from St. Bride to come quietly home. We were
+afraid they were bent on mischief. But we only came up as the crowd was
+dispersing. Your prisoner there was refusing to permit an attack on the
+machinery at Farmer Teazel’s, which the men were eager to make. That is
+why I say that I think you are making a mistake in arresting him.”
+
+The young officer, who had received hospitality from the Duke on
+occasion, as all the officers of the regiment quartered near to
+Pentreath did from time to time, looked from his prisoner to the lady
+and from the lady to the prisoner in some perplexity, and then said
+doubtfully--
+
+“Do you not think you are mistaken, Lady Bride? Was not the man urging
+them to make the attack?”
+
+“No,” answered Bride at once. “He would have been willing to do so had
+they marched upon my father’s place, where there would have been a
+warm welcome for them, and hard fighting; but his followers were not
+prepared for that. They wished to go where there would be little or no
+resistance, and where they could effect their purpose with impunity.
+But your prisoner there threatened to knock down the first man who
+attempted such a thing, and his words had the effect of dispersing the
+crowd. As you yourself saw, he was alone when you came up. But for him,
+that dispersed crowd would have been in full march upon one of the
+nearest farms here. Are you arresting him for that?”
+
+“Faith no!” answered the young man, evidently rather nonplussed by the
+lady’s story, and uncertain how to proceed. “Nevertheless this is the
+man, as I take it, whom I was sent out to capture. Is not your name
+Saul Tresithny?” he asked, turning towards the prisoner, who stood
+perfectly still and quiet between his guards, making no attempt at
+escape.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“And you were leading the mob in Pentreath this night--helping to set
+fire to the mills?”
+
+“I was with them part of the time,” answered Saul fearlessly.
+
+“And you are the man who makes speeches that sends them all stark
+raving mad? I’ve heard of you, Saul Tresithny. I think it is high time
+you had a taste of prison discipline.”
+
+“I do what I can for the cause of freedom,” answered Saul, throwing
+back his head with a gesture that was rather fine. “I cry death to
+tyranny and tyrants wherever they be, but I’ll have no hand in harming
+poor men’s goods. If my men would have marched on the castle to-night,
+I’d have led them with all my best ability; but they had not the
+stomach for it--poor, ill-fed wretches--one can’t wonder. Courage and
+starvation are not wont to walk hand in hand, so they melted away like
+a mist just before you came. But I am here, ready to lay down my life
+for the cause, if that will be any good to it.”
+
+The young officer shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the lady
+with a gesture that spoke volumes.
+
+“There, Lady Bride, you see what kind of a temper that fellow has got;
+your pleadings are quite thrown away on such as he.”
+
+“He is only repeating what he has been taught, and that by those who
+should know better,” pleaded Bride gently, yet earnestly. “Captain
+O’Shaughnessy, I have known that young man all my life, and until he
+was led away by the voice of this cruel agitation he bore the best of
+characters; and to-night he has dispersed a lawless mob by the strength
+of his own determination. Men are not punished for their intentions but
+for their deeds. He says he would have injured my father’s property;
+but he did not do it. What he did do was all in the cause of law and
+order. Mr. Tremodart, tell Captain O’Shaughnessy what we saw and heard;
+then he will understand better that he is making a mistake about Saul.”
+
+“I can only testify that what you’ve said is the truth, Lady Bride. I
+can’t say, of course, what the young man has been doing earlier on; but
+we came out to try and stop the boys of St. Bride from getting intu
+mischief, which is a way they have when mischief is afloat; and we came
+upon the young fellow making a speech which had the effect of sending
+them tu the right-about and dispersing them. That’s all true as gospel;
+but whether yu are justified in letting your prisoner escape yu, I
+don’t profess to judge. Yu should know your duty better than we can
+teach it yu.”
+
+“And I’m afraid my duty is to arrest him and take him back to
+Pentreath,” said the young man regretfully. “Lady Bride, I don’t like
+doing anything against your wishes, but my orders were to ride after
+the mob and disperse it, and capture Saul Tresithny if possible. I
+don’t think I should be justified in letting him escape me after
+that--once having my hands upon him. You wouldn’t wish me, I am sure,
+to fail in my own duty and obedience?”
+
+The young fellow spoke almost pleadingly, and Bride’s face changed.
+The soft eager light went out of her eyes, and was replaced by one of
+sadness and resignation.
+
+“I must persuade no one to fail in duty and obedience,” she said, with
+a sigh, “least of all one of his Majesty’s soldiers. But will you
+remember all that I have spoken in his favour, and let it be known what
+he did to-night?”
+
+“Faith and I will. I’ll say everything I can in his favour--how he
+didn’t resist us, but behaved as quietly and as well as possible, and
+had sent all the people to the right-about before ever we had got up to
+them. I’ll say everything I know for him, poor fellow. For he’ll need
+it--with the charges they’ll bring against him.”
+
+The soldiers, at a sign from their superior, had walked the prisoner
+a little farther away, and Bride, looking anxiously into Captain
+O’Shaughnessy’s face, asked, in a low voice--
+
+“What charges will they bring?”
+
+“Arson, for one thing,” answered the young man significantly. “You
+see, there’s been a lot of damage done in Pentreath to-night, and it’s
+pretty well known that Tresithny and another little cobbler fellow have
+been the stirrers-up of all this turbulence. They’ve got the cobbler
+fast enough; and now I’ve got Tresithny too. They’ll be examined
+to-morrow before the magistrates, and most likely committed for trial.
+It’s been a bad bit of business, and the country is getting exasperated
+with all this senseless rioting and destruction of property. They make
+signal examples now and again of ringleaders--just to try and deter
+others.”
+
+Bride turned very white in the dying moonlight.
+
+“What do you think they will do to him?” she asked, in a low voice.
+
+“Well, I can’t say. I’ll tell all you’ve told me, Lady Bride. I’ll
+say what there is to say in his favour, for he’s a plucky fellow, and
+deserves a better fate. He’d make an uncommon fine soldier, if he were
+only in the ranks now. But many men have been hanged for less than
+has been astir in Pentreath these past few days, and there’s a strong
+feeling in the place against this fellow Tresithny.”
+
+Bride caught her breath a little sharply, but her voice was quite calm
+as she bowed her adieus to the young officer.
+
+“Well, I must not detain you any longer, Captain O’Shaughnessy. I am
+grateful to you for telling me the truth, and for promising to befriend
+Saul Tresithny as far as you are able. You say he will be brought
+before the magistrates to-morrow--does that mean to-day? It is their
+day for sitting, I know.”
+
+“To-day! why, to be sure it is to-day,” answered the young man, with
+a short laugh. “Good morning, Lady Bride. I must be off after my men.
+They have been out the best part of the night. I’ll say all I can for
+that fellow Tresithny; but----”
+
+He sprang on his horse, and the rest of the sentence, if it was ever
+finished, was lost on Bride. She took Mr. Tremodart’s arm, and he felt
+that she was trembling all over.
+
+“This has been too much for you, Lady Bride,” he said, with his awkward
+gentleness. “I ought not to have let you come.”
+
+“It is not that,” answered Bride, in a very low voice. “I am not tired;
+it is the thought of _that_. Oh, Mr. Tremodart, is it true?--can they
+hang him for it?”
+
+“The magistrates cannot hang him,” answered Mr. Tremodart; “and if he
+is committed for trial, several weeks will elapse before the assize
+comes on, and things may have happened to divert public attention; so
+perhaps the feeling against him will not be running so high. All those
+things make a great difference.”
+
+“But have they hanged men before for this sort of thing?”
+
+“Yes--they have certainly done so.”
+
+Bride shuddered again. She spoke some words, as if to herself, in so
+low a voice that he could not catch them; but he thought he heard the
+name of Eustace pass her lips.
+
+He shook his own head sorrowfully.
+
+“I was afraid Mr. Marchmont was wrong in trying to stir up the people
+to be discontented and rebellious. He meant well--all those reformers
+mean well, and have a great deal on their side; but they go to work so
+often in the wrong way, and their followers make the blunder ten times
+worse. It’s not easy to say out of hand how the thing should be done;
+but I take it they’ve not got hold of the right end of the stick yet.”
+
+The two walked with rapid steps, their thoughts keeping them silent for
+the most part. Bride’s mind was hard at work; her feelings were keenly
+stirred within her. The burden of the song which kept ringing in her
+ears was, “This is Eustace’s doing, this is Eustace’s work. Oh, how
+can we let another die, and die perhaps unfit and impenitent through
+his act, through his teaching? It must not be. Oh, it shall not be!
+Saul must not die through Eustace’s fault!”
+
+Bride had come to think of Eustace in a way she scarcely understood
+herself. She had not greatly liked him on his visit. For many weeks she
+had thought little of him, and later on, when she knew him better, she
+saw too much in him to disapprove to grow in any way dependent upon
+him. And yet since his departure she was conscious that he filled a
+good deal of her thoughts, that she felt a certain responsibility in
+his career, and that she was unable to help identifying herself with
+him in a fashion she could neither understand nor explain.
+
+True he had made her an offer of marriage, and had professed an undying
+love for her. He had gone away half pledged to return and seek her
+again; and no woman can be utterly indifferent towards a man who loves
+her, especially when she is young, and has never known what it is to be
+wooed before. Bride had shrunk back in justifiable reproof when Eustace
+spoke of her as being the sun and star of his life, the elevating power
+which could raise him to what heights she would; but none the less
+did his words leave an impress on her sensitive mind, and gave her
+much food for reflection. She was too well taught, as well as too full
+of spiritual insight, to be confused by such an outburst, or to come
+to look upon herself as responsible for the soul of the man who had
+almost offered it to her to make what she would of; but she had begun
+to wonder what she might be able to do for him by prayer and unceasing
+intercession, and the thought was helping her to take a keener and more
+personal interest in any matter in which Eustace was concerned than
+would otherwise have been the case.
+
+The dawn was breaking as Bride reached home, but she slipped up to her
+room unobserved. She was too worn out and weary to think any more just
+then; and slipping off her clothes and getting into bed, she fell into
+a deep sleep, which lasted till the attendant came to rouse her in the
+morning.
+
+Refreshed by those few hours of dreamless sleep, but with her mind as
+full as before of the events of the past night, she rose and dressed,
+and found her way to the breakfast-room just as her father was entering.
+
+The Duke’s face was very stern. He had just heard of the riots in
+Pentreath. Mr. St. Aubyn had come half-an-hour earlier to speak to
+him on the matter. He was on his way to Pentreath, for both he and
+Mr. Tremodart, according to the prevailing custom of the day, were on
+the magisterial bench, and he often came in on his way to a sitting
+to consult the Duke on some point of law, or ask leave to look in
+his many and valuable books for some information on a knotty point.
+He was in the library at this moment, and the Duke was ordering some
+refreshment to be taken to him there, as he had no time to come to the
+breakfast-room.
+
+When he saw his daughter, he greeted her with an air of abstraction;
+and as the two sat at table together, he told her in a few words
+the news which had reached him, and spoke of his own intention of
+accompanying Mr. St. Aubyn to Pentreath, in order to make personal
+inquiries and inspection as to the magnitude of the riot.
+
+Bride listened in silence whilst he spoke; and then suddenly summoning
+up all her own courage (for she had all her life stood in considerable
+awe of her father), she told him in unconsciously graphic words the
+whole story of her night’s adventure, and of the terrible peril now
+menacing Saul Tresithny.
+
+The Duke listened in silence, but evidently the story produced a
+profound impression on him. His eyes never moved from his daughter’s
+face as she proceeded, and at the end he sat perfectly silent for a
+full three minutes before he put a sudden question--
+
+“And why are you so keenly interested in the fate of this Saul
+Tresithny, Bride? What is he more to you than the cobbler, for
+instance, of whom Captain O’Shaughnessy spoke? Is it because he is a
+St. Bride man--Abner’s grandson? Poor old Abner!--it will be a terrible
+blow to him!”
+
+“I think it will kill him if Saul is condemned to death,” said the
+girl, with shining eyes. “Yes, papa, it is all that--I have known Saul
+ever since I can remember anything--ever since I was a tiny child,
+and he used to collect shells and seaweed for me, and make me boats
+to sail. But it is not that quite--it is not only that he belongs to
+our village, and that he is Abner’s grandson. That would always make
+me interested in him, and dreadfully sorry if he got into trouble. But
+there is another and a much greater reason than that. Oh, papa! surely
+you know what it is!”
+
+He was still looking at her earnestly. Little as Bride knew it, there
+was at this moment in her face a look of her mother which the Duke
+had never observed there before; her face was pale from her night’s
+vigil, and from the stress of her emotion. Her dark eyes were full of
+a liquid light, reminding him painfully of the dying brightness of his
+wife’s eyes as she gave him her last solemn charge. Even the note of
+appeal in the girl’s voice had something of the mother’s sweetness and
+softness. Bride _had_ been growing increasingly like her mother during
+the past months--many people had observed it; but her father had never
+noticed it till now. Now the likeness struck him with a curious force,
+and Bride noted that he seemed arrested by her words as had seldom been
+the case before. But he made no verbal response, and she suddenly rose
+and came over to him and knelt down at his feet, clasping her hands
+upon the arm of his chair, and turning her sweet, quivering, earnest
+face up towards him. Probably she would never have ventured upon this
+demonstration before her unapproachable father, had it not been that
+her sensitive spirit had received some instinctive consciousness of
+sympathy new between him and herself. He laid his hand now upon her
+clasped fingers, and the touch sent a quick thrill through her.
+
+“Papa, Saul must not die!” she said, with intense earnestness of
+resolve. “He must not die a traitor’s death, for the things he has done
+are not prompted by his own imaginings. The words he has spoken are not
+his own. It is Eustace who has done it all--Eustace who is the author
+of all. Oh, papa, the punishment must not fall on Saul’s head. I think
+it would break Eustace’s heart if he were to know that Saul had come to
+his death like that.”
+
+The Duke’s face was very dark and stern, but his sternness was not for
+his child, as Bride knew by the pressure of the fingers upon her hand.
+
+“Eustace should think of this before he sets about playing with
+explosives. Could he not see that young Tresithny was not a man to be
+stirred up with impunity? What a man sows, that shall he also reap.”
+
+“Ah! truly he does! Oh, papa, I fear me the harvest Eustace will have
+to reap will be a very bitter one; but, indeed, indeed Saul must not
+die for Eustace’s fault. Eustace is our kinsman. He was here as our
+guest. We cannot altogether shirk the responsibility of his deeds.
+Papa, you will not let Saul die for what is the folly and sin of
+Eustace. Ah! no. You will save him, I know. You will save him, for the
+honour of the name of Marchmont!”
+
+“What can I do. Bride? I have no power. I am not one of the
+magistrates.”
+
+“You are not a magistrate, but you have more power than any one in the
+county,” answered Bride, with a smile so like her mother’s, that the
+heart of the old man contracted first with pain, and then swelled with
+a sense of new happiness. “Eustace would perhaps call it an abuse, that
+one man should have so much power in his hands just because he had
+wealth and lands; but I do not think that. I hold that if he uses his
+power on behalf of true justice and true mercy, and in the cause of
+Christ, it can be a power of great good to be used for the glory of God
+and the blessing of man. _You_ will use your power so, dearest father,
+will you not? Saul would have striven to do you hurt last night, not
+from any personal enmity, but because he has been wrongly taught by our
+own kinsman. You will go to-day and plead for him before his accusers,
+and show him that the rich do not hate and oppress the poor, that the
+great ones of the world can feel compassion and tenderness for those
+who are deceived and led away, and that in them, and not in those who
+raise the cry of hatred and bitterness, their friends are to be found.”
+
+The Duke was silent for several minutes, and Bride did not disturb
+him by so much as a word. He had laid his hand upon her head, and
+was looking into her eyes with a glance she could not understand. In
+very truth he was recalling the parting scene with his wife, the last
+charge she had given him before the hand of death had been laid upon
+those lips. It seemed to him as if now, all these months later, he was
+listening to the echo of those words; and a strange wave of tenderness
+swept over him, softening the hard lines of his face, and bringing into
+it something which Bride had scarcely seen there before.
+
+“You would have me stand before our ministers of the law as the
+advocate of one who has been lawless, criminal, and the stirrer-up of
+sedition? Am I to appear before our townsfolks as the supporter of
+anarchy and arson?”
+
+“No, but of mercy and goodwill towards the erring and deceived,”
+answered Bride, “as the one man perhaps in the whole place who can so
+stand fearlessly forward on the side of mercy, when he is known to be
+held the greatest enemy to the public good, the bitterest enemy these
+poor misguided creatures have. They hold you to be the embodiment of
+all that is cruel and crushing--you will show them that you are their
+best friend. You will plead for them, their ignorance, their inability
+to see the falsity and folly of their teachers. You will show that Saul
+has hitherto led an honest and industrious life; that till he was led
+away by the teachings of Eustace, he was one of the steadiest men in
+St. Bride. You will tell how he averted the attack on the farm last
+night, and strive to gain mercy for one who has been only blinded and
+maddened by others, and has within him the germs of so much that is
+good. It is a first offence. Surely you can gain mercy for him! Oh, I
+do not know how to bear the thought that Saul may have to die for what
+is the fault of Eustace!”
+
+The Duke sat very still, thinking deeply.
+
+“You hold the fault to be Eustace’s?”
+
+“Yes,” answered Bride, slowly and mournfully. “Other causes may have
+helped, but Eustace set the ball rolling. He taught Saul discontent, as
+he has tried to teach it to others. He thinks that that is the first
+step towards trying to make men raise themselves. As Abner truly says,
+it is beginning at the wrong end; but he cannot see that. If they would
+but be discontented with themselves first--with their sinfulness, with
+their vices--if they would rise higher by that repentance and cleansing
+which would purify their hearts, then there would be hope for them
+to rise in other ways. But to begin by stirring up all that is most
+selfish and wicked, all the anger, hatred, and malice, which Christ
+came down to destroy and overcome--ah! how can they look for good to
+come? It never will and it never can.”
+
+The Duke suddenly rose to his feet, for the clock had chimed the hour
+of ten.
+
+“I must be going if I am to go,” he said. “My child, you are your
+mother’s daughter. Her voice speaks to me in yours. I will do what I
+can for that miserable man, for her sake and yours.”
+
+Her face quivered as she heard these words, and she turned away to hide
+her emotion. He could not have spoken words which would more cheer her
+than these which spoke of a likeness to her mother. Would she ever be
+able in some small degree to take that vacant place with him?
+
+The day seemed to pass wearily for Bride. Abner was not in the garden.
+The Duke himself had sent him to the town to try and get speech of
+his turbulent grandson, and to persuade him, if it were possible, to
+comport himself with due humility, and without a needless show of
+defiance before the magistrates that day. None knew better than the
+Duke how much harm Saul might do to his own cause by an assumption
+of defiance and impenitence before the arbiters of his fate; and
+none knew better than he how little chance the young man stood if
+he were once committed for trial at the County Assizes. Although
+the spirit of reform was stirring all classes of the community, the
+feeling against revolution was growing stronger in England with each
+small outbreak--stronger, that is, in the eyes of the governing
+powers--and signal examples were made of many obscure persons who
+had been concerned in turbulent risings and riots. Once before the
+criminal judges of the land, accused of arson, riot, and such-like
+misdemeanours, a short shrift and a long halter were almost sure to be
+his fate. All lay in the Duke’s power to avert a committal, and Abner
+had been despatched with all speed to seek and use his influence with
+the impracticable young man, that he might not tie a rope round his own
+neck by some such speeches as he had made before Captain O’Shaughnessy.
+
+The day seemed interminably long to Bride. She went down to the
+fishing-village, and spoke earnestly with many of the men (now returned
+home in that state of sheepish shame and satisfaction that betrayed
+the fact of their having been engaged in some lawless but by no means
+profitless undertaking) of the wickedness of such attacks on other
+people’s property, and this spoiling of other people’s goods.
+
+They listened to her grave gentle remonstrances in silence, half
+ashamed of their conduct so long as her eye was upon them, never daring
+in her presence to attempt the style of argument freely indulged in
+alone. There was not one of those wild rough men who would have laid
+a finger on this slight gentle girl, not though she was clad in gold
+and jewels, or would have spoken a rough word or used an oath in her
+presence. She and her mother had been and still were an embodiment
+to them of something transcendently pure and holy: it was the one
+elevating and sanctifying element in their lives; and many a man or
+woman, when the hand of death seemed about to clutch them, had sent in
+haste to know whether one of the ladies from the castle would come,
+feeling that in such a presence as that even the king of terrors would
+be robbed of half his power to hurt.
+
+The day drew at last to its close, and Bride stationed herself at a
+window to watch for the return of her father. She saw him at last
+riding slowly up the ascent, with the servants behind him; and giving
+him time to alight and reach the hall, she met him there with an eager
+question on her lips.
+
+“Oh, papa, what have you to tell me?”
+
+“He is not committed for trial,” answered the Duke, as he moved slowly
+across to his study, and sat down wearily in his own chair. “I could
+not save him altogether, and perhaps it will be well for him to taste
+prison discipline after what he has been doing these past weeks.”
+
+“Prison! Oh, is Saul in prison?”
+
+“He has been sent to jail for six months. It was the least sentence
+that could well be passed upon him. There were two on the bench almost
+resolved to make a criminal case of it; but as you say, my love, my
+word goes a long way yet, and Mr. Tremodart and Mr. St. Aubyn and
+another clergyman were on the side of mercy. Your story was told, and
+it was corroborated by Captain O’Shaughnessy, and Saul’s previous
+good character and steadiness up to the time he had been led away by
+demagogues” (and a little spasm crossed the Duke’s face) “was all in
+his favour. It was the first time he had been had up--a first offence
+in the eyes of the law, though there were stories of months of conduct
+the reverse of satisfactory to the authorities. Still he had dispersed
+the crowd last night--no one could dispute that; and he was not proved
+to have been present at the firing of the mills. The evidence on that
+point was too confused and contradictory to go for anything. He denied
+himself having been there, and we all believed he spoke the truth,
+for he seemed almost reluctant to admit that he had not been in the
+forefront of the riot. He had been attracted to the spot by the sight
+of the flames, and had consented to head a march upon my yard. How
+that ended you know. There was another ringleader who had headed the
+arson mob, a cobbler, a well-known and most dangerous man. He was
+committed for trial; there is no chance for him. His life will pay the
+forfeit of his crime; but Saul Tresithny has escaped with six months’
+imprisonment. Let us hope that he will have time and leisure in prison
+to meditate on the error of his ways and come out a better and a wiser
+man.”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+_AUTUMN DAYS_
+
+
+During the latter half of the year 1830, England was passing through
+some searching experiences, and through a crisis of her political
+history. The events of these momentous years of the Reform struggle
+have become by this time a matter of history, but a very brief outline
+of passing events may not be out of place for younger readers.
+
+When George IV. mounted the throne, the hopes of the Whig party rose
+high. He was held to be the champion of liberty and reform, and it was
+a bitter disappointment to those who had regarded him as the friend
+and pupil of Fox, to find him cast himself into the arms of the Tory
+party and turn his back on former associates. The leaven of reformed
+representation had taken such hold of the nation, however, that already
+a strong party existed, not in the country alone, but in Parliament;
+yet the prospects of that party were at a very low ebb, till the
+sudden turn brought about in the first place by the death of the king,
+and secondly by the “Three days of July” in Paris, when an arbitrary
+ministry, striving to override the Chamber of Deputies and subvert the
+constitution, brought about the momentous rising in Paris which cost
+Charles X. his throne, and raised Louis Philippe to be “King of the
+Barricades.”
+
+With the accession of William IV., the hopes of the Reform party rose
+high. The Sailor Prince, as the people liked to call him, although he
+had been something of a Tory in early life, did not stand pledged to
+any side in politics, and might have the shrewdness to take warning
+by the fate of his brother of France, and deem it wise and politic to
+support all that was right and reasonable in the projected scheme of
+reform. The champions of the movement were Lord Grey, Lord Durham,
+his son-in-law, Lord John Russell, and Lord Brougham; but the Duke of
+Wellington and his cabinet were strenuously opposed to any alteration
+in the existing method of Parliamentary representation; and when
+Parliament met for the first time in the new king’s reign, in October,
+the premier plainly stated this opinion in his opening speech, and with
+his customary boldness asserted that not only would he introduce no
+measure of reform, but he would strenuously oppose any that should be
+brought before the House.
+
+It is well for a minister to have the courage of his opinions; but
+from the moment of the delivery of that speech the existing ministry
+became highly unpopular throughout the country. All far-seeing men,
+of whatever shade of opinion, recognised that, whether for good or
+ill, the time had come when something must be done to give the large
+cities and the opulent middle classes a voice in the representation of
+their country. The rotten boroughs, however desirable from a partisan
+point of view, were obviously an abuse, and were doomed; the country
+was in a state of ferment which threatened to become dangerous, and
+the spirit shown by the Wellington Ministry was one which was at
+that juncture impossible to carry out in practical legislation. They
+recognised this themselves, and resigned in November, upon a very small
+and insignificant defeat, knowing that if they did not do so then, they
+would only be forced later on upon a more crucial question.
+
+Lord Grey was intrusted by the king with the formation of the next
+ministry, and the winter months were spent in private discussions
+amongst the leaders of the Reform party as to the nature of the bill
+to be introduced. Its terms were kept a profound secret till the
+following March, when Lord John Russell announced them in a densely
+packed and intensely excited House of Commons. After a spirited debate
+the House agreed to accept the introduction of the bill for amending
+the representation without a division; but the second reading was
+carried only by a majority of one, and the Government, foreseeing that
+so strong a measure could never be carried through committee with
+such an uncertain majority, determined to appeal to the country, and
+on sustaining a small defeat on a resolution of General Gascoigne’s,
+resolved on a dissolution. The king was greatly opposed to this, but
+was persuaded at last to consent to it; and to the great joy of the
+reforming party all over the country, Parliament was dissolved, and
+writs for a fresh election issued.
+
+This is anticipating matters in the course of the narrative, but it is
+better to give the brief abstract of the work of Lord Grey’s ministry
+consecutively. As for the terms of the new Reform Bill, they will be
+found in any history of the day, and are hardly in place in the pages
+of a story.
+
+These autumn days, spent by Saul Tresithny eating out his heart in
+prison, but by the country at large in a state of seething excitement
+and unrest, and by such men as Eustace Marchmont in an eager canvassing
+amongst men of all shades of opinion and all sorts of positions for
+adherents to the new gospel of reform and emancipation, were passed
+by Bride very quietly in her sea-girt home, and by the Duke in much
+serious thought, and study of the vexed questions of the day.
+
+He and his daughter, since that day when she made her appeal to him
+on behalf of Saul, had drawn slowly yet surely nearer together. The
+change was hardly noticeable at first, though Bride was sensible of
+an increased gentleness in her father’s manner. But by degrees he
+came to talk more to her of the things working in his mind, and she
+began to ask questions of him, which hitherto she had kept locked up
+in her own heart. Both were the better for the outlet, and began to
+look forward to the evening hour after dinner, when they sat together
+in the big drawing-room and spoke of whatever was uppermost in their
+minds. It was in this way that they came to speak often about the
+questions of the day, which subject led naturally to that of Eustace
+and his doings and sayings. Eustace was often a great deal in the minds
+both of father and daughter just then. He wrote to the Duke regularly,
+though not frequently, and his letters were always full of interesting
+information, though this information was not always palatable to the
+recipient, who was too old to change his attitude of mind, and whilst
+striving after tolerance and a spirit of justice and impartiality,
+regarded with something very much like dread the coming strife.
+
+“Shall we invite Eustace to spend his Christmas with us this winter?”
+asked the Duke of his daughter one day towards the latter end of
+October.
+
+Bride glanced at her father, and her cheek crimsoned suddenly.
+
+“If--if--you wish it, papa,” she said, with visible hesitancy.
+
+The old man glanced at her with a quick searching look.
+
+“Does that mean you would not wish it yourself?”
+
+“I--I--hardly know. I had not thought of it. Eustace was very kind to
+me when he was here; but----”
+
+Again she faltered in a way that was not much like her, and her father,
+watching her with a newly awakened interest, said gently--
+
+“I do not wish to distress you, my dear. Perhaps there is something in
+this that I do not understand. I have no wish to force your confidence.
+We will say no more about it.”
+
+But Bride rose quickly, and came and knelt down beside her father,
+turning her sweet trustful face up to his.
+
+“Papa, do not speak so, please--as though I would not tell you
+everything in my heart. I think I should like you to know. I did not
+say anything at first--I did not know whether Eustace might have done
+so or not, for he went the very same day, and I think just when it
+happened I could not have talked about it. But before he went he told
+me that he loved me, and he asked me to be his wife; but I could not,
+and so he went away; and I do not know whether he will ever come back
+any more. That is why I do not know what to say about asking him for
+Christmas.”
+
+The Duke was silent for many minutes, stroking Bride’s soft hair with
+gentle fingers, and looking very thoughtfully into her face. She knelt
+beside him, only thankful for the caressing touch, which was still
+sufficiently infrequent to stir her pulses and awaken a sense of
+indescribable happiness.
+
+“So he asked you to be his wife, and you refused him. What does that
+mean, Bride? Does it mean that you do not like him?”
+
+“No, papa; it means that I do not love him.”
+
+The Duke paused and looked into the fire. The expression on his face
+made the girl ask quickly--
+
+“You are not vexed with me for answering as I did?”
+
+“No, my child, I am not vexed. You were right to answer according to
+the dictates of your own heart. And yet, had things been a little
+different with Eustace, I would gladly have seen you his wife.”
+
+A faint glow of colour stole into Bride’s face.
+
+“If things were different with Eustace,” she said very softly, “I think
+perhaps I could have answered differently. I think about him a great
+deal. I am grateful for his love, and it hurts me to have none to give
+in return; but as things now are, I cannot give it to him. He grieves
+me so often. I know that he would make me miserable if I had let his
+earnestness carry me away. He might be so great, so noble, so good, but
+he just fails in everything; and I think he would break my heart if I
+were his wife.”
+
+The Duke looked earnestly into her earnest eyes.
+
+“It is his views that stagger you? Yes, my child, that is what I feel
+about him--and them. I will not deny that when first he came to us I
+had hopes that you and he might learn to love one another. You will
+never be anything but a rich woman, Bride, even though Penarvon and
+its revenues must go to Eustace. You will have your mother’s ample
+fortune, and everything I have to leave independently of the estate.
+You will have wealth and position; but you are very lonely. You have no
+near relations, and your mother’s health made it impossible for you to
+be taken to London and presented and introduced to society. Your life
+has been a very solitary one, and I have regretted it. I confess I had
+hopes with regard to Eustace; but when I learnt what manner of man he
+was, and how he stands pledged to a policy which I can never approve in
+the abstract, though I will not deny that some of its concrete measures
+are just and fair, I began to feel differently on the subject. And you
+have the same feelings, it seems, as I.”
+
+Bride slipped to a footstool at her father’s feet, and leaned upon his
+knee with his hand still held in hers, and her face turned towards the
+fire.
+
+“Papa,” she said, “I do not think it is Eustace’s Radical views which
+repel me, except in so far as they are bound up in those which to me
+are both sinful and sad. I know that he has the welfare of this land
+and its people as much at heart as you; that he loves his country and
+the poor in it as we love them; that he wishes to raise and teach and
+make them better and happier. I know he would spend his life and his
+fortune in the cause and grudge it nothing if good could be done. There
+is a great deal that I admire and love in Eustace; but, ah! I cannot
+divide into two distinct parts his political views and those other
+views of his which are so integral a part of his character. To me they
+seem interlocked at every point, and therefore at every point I see
+something which repels me--something which I shrink from--something
+which seems to me untrue and evil in essence, even though on the
+surface so much may be said for it. I do not know if you understand
+me. Sometimes I scarcely understand myself--hardly know how to put my
+thoughts into words; but they are there, always with me; and the more I
+think, the less I can feel that the two things can ever be altogether
+divided.”
+
+“What two things?” asked the Duke. “I do not think I follow you.”
+
+“I mean, papa, the spiritual and the intellectual side of our nature.
+You know we have a threefold nature--body, soul, and spirit; but yet it
+is all one, and I think people make a great mistake when they seek to
+try and divide the physical and the intellectual from the spiritual.
+Eustace does--in practice, if not in theory. He wishes to gain for the
+poor an improved condition of bodily comfort, and I am sure this is
+a kindly and a right wish. He has told me things that make my blood
+curdle about the awful misery and want reigning in many places. He
+wants to raise men intellectually, to think for themselves, to learn
+many things which will help in their advancement, to strive after a
+better standard, and to be disgusted at their present ignorance and
+degradation. But having done that, he stops short. He has no wish to
+quicken in their spirits the love of God, which would purify these
+other desires and hold in check the baser passions they so often
+arouse without that curb. Of their spirits he takes no heed--how should
+he, when he does not even admit that there is an inner and spiritual
+life--when he is content to remain in ignorance of everything beyond
+the limits of his own understanding, and to assert that nothing can
+be positively taught as truth which cannot be proved by the finite
+intellect of man? I may not put his case quite justly, because he does
+not speak of these things openly to me. He tries to pass them over in
+vague words, and keep the talk to ‘practical matters.’ But I have heard
+enough to know what he does think--to know that he has no faith in the
+Crucified Saviour--in an Incarnate God--in a Sanctifying Spirit; and
+without that faith, how can he hope to lead men aright? Ah! he will
+never do it!”
+
+The Duke looked down at the girl’s face seen in profile as she half
+raised it towards him, and he marvelled at her, yet traced in her words
+the outcome of her mother’s teaching, and felt as though his wife
+were speaking to him through the lips of her daughter. He had always
+regarded his wife as something of a saint or angel--recognising in
+her deep spirituality a calibre of mind altogether different from his
+own, and in her faith, intense and vivid, a something vastly different
+from his own dry orthodoxy. He had often listened to her in wonder and
+amaze, half lifted up by her earnestness, half shrinking from following
+her into regions so strangely unfamiliar; but there was in Bride’s line
+of argument a thread of practical common-sense which aroused in him a
+curiosity to know more of her mind, and he said tentatively--
+
+“You mean that you do not believe even in political reform unless it is
+based on the highest spiritual motives?”
+
+“I think I mean,” answered Bride thoughtfully, “that I do not believe
+there _can_ be any true reform at all that does not come from a
+spiritual impulse. How can I say it best? Eustace is fond of quoting
+the Bible to me. He bids me remember that we are called upon by Christ
+to love our neighbours as ourself, and goes on to point out that he is
+trying to work upon that principle. But he forgets that we are _first_
+bidden to love God with all our soul and mind and strength, and that
+the brotherly love is the outcome, the corollary of the love to God
+which should be the leading thought of our whole life.”
+
+“Yes!--and what do you deduce from that?”
+
+“Oh, papa, can you not see? Look what those men are doing who think
+that they can love their brothers and do them good without loving
+God first and best! Look what Eustace has done!--stirred up strife
+and discontent all round the country, landed poor Saul in a prison,
+provoked deeds of violence, lawlessness, and reckless wickedness--deeds
+that he himself would be the first to deplore and condemn, yet which
+are the direct outcome of his teaching. These men love their brothers,
+yet they stir up class hatred wherever they go--and why? It is because
+they forget that love of God _must_ come first if any good is to come;
+it is because, though they themselves love their fellows, they cannot
+teach love of mankind to these more ignorant men whom they would lead.
+When men do not understand the sweetness of obedience to the perfect
+law of God, how can they ever be taught the duty of obedience to the
+imperfect law of man?--and yet we know that obedience to law--even when
+that law is sadly imperfect--is God’s will and ordinance, and that
+it brings its blessing with it. Oh, if men would go about teaching
+the people to love God with all their heart and soul and strength,
+to love each other in the bond of unity and peace, and to _pray_ for
+their rulers and governors, that God would turn their hearts from
+all thought of oppression and tyranny, and make them to be just and
+merciful rulers of the people, then indeed might our land become a
+country blessed by God and relieved from the burden of her woes! If
+great and small would look to God for His guidance in all things,
+and cease warring with each other in anger and jealous hate, then
+would true reform begin. But when the cleverest, and often the most
+earnest men of the day leave God out of their thoughts and plans, and
+smile at the thought of working through the power of His name, then
+what can we expect but confusion and anarchy, and a slowly growing
+discontent amongst the people, which will lead at last to some terrible
+end? Eustace says that this movement is but the beginning of a huge
+wave that will sweep right over the country, and end by making the
+people--the masses--the rulers of the world. He looks upon that as
+an era of universal good to all--a Utopia, as he calls it--which is
+to supersede everything that has gone before--including Christianity
+itself--in its perfection of all human systems and the development of
+his gospel, ‘the greatest good to the greatest number.’ But though I
+think it will come--I think we can see that in the prophetic words of
+Scripture about the latter days--I fear it will come with more fearful
+misery and terror and tyranny than anything that has gone before. It is
+the men who practically refuse Christ--the Incarnate Son of God--though
+they may use the name of Christ still for an abstraction of their own,
+who will welcome the Antichrist coming in his own name. I think men
+_do_ welcome any leader now who comes in his own name, and almost makes
+himself a god. Was it not so with Napoleon Buonaparte, whom some almost
+believed to be the Antichrist himself? It is those who come to them in
+the name of God whom they will not hear; for if they look to God as the
+Head, they must keep His laws; and men who are striving after bringing
+about this new era of happiness on the earth, do not want to do that.
+They like their own ways best.”
+
+There was a long silence after this. Bride had paused many times for
+her father to speak, and had then gone on with her train of musing,
+almost forgetting she had an auditor. After a prolonged pause, the Duke
+said slowly--
+
+“So this is why you could not bring yourself to marry Eustace?”
+
+“Yes,” she answered softly; “I do not think there could be happiness
+for us, thinking so differently. He thinks now that he could give up
+everything for my sake--but I know him better than he knows himself.
+Besides, I would not wish him to give up anything for _my_ sake; if he
+gives it up, it must be because he knows and feels it to be contrary
+to the law of God--and I do not think such an idea as that has ever
+entered into his head.”
+
+“Yet if you could get him to give up some of his wild notions for love
+of you, it would be a step in the right direction,” said the Duke
+thoughtfully; but Bride shook her head.
+
+“No, not in the right direction--it would be doing evil that good
+might come--teaching Eustace to act against his conscience and better
+judgment, just to please me. It would be like what he is doing himself
+when he stirs up the evil passions of men to try and overthrow a great
+abuse. He admits the present evil, but says the end will justify the
+means, and that the evil is an incidental detail, whilst the good
+will remain permanent. That is where we cannot agree. And we are not
+likely to agree when Eustace really admits no outward standard of right
+and wrong, but abides by his own judgment and the prompting of his
+individual conscience. And even what he cannot defend he excuses--his
+conscience condemns, but his judgment palliates the wrong--and there
+is nothing stronger and more perfect and holy to which to appeal. That
+is the most terrible thing of all to me, and, oh! how terrible it must
+be in the sight of God.”
+
+Bride had Eustace very much on her mind and heart just now. She had
+promised to pray for him, and she did this with increasing earnestness
+as the days went by. She prayed too for the unhappy Saul, wearing
+out his weary term of imprisonment, visited from time to time by
+Abner, who looked years older ever since the trouble of that August
+night. He brought back disquieting accounts of the prisoner to his
+young mistress, who never failed to ask after him. Saul was utterly
+impenitent and hardened. He had thrown off all semblance of outward
+faith, and was an open advocate of the very darkest and baldest forms
+of atheism. He had learnt this fearful creed from the cobbler, by
+this time lying under sentence of death; but Bride recognised with a
+shudder now and again, as she talked with Abner and heard his sorrowful
+accounts of Saul’s words, the influence upon him of Eustace’s more
+subtle scepticism. Here and there a word or phrase came in where she
+recognised her cousin’s mind. Doubtless Saul had opened his heart on
+this point too with his master, and Eustace had probably only confirmed
+him in his unbelief by his assertions of the impossibility of knowing
+the truth where all thinking men were at variance.
+
+The thought of these two men haunted her with a persistence that was
+wearying. She was haunted too by thoughts of that condemned criminal
+in his lonely cell, dying perhaps in utter blackness and infidelity,
+and passing out into the presence of his Maker without one thought
+of repentance or submission. Suppose Saul had been called upon to
+die, would he too have gone forth in that frame of mind? If illness
+or accident were to smite down Eustace, what would be his method of
+meeting death? Would they all reject the love of the Saviour? Would
+they all remain impenitent to the last? And what, ah! what was the
+fate of those who passed away without one cry for mercy, without one
+glance towards that Cross whereon the sins of the whole world had been
+expiated?
+
+This thought became such a terror to her, that she took it at last to
+her one friend and confidante, Mrs. St. Aubyn, and she had hardly got
+out her trouble before the Rector himself, unknowing of her visit,
+entered his wife’s room; and Bride hardly knew whether she were glad or
+sorry that the question should be referred to him.
+
+It was Mrs. St. Aubyn who told her husband the nature of their talk,
+and added, as she did so--
+
+“I was going to say that I myself almost doubted whether any human soul
+could die absolutely and entirely impenitent. We know that the outward
+aspect of some remains unchanged to the last; but how can any man dare
+to deny that some strange and mysterious intercourse may not go on
+in spirit between man and his Maker, unknown and unseen by any human
+eye? Thought cannot be measured by our time. A few brief seconds may
+be enough to establish some sort of spiritual communication. Where we
+are told so little, perhaps it is not wise to speculate too curiously;
+but I cannot help thinking that where blind ignorance and the doctrine
+of false teachers has kept a soul away from God, He may yet in His
+infinite mercy deal with that erring soul at the last in such a way as
+to break in upon the darkness, and kindle one ray of the Divine love,
+even with the dying breath. For we know that it is not the will of the
+Father that one should perish, and that He gave His Son to die for
+all--only they must approach Him through the living Saviour.”
+
+She looked at her husband as she spoke, and he smiled in response as he
+said--
+
+“There are mysteries in God’s dealings with man into which we may not
+too closely look, and especially is this the case in reference to those
+departed or departing this life; but there is so much that we _do_ know
+to cheer and encourage us to hope all things and believe all things,
+that we may well let our minds dwell upon these things, and argue from
+them that God’s ways are wider and more merciful than the heart of man
+can fathom.”
+
+“Bride is unhappy about several persons who seem to be wandering so far
+away from the fold,” said Mrs. St. Aubyn, in her gentle tones. “She is
+suffering, as we all suffer at some time or another, when those we love
+seem rather against than with us. Can you say something to comfort her?
+I think she has come here for a little bit of comfort. Have you not, my
+child?”
+
+Bride’s soft eyes swam in tears. She was rather unhinged by her own
+intensity of thought. The motherly words almost broke her down. Mrs.
+St. Aubyn took her hand and caressed it gently. The clergyman, after a
+moment of silence, spoke, in his thoughtful tender fashion--
+
+“Yes, we have so much cause for hope, even for those who have gone far,
+far astray. We must not think of them as sundered from the love of the
+Father, for we know that He does not so regard them, even though His
+heart may be full of pain at the thought of their transgressions and
+neglect. We have such beautiful lessons set before us by our Lord, who
+knew the heart of the Father as none of us can know it. Let us think,
+just for one minute, of that wonderful story of the prodigal son.”
+
+Bride raised her face quickly.
+
+“He repented,” she said softly.
+
+“Yes,” said Mr. St. Aubyn, “he had been full of self-will and folly.
+He had gone very far from the father’s house, and the place which
+was his there by the father’s wish. He was in a far country. He had
+squandered the gifts of a loving father--the talents, the faculties,
+the opportunities--upon unworthy and sinful objects. He had followed
+the dictates of his own heart, and had not heeded his father’s loving
+counsel and admonitions; and at the last he was reduced to husks, those
+unsubstantial and empty husks which are in the end all that is left to
+us of a life of worldly pleasure, take what form it will at the outset.
+Only the husks remained, and the hunger of the soul set in, which is
+the worst hunger of all to bear. When that stage has been reached, the
+backward glance to the father’s house becomes inevitable. The young man
+in the far country felt it; and I think there was much more than the
+mere craving for physical comforts in the resolve which was embodied in
+the words, ‘I will arise and go to my father.’ There is much more than
+that in those words of penitence, followed up by the resolve to ask,
+‘Make me as one of thy hired servants.’ That was what the son set out
+to say--‘make me as one of thy hired servants;’ but when he reached his
+father he could not say it. Why not?”
+
+Bride was silent. The tears were still in her eyes. Mr. St. Aubyn
+looked at her, looked at his wife, and then went on softly--
+
+“He could not say it because he was ashamed to say it--because the love
+of his father, the love which was watching for him after all these
+years of absence, which went out to meet him whilst he was yet a great
+way off, which wrapped him round in its embrace in that mysterious
+fulness of fatherhood, shamed him into silence. He could confess his
+sins and his unworthiness; perhaps at no moment had he ever felt so
+utterly humiliated, yet he could not say ‘make me as one of thy hired
+servants’--the father’s love had taught him his place as a son; the
+father’s love had broken down the last barrier of reserve. Unworthy,
+humbled to the dust, broken down by his emotion, he yet knew that it
+was as a son he was received back; and the deep unchanging love of the
+father _shamed_ him, I say, from trying to seek the lower place. When
+God gives us the right to call ourselves sons, is it for us to say,
+‘Nay, Lord, but let me be as a hired servant?’ Is that the humility
+that the Lord asks of us? Is that the truest faith?”
+
+Still Bride was silent, and as if in answer to her unspoken thought,
+Mr. St. Aubyn continued--
+
+“Thank God it is given to some of us to remain ever in the Father’s
+house. We have not been tempted to stray from it. We live in His love,
+and seek every day to do Him service. But there is always the peril to
+us of looking abroad at our brothers who have wandered away, and of
+asking ourselves, sometimes in tender anxiety, sometimes with a sense
+of compassionate disfavour, sometimes perhaps in something too nearly
+approaching scorn, whether for them there can ever be a return to the
+Father’s house, whether they will ever be worthy to be received there
+once more, even if they do return; and there are not lacking those
+amongst us, I fear, who would sometimes, consciously or unconsciously,
+deny them their place in the home, judging them to have lost it for
+ever through disobedience and rebellion.”
+
+Bride clasped her hands together, her soft eyes shining.
+
+“Oh, go on,” she said softly; “tell me the rest.”
+
+“It has been told already, my child, told in the reception of the
+erring son, not as a stranger or a servant, but as a son. The love of
+the Father transcends our love for our brethren, as much as did the
+father’s love transcend that of the jealous elder son. It is not for us
+to despair for the wanderers, for the Father does not despair of them.
+He watches for them, and when their faint and lagging footsteps are
+homeward turned, irresolutely perhaps, fearfully perhaps, despondently
+perhaps, while they are a great way off he goes Himself to meet them.
+He sends no servant; He sends no brother even; He goes Himself. And
+then, when the lost son feels the Father’s arms about his neck, hears
+the Father’s voice speaking in his ear, the faint and fearful love of
+his heart is turned to a deep stream of true filial devotion, and he
+knows himself in all his abasement and humility for a son, and the
+first word he speaks, amidst his tears, is the word ‘Father.’ And after
+that word is spoken there can be no talk of being a hired servant.
+Father!--our Father--that is the essence of Christ’s redeeming work on
+earth.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Bride, drawing a long breath; “I think you have given
+me comfort. I was too much like the elder brother, too much inclined to
+despair of those who had strayed away. I will think of them differently
+now. Surely they will one day turn back to the home again.”
+
+“I trust so; we can at least pray that it may be so. Prayer is the
+strongest power there is for leading men back to God; and I often think
+and note that, when He would draw to Himself an erring son who will not
+pray for himself, He puts it into the heart of a brother or a sister to
+pray for him, and so the erring one is drawn back towards the Father’s
+house.”
+
+Bride’s face quivered as she held out her hand in farewell, but she
+went home greatly comforted.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+_TWO ENCOUNTERS_
+
+
+Bride was riding slowly down the hill from St. Erme’s on her little
+Exmoor pony, with a grave and sorrowful face. Around her the green
+billowy downs stretched away in all their bright spring greenness,
+overhead the larks were carolling as though their hearts were filled
+with rapture, whilst far below the sea tossed and sparkled in the
+brilliant sunshine in a fashion that was exhilarating and gladsome.
+
+It was a day late on in March--one of those days not unfrequent at that
+season, especially in the south and west--a day that seems filled with
+a promise of coming summer--a day in which all nature rejoices, which
+stirs the pulses and sets the blood coursing joyously, and fills the
+air with subtle promises of life and hope.
+
+Bride’s face had been tranquil and happy as she rode up the heights
+towards Farmer Teazel’s farm, but it was sorrowful and troubled now as
+she returned, for she had failed in the mission on which she had been
+bound, and was experiencing one of those revulsions of feeling which
+often follow upon a period of solitary meditation and resolve, when the
+dreamer is brought face to face with the stern realities of human life
+and human nature.
+
+Bride’s mission to the farm had been to plead with the farmer to offer
+a place in his service to Saul Tresithny, now just out of prison. His
+sentence had been up a few weeks earlier, but he had been ill of fever
+in the prison hospital when the period of release came, and had only
+that week been set at liberty.
+
+All through the term of his imprisonment Bride’s thoughts and her
+prayers had been much exercised with him. The compassion she felt
+towards him partook of the nature of a great yearning tenderness,
+curious in a girl of her age and station, and she could not help
+believing that her feelings must be in some sort reflected in the minds
+of others. Her father she knew felt compassion for Saul, though he
+seldom spoke his name. Abner, as was natural, yearned over his grandson
+with a great love and tenderness, and both Mr. Tremodart and Mr. St.
+Aubyn were interested in him, and were willing to give him occupation
+in their service on his release, if he would accept it. But Saul’s
+known aversion to service in any of its branches was too well known in
+the place for any one to have much hope of his falling in with either
+of these offers. Abner shook his head whenever he was questioned on the
+subject, and said he feared Saul had not changed or softened with his
+incarceration. But the thought came to Bride that if his old master the
+farmer, with whom he had always got on so well, would offer him his old
+place at the farm, that offer would be accepted, and she had gone up to
+talk poor Saul’s case over with the kind-hearted yeoman, and get him to
+see the matter in the light that she herself viewed it.
+
+But only disappointment and sorrowful surprise awaited her here. Farmer
+Teazel _was_ a thoroughly kind-hearted man, and very fond indeed of the
+little Lady Bride, whom he had known ever since her infancy. He loved
+to see her riding up to his farm on the pony of his own breeding and
+choosing. He was all smiles and kindness till her subject was broached,
+and then she found that there was a limit to his benevolence, and to
+the influence she had over him--a barrier like a ledge of hard rock
+against which her arguments rebounded helplessly.
+
+Saul Tresithny had sinned in a fashion the farmer could not forgive,
+and he had no pity upon misfortune deliberately run into by a man who
+has had every opportunity of knowing better. The fact that Saul had
+averted the attack upon his own homestead did not weigh with him here.
+He argued that Saul had had his revenge on his (the farmer’s) machines
+before this. The sturdy yeoman had his own grievance against Saul
+and his teaching, and was not disposed to be grateful for the other
+deliverance. No, Saul was a reprobate and a jail-bird, and he would
+have none of him. He had had enough of the mischief his tongue did
+before. It wasn’t in reason he should put up with it again. No, no; he
+was sorry to refuse Lady Bride anything; but ladies did not understand
+these things--did not understand the nature of great, ill-conditioned
+demi-gods (as he called it in his haste) such as Saul had become. It
+was no use talking to him of forgiveness and mercy. It would be time
+enough for that when the man had repented. He hadn’t ever learned that
+there was any call to forgive before the sinner was sorry. From all he
+heard, Saul wasn’t a bit humbled or penitent. It would only be the old
+trouble over again if he came back; the farmer would take care he had
+nothing more to do with such a fellow.
+
+When Bride had exhausted her eloquence upon the farmer, and he had
+gone out to his work again, she tried what she could do with the
+daughter; but Genefer was even more impracticable than her father. Half
+ashamed of ever having given encouragement to Saul, who had behaved so
+cavalierly to her afterwards, she was bitterly set against him, and did
+not pick her words when launching forth about him. Moreover, Genefer
+was now openly betrothed in marriage to young Farmer Hewett, and was
+mortally afraid lest he should ever hear that she had permitted Saul
+to make love to her. She would not for anything in the world have had
+him again at the farm, and Bride was forced to ride away downcast and
+sorrowful, wondering in her heart how it was that people of the same
+class were so hard upon one another, and musing by degrees on the
+result to the community of a gradual change which should practically
+throw the governing power into the hands of the masses. Would that
+power be exercised on the side of mercy and love, or would it become
+only a new form of tyranny and hardness, far more difficult to modify
+and soften than any monarchical harshness of rule? It was a question
+she could not answer, but it helped to keep her face grave and her brow
+sad as she rode slowly down the hill, rode right down by the rough
+lane to the cottages upon the shore, where she had an errand of mercy
+to perform; and leaving her pony to nibble at the salt herbage at the
+base of the rocks, as he loved to do, she walked forward alone towards
+the margin of the sea, and came suddenly and quite unexpectedly face
+to face with Saul Tresithny, who was sitting in the hot sunshine on a
+rock, and gazing out over the sea, with those strange dark eyes of his
+that gleamed with sombre fire.
+
+She knew that he was free, but thought him still at Pentreath, he
+having refused to come to his grandfather’s cottage on his release. The
+recognition was mutual, and the man instinctively, though sullenly,
+rose to his feet. Bride glanced up at the tall towering figure, which
+looked taller than before in the gauntness of recent illness. There was
+something rather terrible in the gloom of the cadaverous face. Saul
+had been stricken down with that terrible fever which was so common in
+prisons during the previous century, and went by the significant name
+of jail-fever, and which still lingered about those prisons which were
+overcrowded or unsanitary, and generally claimed for its victims those
+who were unused to confinement and a close atmosphere, and had led an
+open-air life hitherto.
+
+The terrible sufferings Saul had endured during six months of
+imprisonment were too clearly written on his face to evade observation.
+What such incarceration meant to one of his nature and training can
+only be realised by those who have lived the life he had hitherto led,
+and have been out in the open air from dawn till dark every day of
+their lives, summer and winter, from boyhood. Bride shrank back as she
+saw his face, with a sense akin almost to terror; but then her sense of
+Divine compassion and tenderness for the wild impenitent prisoner came
+back with a bound, and she put out her little gloved hand and laid it
+on his arm.
+
+“Saul, I have been so sorry for you, so very sorry,” she said, softly
+and gently. “But it is over now, and you have life still before you.
+You will learn to----”
+
+“To forget? never!” interrupted he, with a strange flash in his eyes.
+“I will never forget, ay! and never forgive, to the end of my days.
+Stacked like pigs in a stye, crowded together in hunger and dirt,
+and wretchedness unspeakable, the best man amongst them hanged by
+the neck till he died, and all for preaching the gospel of truth to
+a down-trodden people, that is what England has to look for from her
+rulers! That is what we have to look forward to who strive to raise
+our brothers from abject misery and degradation. Forget! No, I will
+never forget. I will avenge those months of misery, and the death of my
+best and truest friend; ay! I _will_ avenge it on the proud heads of
+the tyrants of this land. Don’t come near me, don’t speak to me, Lady
+Bride. I would not hurt you willingly; but there is that within me that
+may prompt me to do you a mischief if you stand there much longer. Go,
+I say, go! You are a woman; I believe you are a good and a merciful
+woman; but you come of a race that is doomed. Go, let me never see you
+here again! Look to yourself, and let your father look to himself, for
+they have made a Cain and an Ishmaelite of me; and I will be in very
+truth what they have made me. I will give them cause to tremble!”
+
+But Bride looked at him with quiet fearlessness, sorrowful, yet not
+afraid. That the fever and weakness, combined with long months of
+brooding and suffering, had partially clouded his brain, she could well
+understand. His threats did not alarm her. She knew he would never lay
+a finger upon her.
+
+“I am very grieved for you, Saul,” she said again. “It has been very
+hard to bear, and the more so because all the while you believed
+you were doing right. That is what is so hard to understand in this
+world--how to do right without doing wrong too; and there is only one
+Power that can help us to know that. I hope some day you will learn to
+know that Power, and see with unclouded eyes. Meantime, if you will let
+me, I should like to help you and to be your friend. I think you know
+that you may trust me, even though you may not be able to help hating
+me.”
+
+He looked at her with a strange expression in his hollow eyes that
+sometimes burned so brightly, and sometimes were clouded over with a
+mist of bewilderment and semi-delirious imaginings. He looked at her as
+though about to speak, but then suddenly closing his lips, he turned
+hastily away and walked rapidly, though a little unsteadily, in the
+opposite direction; whilst a woman from a neighbouring cottage came
+hurrying out, and Bride saw that Mother Clat was approaching.
+
+“’Tidden wise o’ yu tu talk wi’ yon lad out heer alone, Laady Bride.
+He be maazed wi’ t’ prison vever, he be,” she said anxiously, with a
+backward glance over her shoulder at the retiring figure of Saul. “Duee
+go tu home now, and letten ’lone tu coom tu hisself. Yu’ll on’y be
+aggin’ he on to du wusser ef zo be as yu try to talk un zoft.”
+
+“I am very sorry for him. He looks very ill,” said Bride
+compassionately. “Do you know where he is living now?”
+
+“He du be bidin’ wi’ me these past tu daays,” answered the woman; “I
+wunt zay how long he’ll bide. He’s gotten zome money, an’ he’s a rare
+hand wi’ th’ bwoats. I reckon he can maake a shift to live down along
+wi’ we, ef zo be as he’s got a mind tu.”
+
+“Take care of him, then,” said Bride pleadingly. “I think he wants care
+and good food whilst he looks so thin and gaunt. Give him all you think
+he needs, and I will take care you are no loser. Don’t say a word to
+him, but just let me know. See, I will leave this crown with you now.
+Get him everything he ought to have. I never saw anybody so dreadfully
+changed before.”
+
+The woman took the coin and nodded. She was perfectly to be trusted,
+despite the peculiarity of her position in St. Bride as the known ally
+of smugglers, and the cleverest hider and concealer of contraband
+goods in the place. Bride perfectly recognised the distinction between
+general dishonesty and this particular sin, so common in those days
+amongst men otherwise upright and trustworthy. She left the bay a
+little comforted by learning that Saul had at least a roof over his
+head, and was amongst men who liked and trusted him. Mother Clat was,
+with all her witch-like aspect and rough speech, a kind-hearted woman,
+and would do her best for her lodger. Saul was better here by the salt
+sea waves than in some poor lodging in Pentreath. Evidently the death
+of the cobbler and the scattering of the little band of malcontents
+had for the time shattered his dream of becoming a semi-professional
+agitator. The fascination of the blue sea, the boundless sky, and the
+tossing salt waves had drawn him back to St. Bride’s. If only some
+gentler influence could be brought to bear upon him, he might yet
+become a changed character with patience and time.
+
+“If Eustace could see his pupil now, what would he think?” questioned
+the girl to herself, as she rode up the rough beach path; and she
+wondered to herself whether his influence, could it be brought to bear,
+would be for good or for ill--though this seemed but idle speculation,
+as Eustace was far away in London, and she did not think he would
+visit Penarvon for long enough to come. Musing thus, she turned in at
+the lodge gate and rode quietly up the zigzag track through the pine
+wood, till, arriving at the point where the road divided, she took the
+right-hand fork and rode direct to the stable-yard, and three minutes
+later reined in her pony in the big enclosure, a groom coming forward
+to assist her to dismount.
+
+Three strange horses stood tied up in the yard, looking as though they
+had been ridden somewhat hard that day. Stablemen were grooming them
+down with assiduity, the head-coachman looking on and making remarks
+from time to time to his subordinates. As he saw his young mistress he
+came respectfully forward.
+
+“Has some visitor arrived?” she asked, with a glance at the strange
+horses; but there was no need for the man to answer. At that moment
+a tall figure entered the yard through the door of the covered way
+leading from stable-yard to house--entered hurriedly, as though to give
+some forgotten order, and Bride found herself face to face with her
+cousin Eustace.
+
+They both started slightly, but Bride recovered herself immediately,
+and quietly offered her hand.
+
+“This is an unlooked-for pleasure,” she said gently; and his face
+flushed from brow to chin beneath the bronze of the sunny journey in
+March shine and blow.
+
+“Thank you,” he answered, pressing her hand gratefully; and then,
+turning for a moment to the coachman, he gave the instruction in
+reference to his horse which he had come to deliver. That done, he
+turned once more to Bride and said--
+
+“Your father is not within--he has ridden out too. I thought I should
+have to wait for any welcome. I trust that I have not taken an
+unwarrantable liberty in coming thus unannounced, but I have news that
+I thought would interest the Duke, and it is necessary that I should
+have personal speech with him.”
+
+“I am sure my father will bid you welcome to Penarvon,” answered Bride,
+with gentle dignity. “I trust the news that you bring is good and not
+bad.”
+
+“I trust so myself. It is news that cannot fail to stir all hearts more
+or less at such a time. Parliament is dissolved. There is to be a new
+appeal to the electors of the country!”
+
+Bride paused to look at her cousin’s face, which was full of an
+enthusiasm and glad hopefulness that was almost infectious. Instead
+of taking the covered way back to the castle, the cousins were slowly
+following the longer road by which horses and carriages travelled.
+Bride caught her long skirt up with one hand, the other held her whip.
+Her face was flushed with the surprise of this second unlooked-for
+encounter. Eustace thought he had never seen her look more lovely than
+at this moment, in the close-fitting habit and picturesque hat with its
+waving plume.
+
+“A dissolution!” she exclaimed; “I thought the king was altogether
+averse to that. I thought your bill had just achieved its second
+triumph.”
+
+“It has, and it has not. The papers have kept you conversant with the
+bald facts of the case. But what it comes to is this, that without a
+more powerful majority than we have now, such a measure as ours cannot
+be successfully passed through the House. It would be so mauled and
+mutilated in committee that it would utterly fall to pieces. We must
+know now what the country feels on this great question. We must feel
+the pulse of the nation. It is the only thing to do. The king was
+against the measure; but the voice of wisdom prevailed. As soon as his
+consent was gained, I took horse and started off. I wished to be the
+first to bring the news to Penarvon. Tell me, Bride, what have these
+six months done for my uncle in modifying or changing his views on this
+question? He now knows the just and moderate terms of the bill. Does he
+feel against it all the same prejudice he did at the outset, when we
+none of us knew exactly on what lines it had been framed?”
+
+“I do not think he feels any very great hostility to the present bill,”
+answered Bride quietly. “He has fully recognised that there are abuses
+with regard to the representation of the country that may well be
+mended, and on the whole I think he admits the present measure to be
+moderate and wise. But he knows as well as you know that this is only
+the beginning, and whilst you approve heart and soul the movement of
+which it is the pioneer, he distrusts and dreads it. That is why the
+success of even a wise measure fills him with no enthusiasm. He still
+believes that the abuses which will grow up under your new régime,
+when it is established, will far transcend those which flourish under
+the old, and that sin and want and misery will increase rather than
+diminish. That is as much as I can tell you of his opinions, for he
+does not talk of this thing often. The subject is rather a painful one
+to him. It brings with it a sense of helplessness, a sense of drifting
+away from the old moorings into a troubled sea for which he has no
+chart or compass. I think he knows that the thing must be; but he does
+not look forward with joy to the future it will bring in its wake.”
+
+“At his age that is perhaps natural,” answered Eustace. “He is a more
+liberal-minded man than many of his generation and position. I am
+thankful he is not bitter in opposition, for I shall want something
+from him that he might be very loth to give did he feel as some do.”
+
+Bride turned to look at him. Eustace was flushed and excited. His face
+had grown more intent and earnest during the past months. Bride thought
+that his expression was improved; but just at this moment he was more
+excited than she had ever seen him before. She wondered at the reason.
+
+“I have come to ask a favour of your father, Bride,” he said, as they
+reached the castle, and instead of passing through the gateway and
+entering the hall, skirted round the building till they stood upon the
+magnificent stone terrace that overhung the sea on the west side. “Do
+you think he will grant it me?”
+
+“A favour!--what favour?” asked Bride, looking wonderingly at him,
+with steady fearlessness in her eyes. She was no longer shy with him,
+for her instinct told her that it was not on an errand of love-making
+that he had come. The last time they talked together alone he had been
+seeking for her love; now he had other matters foremost in his mind.
+The individual was sunk in the cause. Almost before the words of his
+answer were spoken, she guessed what they would be; yet she heard them
+almost with surprise.
+
+“Bride, this next Parliament will be one that will mark an epoch in the
+world’s history; I feel that I must take my share in it. I am a man
+young and untried, but I feel that I can serve my country in its need.
+I long to be one of its legislators in the coming struggle, which will,
+I know, be a triumphant one. I have come to ask your father for the
+seat which he has in his own hands. He almost offered it to me once.
+Will he give it to me now, do you think, when I come to solicit it at
+his hands?”
+
+Bride’s eyes expressed a grave surprise.
+
+“A pocket borough, as you have called them, Eustace? I thought the
+system of pocket boroughs was utterly abhorrent to you--one of the
+abuses which most cried for redress!”
+
+“Yes--and I long to be one of the legislators who shall abolish the
+abuse!” cried Eustace eagerly. “I would sweep all such anomalies from
+the face of the earth; but to assist in the battle with all my powers,
+I must be entitled for once to sit in the next Parliament.”
+
+Bride said nothing. She looked away from Eustace over the sea, and he
+saw that a shadow had fallen on her face.
+
+“What is it, Bride?” he questioned quickly, feeling the sense of her
+beauty and purity again stealing over him like a charm. He had fancied
+after all these months that he could meet her without emotion, but
+already he felt the old fascination creeping over him.
+
+“I am sorry,” answered Bride gently, “I am sorry--that is all.”
+
+“Sorry about what?” he asked quickly.
+
+“Sorry that you feel like that--that you can stoop to such a thing.”
+
+He started as though something had stung him.
+
+“I do not understand you,” he said, with a certain hauteur in his tone
+and a look of pain in his eyes.
+
+She raised hers to his and looked him full in the face.
+
+“It is not difficult to understand. You look on these pocket boroughs
+as a flagrant abuse, and yet you are willing to profit by that abuse.
+It is just the old story over again. You are willing to do evil that
+good may come, Eustace. I do not think that good ever does come when
+men have stooped to employ unworthy means. Take care you do not ruin
+your own cause by making that mistake all through.”
+
+Yes, it was the same girl he had left--the same Bride--the mystic, the
+impracticable woman of dreams and theories. Beautiful ideals are so
+plausible till you come to try and apply them to the sordid realities
+of life--and then how untenable they become! But how was she to know
+that, living in this old-world spot and in a dreamland of her own? So
+he stifled his irritation and answered very patiently--
+
+“You hardly understand, Bride. Your father will have to nominate a
+member at this election, though probably for the last time. The abuse
+is yet unredressed, and cannot be redressed till honest men who love
+their country combine to blot it out. I wish to have the honour and
+privilege of being among that number; and I am your father’s next of
+kin, and the man it would be most natural for him to appoint. It lies
+here; he must either give it to a man who would fight against the good
+cause, though he would accept the seat without a qualm, or it must go
+to one like myself, who, recognising the thing as a manifest outrage
+upon constitutional representation, yet for this last time would take
+advantage of a pernicious system in order to hurl it down for ever
+more. I hold that mine is the right position to hold. If I were to
+stand aside for a man who would take the seat and strive to hold back
+the cause of reform, I should be a traitor to the cause and to my
+country. I ought not to stand idly by without striving to win it for
+myself.”
+
+She made no reply; but her silence was not the silence of assent, and
+he knew it. He took one or two turns upon the terrace and then said--
+
+“Why do you always try to take the heart out of me, Bride? I never
+speak with you, but it is always the same old story. You look like
+one of God’s angels from heaven; you talk like a veritable saint upon
+earth; and yet you stand there as it were opposed to every effort to
+raise and bless and benefit humanity--a champion for what is tyrannous
+and oppressive and hateful!”
+
+It was not often that Eustace was carried away by his ardour in this
+fashion; but the excitement through which he had recently been passing
+had somewhat shaken and unnerved him. Bride looked away from him and
+out over the sea with one of those intense gazes of hers which calmed
+him better than any words could have done. He came up and took her
+hand, which she did not withdraw from his clasp.
+
+“Forgive me,” he said; “I spoke like a brute. I did not know what I was
+saying. But, O Bride! why will not you and such as you help us? Why
+will you stand aloof with pitying scorn when the world and humanity are
+crying aloud for your sympathy and help?”
+
+“Not scorn,” answered Bride gently, “not scorn; but pity--yes. I often
+do feel pity for you, Eustace, because I know that you will be so
+bitterly disappointed. You want to make men better and happier and
+more prosperous; and more prosperous you may make them by improved
+legislation. Many will be content when that is done, but you will
+not. Your aim goes higher. You want to see them raised out of their
+degradation--to see them ennobled and made truly better. And you will
+be so bitterly disappointed! I know you will; and I pity you often
+from the bottom of my heart; but indeed I do not scorn you. I know
+you--and--love you far too much for that.”
+
+She spoke with quiet fearlessness, and used the word in an impersonal
+sense that Eustace could not misunderstand. He bent forward and lifted
+the hand he held to his lips, and she did not shrink away, for it was
+not the action of a lover, and she felt it and was not afraid. Nor was
+the salute in itself altogether obsolete in those days, though growing
+rarer and rarer.
+
+“You shall teach me the knowledge in which I am lacking,” he said
+ardently; but she slightly shook her head.
+
+“I am afraid not, Eustace; I am afraid the task would be too hard.
+You cannot see with my eyes, nor I with yours. You think all the way
+through that the end justifies the means. I hold that no lasting good
+can be, or ever has been done when unworthy and time-serving means have
+been employed. A man must be pure in heart before he can successfully
+fight the good fight against evil.”
+
+“You mean that I must give up hoping to sit in Parliament?” said
+Eustace hotly, unable to help applying the doctrine to the matter most
+near his heart.
+
+“No, I do not mean that. I should like to see you there; but I would
+rather you fought your seat like other men, and did not profit by the
+very abuse you seek to overthrow.”
+
+“Seats are only won by wading through a sink of iniquity!” said Eustace
+bitterly; and Bride was silent, her face growing sternly sorrowful.
+Her heart often grew heavy within her as she realised the terrible
+wickedness of the great world without.
+
+“No seat is worth that,” she said softly; but Eustace could not agree
+with her.
+
+“We must purify legislation; we must so work that a new and perfect
+system rises from the ashes of the old!” he cried, his quick enthusiasm
+firing at the thought. “Men can and shall be raised. We shall one day
+see the dawn of a brighter and purer day. This is but the hour of
+darkness which precedes the dawn. The brightness of the day will atone
+for all. You will live to see a new world yet, Bride!”
+
+A sudden light sprang into her eyes. For a moment her face was
+transfigured; but as she looked at him that light died out. She
+realised how widely apart were their ideas of a new world.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+_EUSTACE’S DILEMMA_
+
+
+“She is right in theory--she is perfectly right. She holds the stronger
+position. But yet I cannot give it up. One cannot live in the world,
+and breathe an atmosphere so far above it as she does. The thing is
+not possible. What!--go back to London--go back to my friends there,
+and say that I cannot accept my kinsman’s seat, because in right and
+justice he should not have it to give! What a howl of derision I
+should provoke! And to have to confess that my adviser in this was a
+girl years younger than myself, who had hardly left her sea-girt home
+all her life--who knows no more of the world than the babe in the
+nursery! Why, I should become a laughing-stock to the whole of the
+town! I should never be able to face the world again. No, no, no--such
+scruples are untenable. A great work has to be done, and men are wanted
+of birth, energy, determination, and probity; I think I may, without
+undue self-appreciation, assert that I possess all these needful
+qualifications. Better men than myself have told me so. First let us
+get the upper hand, and then we will see what may be done for purifying
+the country and raising a higher and a better standard. If the world
+_would_ listen to such teachings as Bride’s, I will not say the world
+might not be a better place; but if it will not--why, we must needs
+employ tools more fitted for the work. To be deterred by such a
+scruple!--no--it would be unworthy of the Cause!”
+
+Eustace was alone in his room, dressing for dinner. His welcome from
+his kinsman had been kind and cordial, and he was now bracing himself
+for the discussion which must follow upon the request he had to make.
+The subject had not yet been broached between them, though he fancied
+that the Duke half suspected his errand, or rather the motive which had
+prompted it; but hitherto the talk had been all on public matters, and
+he had been relieved to find the old man by no means so hostile in mind
+towards the bill as he had feared to find him. Bride’s estimate of her
+father’s attitude of mind was pretty correct. He knew that some sort
+of change was needed, and that improved legislation was required for
+the peace and prosperity of the country; but he felt that the proposed
+measure would but be the beginning of an upheaval from which he shrank
+with natural distaste, and he feared that evils would follow of
+magnitude greater than those to be done away. Therefore he watched the
+advance of the wave with no little dread, feeling almost sad that he
+should have lived to see so many old landmarks washed away or submerged.
+
+So much Eustace had gathered, but he was not daunted. Things might have
+been much worse. He had been received more cordially at the castle than
+he expected, and there was exhilaration in the thought of his close
+proximity to Bride, even though he resolved not to make any attempt
+this visit to approach her as a lover.
+
+But he was still quite resolved to win her for his wife if possible.
+The few hours spent in her company had riveted his chains afresh. He
+had never met a woman who exercised one-tenth part of the charm upon
+him that Bride did. Her very unapproachableness made her dearer and
+more fascinating. The bright sunshine of the March afternoon beguiled
+him from his room some while before the dinner-hour. He strolled out
+into the gardens, and began wandering there, thinking of his love.
+Turning a corner, he came suddenly upon Abner, and was grieved to
+see such a change in the old man. His hair had grown many degrees
+more white, and there was a bowed look about the shoulders which had
+not been noticeable before. His fine old face was seamed with lines
+that told of pain, either mental or physical, whilst the eyes, though
+retaining their old steadfastness and brightness, had taken something
+of wistfulness withal, as though some haunting regret or unanswered
+longing were always present in his mind.
+
+“Why, Tresithny, I fear you have been ill,” said Eustace, with his
+kindly smile, as he greeted the old man, and expressed his pleasure
+at seeing him again. “You have not worn as well as my uncle. Has the
+winter been too much for you?”
+
+“Nay, it’s not the weather, sir--I’m too well seasoned to mind that. I
+hadn’t heard as we were tu see yu down to the castle again, sir. I wish
+you well, and hope I see yu in good health.”
+
+“The best, thank you, Tresithny, and this beautiful air of yours is
+like the elixir of life, if you’ve ever heard of that. But I want to
+know what ails you; you are not looking the same man as when I left.
+Have you had some illness?”
+
+“No, sir, thank yu,” answered Abner quietly, with a quick glance into
+Eustace’s face that seemed to tell him all he wished to know. “Belike
+yu haven’t heard of the trouble. Such things don’t get into the
+newspapers yu’ll be likely to see, I take it.”
+
+“Trouble!--what trouble?” asked Eustace kindly, his quick sympathies
+stirred at once by the thought of any sort of suffering. “I have not
+heard much news from Penarvon and St. Bride since I left. My uncle has
+written occasionally, but he does not give me much local news.”
+
+“No, sir, there’s other things more important to be spoke of; but his
+Grace was the best friend we had in the trouble, and there’s no manner
+of doubt that he saved his life--poor misguided lad. ’Twould have abin
+a hanging matter with him, as ’twas with t’other, but for his Grace
+coming himself to speak up for him. I’ll never forget that. He’s been
+our best friend throughout, him and our own Lady Bride--bless her!”
+
+“Ay, you may well say that,” answered Eustace fervently; “a sweeter
+creature never drew breath on this earth. But I want to know more of
+this, Tresithny. What in the world has been going on? I did not know
+you could have such serious troubles in this little paradise of a
+place. It seems as though it should be exempt from the strife and crime
+of the great world.”
+
+“No, sir,” answered Abner gravely, “there’s no place where human life
+abides that is free from the curse of sin. We live in no paradise here.
+One place is very much like another, as far as that goes, all the world
+over, I take it. But I won’t weary yu with my talk. There’s not much
+to tell, and it’s soon told. My grandson, Saul, got into bad company
+and bad hands last year. They deceived and misled the poor lad, and he,
+being hot and fiery by nature, was all the more ready to their hand. He
+took to preaching rebellion, and I don’t know what, to the folks who
+would listen, and so lost his place on the farm.”
+
+“He was always too good for a mere labourer,” spoke Eustace, in a quick
+low tone. “He was just eating his heart out in the solitude and the
+lack of human interest and sympathy.”
+
+“Well, sir, I don’t know that he mended matters much by leaving. He
+went to Pentreath and got some sort of work there--I’m not very clear
+what--and got more and more with bad companions. Then came those riots
+you’ve heard tell of all over the country--sometimes against the new
+machines, sometimes against the masters, or any rich men whom the
+people think worth robbing when they get the chance. Saul was mixed
+up in these riots. I shan’t never know, I s’pose, exactly how much
+he was to blame; but he’d got a bad name, and folks were after him;
+and at last he and the cobbler, whose house he lived at, were took
+up and brought before the magistrates. Saul got off with six months’
+imprisonment; but the cobbler went before the judges at assizes and was
+hanged. They all say Saul would have been served the same if his Grace
+hadn’t gone down on purpose to speak up for him to their reverences: it
+was that that did it. But six months of prison has been enough for the
+boy. I doubt me he’ll ever be the same again.”
+
+Eustace was not a little shocked by this story. He remembered Saul
+as he had last seen him--a fine, manly, fearless fellow, strong as
+a giant, and with mental and intellectual possibilities that raised
+him far above his fellows. He knew something of the state of country
+prisons; that was one of the abuses he and his friends meant to inquire
+into when the time came. Something had been done towards amending their
+condition, even in the previous century; but very much yet remained
+that needed to be done. How had Saul borne that life for six long weary
+months? It was bad enough for a town-bred man, used to confinement and
+foul air, but what must it have been for this son of the sea and the
+downs?
+
+“Tresithny, I am grieved--I am deeply grieved,” he said. “Tell me more
+of the poor fellow. I always thought highly of Saul. Tell me how he has
+borne it. He is out again now, I trust?”
+
+“Yes, shattered in body and soul and spirit,” answered the old man very
+sadly, though without bitterness. “The iron has entered into his soul,
+and for him there is yet no healing touch that can salve the soreness
+of that wound.”
+
+“He has been ill?”
+
+“Ay, of the jail-fever. It’s rarer now than ’twas years ago; but it got
+fast hold of Saul. May be the fresh winds will make a strong man of him
+again before long; but I’m feared he’s gotten a hurt that is worse than
+weakness of body.”
+
+“Poor fellow!” said Eustace with sincere concern. “I must go and see
+him as soon as I can.”
+
+There was a momentary silence, and then Abner said quietly--
+
+“Yu must do as yu will about that, sir.”
+
+There was something in these words so foreign to the old gardener’s
+customary respectful cordiality that Eustace, who in his own fashion
+was sensitive enough, gave a keen quick look at his interlocutor, and
+spoke with subdued vehemence.
+
+“Tresithny, I trust you do not believe that it has been my doing that
+poor Saul has fallen into this trouble.”
+
+Abner finished tying up the young shoot of the tree he was training
+before making answer, and then he spoke very slowly and with an air of
+sorrowful resignation, which seemed sadder to the young man than open
+expressions of anger or grief.
+
+“Sir,” he said, “I am not one lightly to lay any man’s sin at another
+man’s door. Only the Lord in heaven can know what blame may attach
+to each--the one for his act, the other for words which it were
+better he should not have spoken. No, sir; Saul has sinned, and he
+has suffered for his sin. I have tried to think no bitter thoughts of
+any of those who helped to lead him astray. Some of them are poor,
+ignorant, miserable creatures, who doubtless knew no better. Some,
+I doubt not, have many and just causes of complaint, and have been
+goaded to violence and lawlessness by the fear of starvation, which
+works like poison in the blood. It is hard to think hard thoughts of
+such, especially when they are left in their ignorance and misery, and
+those who should be their pastors and shepherds seek not after the
+scattered flock to gather and feed them. My boy had doubtless seen and
+heard enough to fire his blood, and God Almighty alone may judge of the
+measure of his guilt. But for my part, I would that he had been saved
+from that teaching, and those thoughts which have worked like madness
+in his brain; and you know better than I can do, sir, how much of the
+wild words he uses have been learned from you.”
+
+“Not much wildness, I think,” answered Eustace gravely. “He has
+certainly learned a good many facts from me, but I have said very much
+to him to try and curb the wild spirit of hatred and lawless revolt
+which I saw in him. He would tell you that himself if you asked him.”
+
+“Yes, sir; I don’t doubt it; but when you bring gunpowder close to the
+fire to dry it, as you may think, and take every care that it doesn’t
+explode, you run a great risk, even with the most cautious intentions.
+A puff of wind down the chimney will send a spark into it, and then
+comes an explosion. It’s something like that when you educated and
+clever gentlemen begin to bring your fire near the hot inflammable
+minds of our ignorant lads. You don’t mean there to be any spark; you
+mean to get your material well dried and in good working order, so
+that it can be used for right and legitimate ends; but though you’re
+clever enough to make it dry and hot and fit for service, you can’t
+stop the fall of the spark that brings about the explosion, and then
+you call it a sad accident and deplore it as much as any but you don’t
+always consider the fearful risks you run of bringing about this very
+accident, which may perhaps recoil one day on your own head, and which
+has injured for life many and many a brave lad who might have lived out
+his days in innocence and a fair amount of happiness but for that.”
+
+Eustace stood looking down at the path with a thoughtful face. He could
+have brought many arguments to bear upon the old man, explaining how
+every good cause as yet undertaken against every existing form of evil
+had been marred and hindered at the outset, and indeed all through its
+career, by the rashness, the impetuosity, the ill-advised action of
+individuals; but he held his peace, and said nothing that might sound
+like an excuse for his own conduct. He _did_ take blame to himself in
+the case of Saul. He had felt again and again, whilst talking with
+that fiery youth, with his strong character and individuality, and his
+burning hatred against the ruling classes, that he was playing with
+edged tools. The pleasure of finding so much intelligence and sympathy
+in a man of the people had led him on often to speak out things which
+on calmer consideration he would hardly have put into words so freely.
+From time to time his own conscience had warned him that Saul might one
+day turn out an unmanageable disciple; but he had hoped his own strong
+influence upon him would suffice to hold in check his fiery partisan
+zeal, and had forgotten how quickly that influence would be removed,
+whilst the memory of his words, and the feelings they excited, would
+live on and ferment and eat into his very soul.
+
+“I am sorry,” he said at last, looking up at Abner with frank, open
+regret in his eyes; “I think I was wrong. I think I had better have let
+Saul alone. He has too much gunpowder, as you rightly call it, in his
+composition. I should have been warned by that and have let him alone.”
+
+This frank apology evoked a smile from Abner.
+
+“Sir,” he said, “don’t think I don’t appreciate your care for the
+people, or that I don’t know you wish to do good. I’m very sure of
+that; and Saul had heard a good deal more than was good for him before
+he ever met you. But knowing that a gentleman such as you felt with
+him went a long way with him--seemed to turn the scale altogether, if
+you know what I mean. But I’m not saying he might not have gone as far
+without, if he’d taken up with the lads of Pentreath as he’s lately
+done. However, he seems to have took altogether against Pentreath now,
+and spends his time down on the shore with the fisher-folk. He’ll be
+glad enough to see you, sir, I doubt not. It isn’t many as he’s got a
+welcome for, but I think he’ll have it for you.”
+
+“And I’ll try and see that he is none the worse for my visit,” said
+Eustace, with a grave smile; and then he walked back to the castle, for
+the dinner-hour had all but arrived.
+
+His face was grave and absorbed as he took his seat. The conversation
+with Abner had left a painful impression on his mind. He felt like a
+man on the horns of a dilemma. His whole heart was in the cause of
+reform. He felt that he was pledged to it, and that he must give his
+whole life and energies to it, come what might; and yet at every turn
+he was confronted by problems past his power to solve. He had worked
+amongst the people--and behold, his most promising pupil had been
+spending the winter in jail, and had but just come forth shattered
+in body and mind. He might do more good by sitting in Parliament and
+fighting the battle there--that indeed was his great desire; but to do
+so he must take a step which seemed in a sense to be a sacrifice of
+principle and self-respect. He seemed hedged in by difficulties all
+ways; but his resolution did not waver.
+
+“Once let me get this seat, and the knot will be cut,” he kept saying
+to himself, as the meal proceeded in its quiet stately course; and
+feeling that the sooner the plunge was taken the better it would he, he
+only waited until the servants had withdrawn at the conclusion of the
+meal before he spoke out freely and frankly.
+
+“Uncle,” he said, with an abruptness that was the result of repressed
+excitement, “last year, before you knew much of my views on politics,
+you offered to give me a seat in Parliament upon the first opportunity.
+That opportunity has now come, and I have come to remind you of your
+offer, and to ask you whether--knowing my views--you still feel
+disposed to give it me. Your old friend has retired, as you told me he
+would. He will not sit again. I want, above all things, to be a member
+of that House which will--if I mistake not greatly--have the honour
+of passing that measure which will be the keystone to the prosperity
+of England. I believe that there is no doubt as to the composition of
+the next House of Commons. The voice of the nation cannot longer be
+misunderstood or ignored. It will be a great and a glorious time for
+England, and I want to have the great honour and privilege of serving
+her at this crisis. Will you give me that seat of which you spoke, that
+I may realise this ambition and happiness?”
+
+“And pass a measure about which I feel the very gravest doubts, and
+which, I fear, may prove anything but the keystone to greatness and
+prosperity?” said the Duke.
+
+“I know, sir, we do not think alike on this subject. It is scarcely
+likely we should. But you have had enough experience of the ways of
+the world to be aware that the advancing wave cannot be turned back.
+If these most crucial and important measures are to be passed, is it
+not better that they should be drawn up and passed by men of birth
+and station, men of education and sound principle? Without claiming
+for myself qualifications which I do not possess, or any very great
+amount of experience in legislating, I think I have the qualities I
+have named; and I am a Marchmont, and the Marchmonts have not shown
+themselves deficient either in ability or in governing power in days of
+yore. I cannot but feel that you would prefer your kinsman in the House
+to a mere stranger; and I would remember and respect your scruples and
+injunctions, and would place them before my colleagues, giving them all
+due weight and respect.”
+
+The Duke smiled slightly.
+
+“The boy talks as though he would be a cabinet minister at once!” he
+remarked to the room at large. “Do you suppose anybody will pay any
+attention to what a tyro like you will think or speak? and, for my own
+part, if I have anything to say to the bill which I hold to be worth
+saying, I can go to Westminster and say it for myself.”
+
+“Yes, in the Upper House,” said Eustace; “but it is in the Commons that
+the battle will be fought.”
+
+“And you think you can be my mouthpiece there?” asked the Duke, a
+little grimly. “Boy, do you not think I could find a better mouthpiece
+for my views than you will ever make?”
+
+But the question was put with a smile which made Eustace believe that
+there would not be much of a battle to fight. His kinsman was not
+without the strong family feeling which was so strong a characteristic
+of his race; and the very fact that Eustace desired the seat was a
+strong reason why he should have it. With all his advanced views, he
+was a Marchmont, and a man of rectitude and high principle. That the
+Reform Bill would assuredly pass the next House of Commons the whole
+country fully believed, and the Duke also. There was a good deal in
+Eustace’s argument about getting it drawn up and debated by the best
+stamp of men possible.
+
+“But you--what has so changed your view?” asked the old man, suddenly
+turning upon Eustace, and looking keenly at him. “When first I made my
+offer, it only evoked a tirade against the abuse of rotten or pocket
+boroughs, as I think you called them. I was led to imagine that you
+would recoil in horror from profiting by such an abuse; and behold,
+here are you in a year’s time craving to advance yourself by that very
+means! How comes that, my fine young redresser of evils? How can you
+reconcile it to your conscience to accept the seat which you dispute my
+right to hold?”
+
+A flush mounted to Eustace’s face.
+
+“I accept it, and even crave it, that I may be one of those to abolish
+it in the future. Till the laws are amended, the abuse must last, and
+to amend those laws is the aim and object of my life. I admit that
+my position is one which appears inconsistent. You can easily put me
+in a dilemma by well-planted questions; but my mind is clear and my
+conscience too. You have to find a candidate for this seat, and I,
+as your next of kin, desire it. I openly proclaim to you the fact
+that once I am seated in Parliament, I shall strain every nerve to
+accomplish the abolition of the abuse by which I have gained my seat
+so readily; but I am neither afraid nor ashamed to seek it now. I will
+profit by the iniquity to expunge that iniquity from our country for
+ever!”
+
+“To do a great right, do a little wrong,” quoted the Duke thoughtfully.
+“Well, Eustace, you shall have the seat if you desire it, but I cannot
+help feeling that I wish you had not asked me for it, or been willing
+to take it.”
+
+The flush deepened in Eustace’s face as the Duke spoke, and he caught
+the answering glance in Bride’s eyes. He had purposely made his request
+before her, although it cost him something to do it. He wished to
+prove to himself that he had the courage of his opinions, and was not
+ashamed of the trifling inconsistency, which he explained away again
+and again to what he called his own satisfaction. He was not prepared
+to make himself the laughing-stock of his friends in town for a
+scruple of this sort; but he wished he could have avoided the apparent
+inconsistency with these kinsfolk of his, who appeared to look on at
+the strife of parties and the battle of life from an altitude which was
+rather perplexing and discomfiting.
+
+“I am greatly obliged, sir,” said Eustace, hardly believing the battle
+was already won. He had looked for much more argument and resistance.
+“I will try to be worthy of the trust reposed in me. I hope you do
+not distrust me for my willingness to take advantage for once of this
+custom so soon to be made obsolete?”
+
+“I do not distrust your loyalty to your cause; I think you deserve to
+sit in the next House, and may in time make yourself of value to your
+party. At the same time, since you do hold so strongly your advanced
+views, I had rather you obtained your seat in another fashion, speaking
+simply from a moral and theoretic standpoint.”
+
+“I agree with you there, in theory,” answered Eustace eagerly. “I wish
+the world could be governed according to theory; but, alas! in practice
+too many of our brightest and best theories break down. If I had any
+chance of winning a seat by an ordinary contest, I would gladly do so;
+but I know that I have not. I am an untried man, and unknown in any
+constituency. I should not stand the ghost of a chance; and the bribery
+and corruption of an election under such conditions is too revolting to
+think of.”
+
+A faint smile played round the lips of the old Duke.
+
+“Yes, bribery and corruption are the lawful methods by which our House
+of Commons is returned by the country, save where there are rotten
+or pocket boroughs to be given by favour, or openly bought and sold;
+and when these last are done away with, and more contests set on foot,
+there will be more bribery and corruption, rioting and drunkenness,
+than ever, and this will be the first step of the great reform.”
+
+“Yes, but only the first step,” answered Eustace eagerly. “After that
+step will follow others for the purifying of these contests, and the
+rectifying of these flagrant abuses. Some great men say it can and will
+be done by establishing a system of ballot-voting, by which no man may
+know how his neighbour votes, so that a deathblow will be dealt to
+bribery.”
+
+“_Will_ it?” questioned the Duke significantly.
+
+“Yes,” was the fearless answer, “because men will learn to see the
+worse than folly of bribing a man who can pocket the bribe, take one
+from his opponent, and then go perfectly free and unfettered to vote as
+he pleases! The thing will die a natural death as a matter of course.
+It may die hard, but die it must.”
+
+“Yes, it will die in its open form. Votes will no longer be bought
+at so much a head; but mark my word, Eustace, a more corrupt and
+iniquitous form of bribery will creep slowly and surely upon the
+country. Governments will outbid each other with promises of measures
+which will appeal to the selfish and self-seeking passions of the
+people, just to get into power, quite apart from true statesmanship
+or the true good of the nation. There will be one long struggle after
+popularity with the unthinking masses--one long bribing of them by a
+wholesale system of promises, more or less faithfully carried out,
+which will corrupt the nation to the core as the old bribery has
+never corrupted it. Don’t tell me, boy! I have lived longer than you.
+I know human nature. An inducement--a bribe--men will have; and the
+bribe will now be of increased power, increased franchise, increased
+ability to levy taxes which those who levy them will not pay--a system
+of legalised robbery, which will sooner or later bring the country to
+ruin. Ah! yes, you smile. You think I am a croaker and a pessimist.
+Well, well, well--thank God, I shall not live to see the day; but that
+day will come for England before many generations have passed, when she
+will be groaning beneath the burden laid upon her by her reformers,
+but absolutely unable to break that increasing yoke from off her neck.
+Men may rise up in arms against their tyrants when their tyrant is a
+monarch; but when they are their own tyrants, their own legislators,
+their own oppressors, where are they to find redress?”
+
+Eustace made no attempt to reply. The Duke was talking a language
+incomprehensible to him and absurd. Even argument seemed thrown away
+here; yet all the while he respected the sincerity and the character of
+the man before him, and he answered with a smile--
+
+“Well, uncle, if we cannot agree as to the outcome of these measures,
+at least we can agree to differ, and we can each pocket our little
+bit of inconsistency with a quiet conscience. You will give me the
+seat, whilst holding that eventual ill will come from the cause I
+advocate; and I will profit by an abuse to do away with that abuse. I
+think it comes pretty much to this: we both know that this first step
+is inevitable, therefore you cease to fight against it, whilst I seek
+to help to forward it by every wise and right method. There are many
+men in the country more ‘advanced’ than I, and I have a dread of rash
+precipitation. I think I shall do good and not harm even to your cause
+by my voice. I shall certainly take warning by your words, and be
+always on the side of moderation.”
+
+“You shall have the seat,” said the Duke, “because you are my next of
+kin, and because I respect you as a man, if I do not agree with you as
+a politician. In the course of nature you will not long be able to sit
+in the House of Commons; and since your heart is set upon it, I will
+give you the chance this time. You can choose which you will do--accept
+the seat I have at my disposal--getting in by an abuse; or I will
+give my seat to the Tory member for Pentreath, and put you up in his
+place and give you my influence there. Pentreath has hitherto always
+returned a Tory candidate, and Sir Roland Menteith is a very popular
+man locally--you would have no chance against him; but if I gave him
+my seat, and you stepped forward as the Reform candidate--a moderate
+reformer supported by the Penarvon interest, you might stand an
+excellent chance. There would certainly be another Tory adversary put
+up against you, but I know of no man likely to be popular. The people
+of the place have become strongly leavened by the spirit of the day,
+and my influence would go far to turn the scale with a great many. You
+can think it over and do as you will. Personally you have no influence,
+or little here; but as a Marchmont and the future Duke, you would have
+a good deal. There would be expenses of course--we could talk about
+that later. I do not seek to persuade you to anything; I only tell you
+what I will do for you if you prefer to contest a seat rather than get
+one by an abuse. You can think it quietly over, and decide at your
+leisure. Sir Roland is dining here in a week’s time. He always comes to
+see me after his return from Westminster to give me all the news. We
+can talk the matter over with him then.”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+_STIRRING DAYS_
+
+
+Sir Roland Menteith was slightly known to Eustace, who had spent much
+time in the lobbies of the House of Commons, and was personally known
+to the majority of its members, by sight if not by name. He was a
+fine-looking man of some five-and-thirty summers, and although a Tory
+by descent and tradition, was by no means an enemy of such moderate
+measures of parliamentary reform as were at present under discussion.
+He had voted for the reading of the recent bill, and was by no means
+prepared to pledge himself to his constituency as its enemy. There
+were many amongst his enemies who said he had no right, with the views
+he held, to call himself a Tory; but he would defend himself by the
+argument that Tories would soon cease to exist if they never moved one
+step forward with the times they lived in. A system originally sound
+and good could well become corrupt and bad under a changed condition
+of affairs, and if Tories were pledged to resist any sort of change,
+bad or good--well, they at once placed themselves in a false position,
+and made their own extinction only a matter of time. He maintained
+that the true Tory aimed always for the best and soundest policy, the
+policy that would make England respected abroad and prosperous at
+home. Tearing down and splitting up were actions bad and degrading
+to a government, but gradual change, especially of a constructive
+character, was essential to the development of the national life. So
+he argued, and Eustace cordially agreed, whilst the old Duke listened
+with his slight peculiar smile, and said little, but kept true to the
+point in the little he did say. Sir Roland had come over to the castle
+in great excitement only one day following the arrival of Eustace
+there, and he had easily been persuaded to remain on as a guest whilst
+these important and stirring themes were under discussion. He was very
+well pleased to find in young Marchmont so moderate and temperate a
+reformer. Eustace had certainly learnt more moderation of thought
+during the past year, and was more cautious both in what he advocated
+and what he approved. He had had several experiences of a kind likely
+to awaken in him some distrust of the methods which once had seemed
+entirely right and praiseworthy; and he began to have an inkling that
+there was something wanting in his system before it could be called in
+any way perfect. The passions of the people could easily be stirred;
+but there was no power he knew of as yet strong enough to hold them
+in a just and proper repression. It was a hateful thing to him to be
+accused (as he knew he was in many quarters) of being one of those
+demagogues bent on rousing all that was worst and most cruel and wild
+in the natures over which he acquired influence. Sir Roland, after one
+of his many morning rides into Pentreath, told him flatly that he had
+the credit of being at the bottom of those riots which had caused such
+loss and destruction of property there in the autumn, and it was soon
+ascertained that the feeling there was so strongly against him that it
+would be hopeless for him to stand as a candidate on either one side or
+the other.
+
+This piece of intelligence came as rather a severe shock to him. After
+the interview with the Duke on the day of his arrival, he had thought
+more and more of the suggestion that he should contest the seat at
+Pentreath, sparing Sir Roland the cost and the worry. His own income
+was large, and could well stand the strain, and the Duke was a man of
+known wealth and liberality. Eustace, too, was indulging in halcyon
+dreams of contesting the seat with rigid purity of method, hoping even
+to shame his adversary into better ways by his own absolute probity.
+Sir Roland, although fond of his constituents, and rather fond of the
+excitement and bustle of an election and the sound of his own clever
+speeches on the hustings, was by no means averse to be spared the
+trouble and expense for once, stepping quietly into the Duke’s pocket
+borough, and throwing in his influence for young Marchmont, with whom
+upon the essential matter of the coming strife he agreed. Eustace was
+feeling something of the keen exhilaration of the coming strife, and
+was enjoying the release from the anomalous position he would have
+occupied (at least in the eyes of Bride) as his kinsman’s nominee, when
+this fresh blow was dealt to his pride and his hopes. Sir Roland had
+heard enough to be very certain that the very name of Eustace Marchmont
+would arouse an uproar of fury amongst the class who had the voting
+power; also, there could be no manner of doubt that his appearance
+as a candidate would provoke fresh riots of a very serious nature.
+Investigation of these rumours only confirmed them. Eustace Marchmont’s
+name had been on the lips of all the rioters who made havoc of the town
+during the recent outbreak. Their young leader, Saul Tresithny, had
+quoted him as his authority for almost every wild argument by which
+he had stirred the people to madness, and roused them to any act of
+violence, in order to overthrow, or at least be revenged upon, their
+tyrants and foes. If he were to appear on the hustings, he would be
+at once the idol of the lawless (and voteless) mob; but the object of
+reprobation, if not of execration, to all the sober-minded citizens,
+whatever might be their political views. Had Eustace come amongst them
+as a stranger with the Penarvon and Menteith interest at his back, he
+might have carried all before him, for there was no popular man in
+the place likely to oppose him under those conditions; but branded as
+he now was by the names of Radical and revolutionary, all men looked
+askance at him, and it was with a keen sense of disappointment, not
+to say humiliation, that he had to abandon the idea of contesting
+the seat, and revert to his original plan of accepting his kinsman’s
+nomination.
+
+“I suppose you think that my sin has found me out,” he said rather
+bitterly to Bride, when this unpalatable news had become verified as
+actual fact. “I suppose you believe that I went about the country last
+year inciting men to arson and pillage and every sort of brutality. You
+know that is what is said of me by the respectable people of Pentreath,
+that I provoked and incited riot, and took very good care to be out of
+the way when it took place, that others might bear the punishment.”
+
+“It is cruel to say such things of you,” answered Bride, with a quiet
+indignation which was very grateful to him. “I know they are not true,
+and I almost think the people who say them know that there is only a
+very small substratum of truth in them. But, Eustace,” and she looked
+up at him with one of her rare smiles, “do you not think you sometimes
+say things almost as untrue on the other side? Do you not sometimes
+make out men in high places to be little else than monsters, when all
+the time they are almost as helpless, and perhaps even less to blame
+for the effects of a system, than you for those riots at Pentreath,
+which above all things you disapprove and deprecate?”
+
+“I know what you mean,” he said; “I think we all go too far in our
+attack and defence. But those men _do_ uphold a system of tyranny and
+iniquity, even if they are not responsible for it, whilst I never
+uphold violence and lawlessness. I hate and abominate it with my whole
+heart.”
+
+“I know you do; but you will not get ignorant men to believe it, when
+you teach them how bad the laws are. Their idea of mending the existing
+state of things is to rebel against it by force.”
+
+“Yes; and great present mischief is the result; but, Bride, if all
+men held your doctrine of patience and submission, no reformation or
+reform, no redress of abuses, no respite from tyranny and oppression,
+would ever have been effected in the world’s history. When you have
+such imperfect material to deal with, imperfections are everywhere.
+Good is always mixed with evil, and will be to the end of the chapter.”
+
+“Yes; until the Kingdom,” answered Bride sadly, yet with a sudden
+lighting of the eyes. “Yes, Eustace, I know that so long as human
+nature is what it is, nothing can be done without evil creeping in.
+But I still think that if men would be content to leave results, and
+simply strive themselves after the best and highest good, and try
+and teach the ignorant and the degraded the one true and only way of
+raising themselves--if men would look to God for His teaching--from the
+highest to the lowest--trying in all things to do not their will but
+His--then I think the world would gradually raise itself without these
+cruel scenes of strife and bloodshed, without these heart-burnings and
+miserable factions. ‘Thy kingdom come!’ It is a prayer always on our
+lips; but do men try to apply the laws of God’s kingdom to this earth
+which He has made and they have marred?”
+
+“I think that is about the last thing men of the present day think
+of,” answered Eustace, with a curious sidelong look at the earnest
+face beside him. “They want something more practical to go by. When it
+comes to be a question what God wills, every divine and every school of
+theology and philosophy has a different answer to give. Such an appeal
+as that would only make confusion worse confounded.”
+
+A very wistful, sorrowful look crept into the fair young face.
+
+“I was not thinking of schools of theology or philosophy,” she answered
+very quietly, “I was thinking of God Himself as revealed in His
+Incarnate Son; but I do not think we understand each other when we
+speak of that, Eustace.”
+
+In very truth he did not understand her. Did she seriously believe that
+the affairs of the world could be directed by a Divine voice straight
+from heaven? It almost appeared sometimes as though she did, and yet
+in most matters Lady Bride, mystic and dreamer though she was, was not
+lacking in quiet common-sense and a fair amount of experience of such
+life as she had seen.
+
+For a moment he stood silent beside her--they were on the terrace,
+looking down at the sparkling sea below. Then he roused himself, and
+changed the subject suddenly.
+
+“Shall we go down to the shore and see Saul Tresithny? I have not
+succeeded in catching him yet. I do not think he tries to avoid me.
+Your gardener says he is much attached to me; but he has always been
+out with the boats. There seems plenty of fishing just now. I hope the
+poor fellow is not suffering from lack of employment.”
+
+“I think not. There is always plenty of work with the boats in the
+summer months. It is the winter that is so hard for our people, except
+when they take to smuggling, as too many do. I am afraid that is what
+Saul will do when fishing gets slack. He always had a leaning towards
+any sort of adventure and danger. Abner managed to keep him away from
+the fishing-village as a lad, and when he went to the farm he had
+other work, and was too far off; but I am afraid how it will be with
+him now. I had hoped he would go to Mr. St. Aubyn and take care of
+his garden and horse, but he will not. Nobody can do anything with
+him--poor Saul!”
+
+“I will see what I can do,” said Eustace, with hopeful confidence.
+“He is too good to turn into a mere fisherman and smuggler. There are
+traits of great promise in him. I suppose birth and blood _does_ tell,
+and there is reason to believe that his father was a man of birth, I
+hear, although he may have been a villain. Certainly the man is very
+different from his fellows. I wonder whether he would come to London as
+my servant. I could do very well with another groom, and I know he has
+a great knack with horses. He might be very useful.”
+
+“I wish he would,” said Bride earnestly. “It might be a turning-point
+in his life to get away from old associates and old ideas.”
+
+They were by this time walking down towards the shore by the little
+ridge-like path before described. Eustace was behind, and Bride in
+front, so that she could not see the sudden light which leaped into his
+eyes; but she heard something new in the tone of his voice as he said--
+
+“Then you do not hold that I have been the ruin of Saul--body and soul,
+as so many do? You do not think that to take him away with me would be
+but to consummate that ruin?”
+
+“No, indeed I do not,” answered Bride gently. “I think that the people
+who say such things do not understand you, Eustace. I think you might
+perhaps do poor Saul more good than anybody just now, because I think
+he will listen to you, and he will listen to no one else. I should like
+to think of him going away with you. If you cannot teach him all he
+will have to learn before he can be a truly happy man, you can teach
+him a great deal that he will be better for the knowing; and perhaps
+some day, when the right time has come, he will be ready to be taught
+the rest.”
+
+“Then you do not call me a demagogue, an infidel--a man dangerous to
+the whole community, and to the world at large?” questioned Eustace,
+with the insistance of one whose heart has been deeply wounded
+by accusations hurled against him--all the more deeply from the
+consciousness that the censure has not been wholly undeserved.
+
+“No,” answered Bride softly, “I do not call you any of those names--not
+even in my thoughts. I know you have not been very wise; I think you
+know that yourself, and will learn wisdom for the future. But I know
+that you believed yourself right in what you said and did, and were
+generous and disinterested in your teaching. About your faith I know
+very little. I think you know very little yourself; but we can leave
+that in God’s hands. It does not come by man, or through man, but
+by the will of God. I think it is His will, Eustace, to draw you to
+Himself one day; but that day must come in His good time. I think we
+sometimes make a great mistake in striving to urge and drive those whom
+we love. Waiting _is_ hard, and sometimes it seems very, very long. But
+things are so different with God--His patience as well as His love are
+so much greater than ours. And we can always pray--that helps the time
+of waiting best.”
+
+Eustace was intensely thrilled by these low-spoken words, which
+he only just caught through the plash of the waves beneath. That
+magnetic influence which Bride always exercised upon him was almost
+overpoweringly strong at that moment. He could almost have fallen at
+her feet in adoration. After the good-natured strictures of Sir Roland,
+the slight grim reproofs of the Duke, and his knowledge of the cutting
+criticisms and violent abuse levelled at him by the world of Pentreath,
+these words of Bride’s fell like balm upon his spirit. He felt lifted
+into a different atmosphere, and the question could not but present
+itself to him--
+
+“If faith and those unseen things in which that pure girl believes,
+which are to her the greatest realities of life, are nothing but a
+myth, a figment of the imagination, what gives them such power over
+a nature like mine? Why do I thrill at the thought of them? Why do I
+see glimpses, as through a rifted cloud, of a glory, a beauty, a peace
+beyond anything I have ever conceived? Why, even by the teachings of my
+own philosophy, the fact of this stirring of spirit indicates a reality
+of some sort. And is there, after all, nothing higher than philosophy?
+Is there no object of objective worship? Is there, after all, a God?”
+
+Little did Bride suspect the quick stirrings of spirit her words had
+evoked. She walked on, with her sweet face set in earnest lines,
+thinking of Saul and his grandfather’s ceaseless prayers on his behalf,
+praying herself for him in a half-unconscious fashion, as was her habit
+when thoughts of the erring one presented themselves. Her mind was more
+with him just at that moment than with the kinsman behind her, with
+whom, however, thoughts of Saul were always more or less mixed up;
+therefore the question, when it came, did not in any wise startle her.
+
+“Bride, do you mean that you ever pray for me?”
+
+“Yes, Eustace. I always pray for those whom I love, and for those who
+seem to need my prayers.”
+
+He was silent for several minutes, and then his thoughts surging back
+to a question that had been on the tip of his tongue before, he asked,
+“Bride, you said I could not teach Saul to be a truly happy man. Do you
+think that I am not a happy man myself?”
+
+“Not a truly happy one,” she answered, with quiet certainty. “I believe
+you are happy in one way--in the world’s way. But that is not what
+I mean by true happiness. There is another happiness I hope you will
+learn some day--I think you will; and then you will understand. I do
+not think you can understand yet.”
+
+He was not sure that he could not. He remembered the Duchess in
+former years; he had Bride before his eyes now. Even old Abner, in
+the midst of all his trouble, showed a substratum of unchanging
+serenity which nothing seemed able to shake. He believed he apprehended
+without understanding what manner of thing this happiness was--a
+thing altogether different from and independent of the fluctuations
+of enjoyment and pleasure which went by the name of happiness in his
+world. Eustace was receiving impressions just now with a force and a
+rapidity that was startling to him. Every day something seemed added
+to his list of experiences, and not the least was the peculiar wave of
+emotion that swept over him now.
+
+Yet Bride noticed nothing different in his manner as they reached the
+beach, and were able to walk on side by side. He was a little absent
+and thoughtful perhaps, as was natural with the interview just hanging
+over him; and it soon appeared that their journey was not in vain, for
+the tall form of Saul was seen seated upon a rock not far away, and
+Bride said softly to Eustace, “There he is. I think you had better go
+to him alone. I will go and see some of the poor people and join you
+later on.”
+
+Eustace was grateful to her for this suggestion. Now that he was almost
+face to face with his quondam pupil, he felt that he would rather
+be alone. He did not know in what mood Saul would meet him, and it
+was better perhaps that they should be without the fetter which the
+presence of Bride must necessarily impose.
+
+Without pausing to rehearse any speech, Eustace walked straight up to
+the lonely figure on the rock, and holding out his hand in greeting (a
+demonstration very rare in those days between men of such different
+stations), said, with warm feeling, “Tresithny, you have suffered in
+what you took to be the cause of the people. That must make a fresh
+bond between us, whatever else we may have to say upon the subject.”
+
+Saul started at the sound of the familiar, unexpected voice (the plash
+of the waves had drowned approaching footsteps); he started again
+at sight of the outstretched hand; but after a moment of visible
+hesitation, he took it in his grasp and wrung it till Eustace could
+have winced. The sombre face was working strangely. The mask of stolid
+indifference and contempt had fallen from it. There was a new light in
+the hollow eyes as they met the searching gaze of Eustace’s, and the
+first words came out with something of a gasp.
+
+“Then you have come at last, sir, and you have not changed!”
+
+“Why should I change?” asked Eustace, with a smile, wonderfully
+relieved to find that this unapproachable man, who was puzzling all
+the world besides, did not turn a deaf ear upon him. Shocked as he was
+at the change he saw in the outward aspect of Saul, he saw that it was
+the same Saul as of old, a man full of strength and fight--a tool that
+might be dangerous to work with, or of inestimable value, according
+as it could be guided and tempered. A sense of true admiration and
+fellowship sprang up within him towards this stern-faced son of toil,
+with his sorrowful story and suffering face.
+
+“Why should I change?” he asked; and then Saul’s pent-up feeling burst
+out.
+
+Every one had changed--the whole world--the very cause itself. All had
+left him in his hour of need--all had turned upon him and betrayed
+and deserted him. Months of solitary brooding, the delirium of fever,
+the overwrought nervous condition into which imprisonment had driven
+him, had all combined to produce in Saul a distorted image of life, of
+the world, and of every single being in it. Hitherto he had locked
+these feelings in his own heart; but now, before Eustace, the one man
+who had proffered him friendship in the midst of his trouble, the
+friendship of comrade to comrade, man to man, it all came pouring out
+in one great flood of impassioned eloquence and imprecation, terrible
+sometimes to listen to. It was not easy at times even to follow his
+rapid speech, which alternated between the roughest vernacular and the
+purest English he had ever spoken, rehearsed a hundred times in his
+prison-house, as he had prepared the speeches which were to raise all
+Devon and Cornwall to arms, if need be, against the monstrous class
+tyranny under which the country lay groaning. Eustace let him have his
+fling, never stopping him by argument or opposition, leading him on by
+a sympathetic word now and again to outpour everything that was in his
+heart without fear. He knew by instinct what the relief would be, how
+much good it would do for the outlet to be found at length; and though
+unable to repress a sense of shuddering loathing at some of the words
+of his companion, he could well excuse them in the thought of his great
+sufferings and state of mental distraction, and was very hopeful by
+slow degrees of winning him back to a better and more reasonable frame
+of mind.
+
+It was much to have gained his confidence--much that Saul was able to
+depend on the sympathy of his former master, and was not afraid of
+baring his inmost soul before him. Eustace was seized sometimes with
+a sense of something like dismay to find how absolutely Saul believed
+he would echo even the most blasphemous of his thoughts, how securely
+he reckoned upon finding in his leader the same absolute denial of
+all revealed religion--religion which he himself fiercely decried and
+ridiculed, as part and parcel of a corrupt system soon to be exploded.
+Much that the young man thus hotly declaimed against--much of his wild
+and random vituperation must have been learned from others. Eustace
+could honestly affirm he had never allowed such expressions to pass
+his lips; but here and there a phrase of his own would mingle with the
+wilder words of Saul, and half startle Eustace by the method of its
+application. Also he could not help recognising, as this man poured
+out his soul before him by the shore that day, that his own standpoint
+had very slightly and insensibly changed from those days, more than a
+year back now, when he had first sought to awaken in Saul a response
+to his own ardent imaginings. What the change was he could scarcely
+define, but he was aware that arguments and assertions which would then
+have passed by as only slight exaggerations of a legitimate truth, now
+came to him with something of a shock, bringing a realisation of some
+unheeded change or development in himself which had silently leavened
+during the past months, till it had attained a proportion he never
+suspected.
+
+Rousing himself with a start from the train of thought thus suggested,
+he tried to bring his companion back to the world of real things,
+and to leave these idle denunciations and invectives alone for the
+present. When Saul had about tired himself with his own impetuosity,
+and had kept silence for a few moments, Eustace spoke a few well-chosen
+words of sympathy, and gradually bringing round the subject of the
+forthcoming election, he explained to the ex-prisoner what had been
+going on in the world during his incarceration, and what bright hopes
+were now entertained in this country of better days in store for it,
+when a strong Government, pledged to redress the gravest of political
+abuses, should be in power.
+
+Saul was not entirely ignorant of what had passed, but had very
+distorted ideas as to the amount and character of the opposition
+offered to the bill and the prospects of its speedy success. He
+listened eagerly to what Eustace told him, and his remarks and
+questions again struck his master as showing a quickness of insight
+and a power of appreciation most remarkable in one of his class. He
+was a more excitable, a more sombre, a more embittered man than he had
+been a year before. His class hatred had sunk deeper into his soul,
+and become a more integral part of his nature. Eustace recognised how
+the humiliation, if not the destruction, of the moneyed classes was to
+him almost more of an object than the redress of the grievances of the
+poor. The two were linked together in his mind, it was true; but it was
+easy to see which of them held the foremost place. Eustace realised,
+as perhaps he had never done so well before, the temper of the French
+revolutionaries of forty years back. He could well picture Saul in
+their midst, and think with a shudder of the deeds he would commit at
+the head of a furious mob, wrought up to a pitch of ungovernable fury
+by the rude eloquence of such a leader. Perhaps he realised, too, what
+might come to England if her sons were stirred up to a like madness,
+instead of being worked upon by gentler methods. He well knew that
+there had been moments when his own country had been on the brink of
+revolution, and that such moments might even come again. Surely it was
+needful for the men who stood in the forefront of the van of reform
+to walk warily. They had an immense power behind them; but it was, as
+Abner had said, the power of an explosive whose properties and whose
+energies were but imperfectly understood. Reform may be the best
+hindrance to revolution, but it may also incite the very danger it
+strives to avert. Eustace had been told this a hundred times before,
+but he had never been so convinced of the truth of the warning as he
+was whilst walking on the shore that day in the company of Saul.
+
+He suggested taking him away from St. Bride, and showing him the other
+side of life in the great centres of the world; but Saul, though
+visibly attracted by the thought of continuing near to Eustace, for
+whom his love and admiration were most loyal, gave no decided answer.
+He shrank from the confinement even of freedom in a great city, shrank
+from even such slight bondage as service under such a master as this
+would entail. Moreover, there was no need for a speedy decision.
+Eustace would be some weeks at the castle; he would probably remain
+there till the result of the election was known. It would be time
+enough to settle then what should be done. For the present, Saul would
+remain unfettered and untrammelled.
+
+“For I must be in Pentreath if there is to be an election,” he said,
+the light of battle leaping into his eyes. He remembered elections in
+past times, and the attendant excitement and fighting and fun, as in
+those days it seemed to him. He was no politician then, and had only
+the vaguest notion as to what it was all about; but he was always
+foremost in the crowd about the hustings, cheering, howling, flinging
+missiles, according to the spirit of the moment and the wave of public
+opinion, which would ebb and rise and change a dozen different times in
+as many hours. He had always been instinctively the enemy of the Tory
+and the supporter of the Whig candidate, because he had always taken
+on every matter the contrary opinion of the Castle--almost as a matter
+of religion. Otherwise he could not be said to have had an opinion
+heretofore in such things. But the excitement, the indiscriminate
+treating, the rowdyism of the whole place, and the fights and
+scrimmages that were constantly arising, were like the elixir of life
+to the ardent temperament of one who was forced by circumstances into a
+life of monotonous toil. He always obtained a few days’ holiday on such
+occasions, and spent them in a fashion dear to his heart. Now he looked
+forward to a longer spell of excitement, and to struggles of a very
+different kind. Then it had all been fun, now it would be stern earnest
+with him. There was a fierce light of battle in his eyes. The hope
+sprang up again in his heart of striking a blow for the cause. Eustace
+saw the look, heard the half hissed words of joy and anticipation, and
+smilingly laid a hand on the young fisherman’s arm.
+
+“Yes, I think you will do well to be there. You are one of those who
+may do us good, and help on the cause of right and liberty; but not
+by violence, Saul--always remember that. Violence is not our friend,
+but our most deadly foe. It puts a sword in the hands of our enemies
+to slay us withal. There must be no unseemly violence at the Pentreath
+election--remember that. We must give our opponents no reason to say
+that the cause of reform is advocated by cowardly and unworthy means.
+Leave all that sort of thing to our foes. Let them get up as many
+riots as they please. Our part is to be just and wise and patient,
+secure in the righteousness and justice of our object. You will find
+we shall come out in a far stronger position by remembering this than
+if we organise disturbances and lead angry mobs to deeds of reckless
+lawlessness.”
+
+Saul made no response; Eustace was not even sure that he heard. His
+eyes were flashing, his nostrils working; he clenched and unclenched
+his hand in a fashion indicative of strong excitement.
+
+Eustace judged it wiser to say no more for the present. There would
+be plenty of time before the elections came off to gain an increasing
+ascendency over this wild spirit. His first beginning had been by no
+means bad.
+
+Yet Eustace, as he walked homewards silently with Bride, could hardly
+help smiling at the thought of the part he should be forced to play
+with Saul. That there were stirring days coming upon the country he
+could not doubt, and he meant to take his part in them with a will; but
+he realised that, with Saul watching his every movement, and pledged
+to follow him to the utmost limit to which his own arguments could be
+pushed, he should be forced to weigh his words, and direct his actions
+with a greater prudence end moderation than he had originally purposed.
+Perhaps it might be well for him to have this reminder well before his
+eyes, but he could not but smile at the peculiar result which had been
+brought about by his own endeavour to work some sort of small agitation
+amongst the people at St. Bride’s, St. Erme, and Penarvon.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+_THE POLLING AT PENTREATH_
+
+
+Even Bride caught something of the prevailing excitement as the days
+and weeks flew by, and nothing was spoken of, or thought of in the
+world about her, but the coming election and the prospects of the
+Reform party. The far West-Country might be a little long in growing
+into the burning questions of the day, but once aroused, it could show
+an amount of eagerness and enthusiasm not to be despised by busier
+centres. Moreover, party and local feeling always runs very high in
+out-of-the-world places, and many in and around Pentreath who cared but
+little, and understood less, of the real point at issue, were keenly
+excited over the coming contest on account of the exceptional nature it
+presented.
+
+Hitherto their member, Sir Roland Menteith, had been returned almost
+without opposition. He was popular with all sections of the community,
+and such opposition as he met with was of a kind sufficient to be
+the excuse for unlimited treating and unlimited rowdyism on polling
+day, without being enough to awaken the smallest amount of anxiety or
+uncertainty as to the result of the struggle. But now all this was to
+be changed, and as days and weeks rolled on, it became very evident
+that there would be a decided and sharp contest; and although the
+supporters of Sir Roland were fairly sanguine as to the result, the
+election was not the foregone conclusion it had been in days of yore.
+
+In the first place, there was already division in the camp; for so
+soon as it became known that Sir Roland, whilst still professing Tory
+principles, intended to give his adhesion to the bill which was before
+the country for the reform of the franchise, a strong party, including
+large numbers of wealthy men, at once seceded from him, and in a short
+time it was announced that young Viscount Lanherne was coming forward
+in the Tory interest to dispute the seat with Sir Roland; whilst in the
+extreme Whig or Radical interest a candidate was forthcoming in the
+person of Mr. Morval, a wealthy and influential middle-class man, whose
+power and importance in the place had been steadily growing during the
+past years, and who promised to bring a strong army of voters to the
+poll when the day should come.
+
+The defection of these old-fashioned and “rabid” Tories from the ranks
+of Sir Roland was a serious blow, for hitherto he had always counted
+securely upon every vote this section of the community had to give. It
+was a distinct split in the ranks, and a very serious one. The young
+Viscount, though personally popular in society, was only a lad fresh
+from Oxford, and knew nothing of the bulk of his constituents. He had
+practically no chance of success, yet greatly endangered Sir Roland’s
+seat, and was in great danger of making it a present to the Radical
+candidate. From a common-sense standpoint it was a grave error of
+judgment, but when party feeling runs high, common-sense too often goes
+to the wall. There was a large section in the county who absolutely
+refused to give any vote to a man not pledged to fight the Reform
+Bill tooth and nail. By this section Sir Roland was looked upon as a
+turncoat and renegade; nor could the old-fashioned soundness of his
+Conservative principles on other questions condone the fact that he
+stood pledged to the support of this measure, which was looked upon as
+the first step towards the overthrow of the existing constitution.
+
+Neither did the Whig and Radical section trust the policy of Sir
+Roland. They had too long been accustomed to regard him as the Tory
+candidate to look upon him with favouring eyes now. In plain English,
+the appearance of another Tory candidate in the field, pledged to the
+old-fashioned Tory policy, had taken the wind out of his sails, and
+made his position an anomalous one. He found himself in the quandary so
+many do who try to adopt a moderate and liberal policy without giving
+up altogether the older traditions in which they have been reared:
+he was suspected and distrusted by a large section on both sides,
+and regarded as one who was neither “fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red
+herring,” a position not a little galling and irritating to a man who
+had hitherto carried all before him with easy assurance.
+
+The Penarvon interest was his, and that went a long way; and Eustace,
+who worked most energetically on his committee, did all that one man
+can do to ensure a victory. Eustace, however, was not always the best
+of advocates, for though he had a wide popularity in certain classes,
+he was very greatly suspected and distrusted in others, and those who
+would most willingly have followed his lead were not of the class that
+had votes to give.
+
+Still Sir Roland was by no means out of heart as to the result. He had
+a very large following of men of moderate opinions, and the support
+of the Duke, who was greatly respected by the upper classes in the
+neighbourhood, was the best guarantee he could possess that he was
+not going to pursue a destructive and outrageous policy. Men who had
+wavered at first and had heard with enthusiasm the news that Viscount
+Lanherne was coming forward, began to think better of the matter after
+reading some of Sir Roland’s manifestoes and hearing some of his
+speeches. The young Viscount, though eager for the excitement of the
+coming contest, and all on fire for the cause on which he had embarked,
+was neither a man of experience nor knowledge, and he betrayed his
+lack of many of the needful requirements of a politician whenever he
+addressed a meeting or harangued a crowd. People began to take up the
+name of “painted popinjay,” which had been freely flung at him by the
+Radicals. It seemed somehow to fit the young spark, who was always
+dressed in the tiptop of fashion, and whose face was as brightly tinted
+as that of a girl.
+
+Sir Roland had won for himself the name of “trimmer,” and found it
+difficult to know what to call himself, since the name Tory was now
+absorbed by the Viscount’s party, whilst the other opponent had taken
+upon himself the name and office of the Whig representative. At last,
+following the example of the great trimmer, Lord Halifax, he, with
+a mixture of tact and good-humour which did him credit and proved a
+strategic success, himself adopted the name thrust upon him, and in
+his speeches and printed addresses openly advocated the policy of
+“trimming,” when it had become a certainty that neither of the two
+advocated extremes could any longer govern the country. Of course there
+was an immense power in the style of argument adopted from the great
+peer of two centuries back, who had often found himself in a parallel
+dilemma; and his arguments, dressed up in a fresh garb, were freely
+used by Sir Roland, and that with no small effect. Eustace read up the
+subject of compromise for him, and furnished him with most telling
+precedents to quote to his audiences. The Duke spoke to those friends
+who came to remonstrate with, or consult him, in a fashion that was
+not without effect. Men began to say to one another that if the Duke
+of Penarvon had reached the conclusion that it was hopeless to try and
+stem the tide, and that the wisest and best course now was to seek to
+place in authority men of known experience, probity, and moderation to
+guide the bark of the country through the troubled waters of reform,
+why then they had better follow the same tactics. He would certainly
+have advocated a fighting policy if there was any reasonable hope of
+maintaining the struggle with success; but if he despaired of this, it
+showed, indeed, that the time for compromise had come, and every one
+who knew anything of human nature or the history of nations, must be
+aware that to insist on fighting a hopeless battle was only to stir up
+an infinity of bitterness and party feeling, and render the winning
+side tenfold more violent and destructive.
+
+And so the days fled swiftly by; Eustace, though secure of his own
+seat, working as hard in the cause of Sir Roland as though it had been
+his own, striving to live down the distrust and ill-feeling he found
+prevailing against him in Pentreath and its neighbourhood, and gaining
+an experience and insight into human nature which he had never obtained
+before. He found himself sometimes in a rather awkward corner, it is
+true; for his own views were far more in accordance with those of the
+Radical candidate, Mr. Morval, than with those of Sir Roland, and it
+was by no means always easy to avoid being landed again and again on
+the horns of a dilemma. But since Sir Roland and he were of one mind
+upon the great question upon which the appeal to the country was made,
+Eustace felt that side issues and other matters of policy could be left
+to take care of themselves. It would have been impossible to remain
+a guest at Penarvon and to have flung himself into the arms of the
+Radical or even the Whig party (it was all one, called at the castle
+Radical, and in the town Whig, for the name Radical was still unpopular
+amongst those who were voters, though beginning to be caught up by
+the people). Eustace had no strong temptation to do this, having from
+the first taken a liking for Sir Roland, and feeling grateful towards
+his kinsman the Duke, who had been liberal enough to promise him the
+coveted seat, even whilst regretting the nature of the great measure
+his kinsman was pledged to support. Eustace would have sacrificed more
+to win his goodwill and approval, or to keep in touch and in sympathy
+with Bride. She was awaking to a keener interest in the coming struggle
+than he had ever looked to see in her. He could not tell exactly
+what she thought about it all, or what view she took of the question
+of Reform; but there was something in her method of receiving his
+accounts of their doings that inspired him with a keen wish to retain
+her sympathies; and those he had found he could never have unless his
+own doings were perfectly upright and honourable. Many and many a time
+he was restrained from employing some common trick or some unworthy
+inducement by the remembrance of the look in Bride’s eyes when Sir
+Roland had laughingly boasted of a like bit of sharp practice. In
+point of fact, he was growing to rule his life by a new standard since
+knowing more of Bride and her ideals. He hardly recognised this himself
+as yet; but, had he paused to look back, he would have known that there
+were innumerable little ways in which he had changed. Things which in
+old days would have appeared absolutely legitimate, if not actually
+advisable, were now avoided by him with a scrupulousness which often
+exposed him to a laugh. He began to ask himself instinctively how Bride
+would regard any course of action about which he was uncertain, and
+again and again that question had arrested him from taking a slightly
+doubtful course, and kept him upon the road of strict probity and
+honesty.
+
+Nor could Bade be altogether unconscious of this herself, and it
+began to form a silent bond between them, which was, perhaps, almost
+dangerously sweet. Eustace was the most conscious of this, and it
+often made his heart thrill with pleasure; neither was it without its
+effect upon her--one of these being an increased interest in everything
+concerning this contest, and the keenest sympathy with Eustace’s
+strenuous endeavours that it should be conducted on lines of the
+strictest equity, and that nothing should be said or done to disgrace
+the cause or give a handle for calumny or reproach. Bride was scarcely
+more sorrowful than he when it was found that the agent was conniving
+at time-honoured abuses, and setting on foot the ordinary methods for
+vote-catching. Things that were looked upon as a matter of course by
+Sir Roland, and received with a laugh and a shrug, Eustace heard with
+a sense of repulsion which he certainly would not have experienced a
+year before; and he worked might and main to impose purer and more
+equitable methods upon his subordinates, till it really began to be
+said in Pentreath that Sir Roland deserved the seat if it was only for
+his probity and upright dealing.
+
+Eustace had hoped to have Saul working with and for him in these
+stirring days; but, to his disappointment, and rather to his surprise,
+he utterly failed in bringing his disciple into the arena of his own
+efforts. Saul was working in his own fashion with a fierce resolution
+and single-heartedness; but no argument or persuasion on Eustace’s part
+would induce him to cast in his lot with the candidate of the Castle
+party. It was in vain to say that he was on the side of the great
+reform, that he was fighting the battle of the bill; Saul would reply
+that Mr. Morval was also doing that, and that _he_ was a man pledged
+to the cause of the people through thick and thin, whilst everybody
+knew that Sir Roland was only advocating the bill because he knew it
+was hopeless to oppose it, and that at heart he was a Tory and an
+aristocrat. It was quite enough for Saul that the Castle was supporting
+him. No gentle words from Lady Bride, no good offices from the Duke,
+had had the smallest effect in overcoming the bitter hostility of this
+man towards the house of Penarvon. Eustace sometimes doubted whether
+he should ever retain Saul’s confidence if he were to succeed to the
+dukedom one day, as was probable. As it was, Saul seemed able to
+dissever the man from his name and race; but how long this might be the
+case was an open question.
+
+At any rate, Saul would not work with Eustace, and he worked on lines
+absolutely independent, if not openly hostile. There was a section in
+the town which was quite disposed to make an idol of the young fellow,
+who had undergone a term of imprisonment and suffered so much in the
+cause of justice and liberty.
+
+This section was not one which commanded many votes; but the voice of
+numbers always makes itself felt, and Saul was possessed of a rude
+eloquence which commanded attention; and publicans began to find that,
+if Saul was going to address a meeting in the evening, it was sure
+to be largely attended by a class of customers who brought grist to
+the mill. The operatives from the mills--now finding that the hated
+machinery was a friend rather than a foe to them, and almost all of
+them working again there--rallied round Saul to a man. They liked to
+have as their spokesman and champion a man of his grand physique and of
+a power of expression so much in advance of their own. They always came
+to hear him speak, and he was gradually becoming something of a power
+in the place. It is true that his addresses were of so inflammatory
+a character that they were often followed by a demonstration or a
+small riot which was alarming to the more orderly inhabitants; but, at
+election times, people made up their mind to disturbances, and tried to
+regard them philosophically as the natural concomitants of the crisis.
+
+The scenes presented by the hustings as the election day drew on were
+increasingly lively and animated. Eustace came home one day with his
+coat half torn off his back, having adventured himself rather unwisely
+down a side alley where some considerable body of rabid socialists
+had gathered to listen to one of their own number denouncing anything
+and everything in the past systems of government with a beautiful
+impartiality. He often returned soiled and draggled, sometimes with
+a cut on the face or hands. Sir Roland did not escape some of these
+amenities either, and declared with good-humoured amusement that it
+promised to be the most lively election he could remember.
+
+The excitement became so acute as the day drew on, that even Bride
+caught the infection of it, and was more aroused from her dreamy life
+of silent meditation and prayer than she had ever been before. Not that
+she ceased to pray constantly and earnestly for the victory of the
+righteous cause--whichever that should be; but she spent less time in
+silent musing and meditation, and more in the study of those papers and
+journals which told her of the questions of the day, and the aim and
+ultimate object of this hot party strife.
+
+When the polling day really came, and her father settled to drive in
+in the coach, taking Eustace with him--Sir Roland had his rooms at
+the hotel in Pentreath, and had ceased to make headquarters at the
+castle--Bride suddenly asked to accompany the party, a request so
+foreign to her ordinary habits that both the men looked at her in
+surprise.
+
+“It will be very noisy and rowdy in the town,” said Eustace, “and we
+may get into some street-fights, and have a warm reception ourselves.
+Would you not be better and safer at home?”
+
+“I should like to see the town at election time,” answered Bride, “and
+I should like to be with my father.”
+
+The Duke was surprised, and said a few words to dissuade her, but
+finding her really bent upon it, gave way. He did not anticipate
+anything very different to-day from what he had experienced at other
+elections, and his daughter would go straight to the hotel where Sir
+Roland’s committee-room was situated, and would remain there till he
+drove out again. He himself would go early to the poll and register his
+vote, and then come back and await the news which from time to time
+would be brought in. He did not intend to remain late, to remain till
+the result was announced; but he would spend a few hours in the place,
+and gain a general idea how the fortunes of the day were going.
+
+The town presented an extraordinary appearance to Bride, as the great
+coach rumbled through its streets, ordinarily so quiet and silent
+and sleepy. The whole place was alive. It seemed as though every
+inhabitant of the town and neighbourhood was abroad in the streets, and
+shouts and yells, hootings and cheers, greeted the appearance of the
+ducal equipage as it turned every corner. On the whole, however, the
+crowd seemed jovial and good-tempered, and although Bride shrank back
+sometimes in vague distress and alarm at the sound of certain hoarse
+cries which assailed her ears, she was aroused and interested by all
+she saw. The carriage passed through the streets without molestation,
+though with many needful halts on account of the congested state of
+the traffic, till it stopped at the hotel, and the Duke handed out
+his daughter amid the cheering of a large crowd, which had gathered
+there in the expectation of hearing some speeches from Sir Roland.
+Bride was glad to hide herself in the building; but was soon provided
+with a chair near the window, from which she could look out into the
+market-place below. Sheltered by a curtain, she could see without
+being seen. The room opened by one of its long windows upon the great
+square balcony formed by the roof of the projecting porch; and from
+time to time Sir Roland, or one of his coadjutors, stepped out upon
+this balcony and made a short speech, always received with vociferous
+applause. When it was known that the Duke had arrived, there were many
+shouts for him; and at last he gratified the people by going forward,
+and making a brief but able little speech, in which encouragement and
+warning were blended in a way that produced an obvious effect, and set
+the people thinking.
+
+Eustace made a speech to which Bride listened with undivided attention;
+and never for a moment did he forget that she was listening, and seldom
+perhaps had he spoken better, or so eloquently advocated his entire
+belief in the use of the best and noblest weapons only, in the noble
+cause to which they were pledged. When he came in again, after being
+warmly applauded from without, she gave him a glance which set his
+heart bounding and his pulses throbbing; but he had no time for speech
+then, as the Duke wished to go to the poll at once, and he accompanied
+him to try and ward off anything like personal attack or insult; for he
+was by no means sure what Saul and his band of malcontents were up to;
+and his own presence at the side of his kinsman would be the greatest
+protection from any disagreeable interlude.
+
+Bride remained in the hotel, sometimes watching the animated scene
+without, sometimes exchanging courtesies with the gentlemen of the
+county who came in and out, some accompanied by their wives, who, like
+Bride, had come to see what was going on, and who were pleased to see
+the girl again after her long period of seclusion following on her
+mother’s last illness and death.
+
+Luncheon was spread in a room below, and partaken of as the appetite or
+convenience of the guests suggested. The Duke returned from the poll
+with tidings so far favourable to their candidate. But it was too
+early to feel any security; and the supporters of the Viscount were
+rallying bravely round him, and talking grandly of carrying the seat in
+the Tory interest in face of all Radical and time-serving opposition.
+
+At two o’clock, however, things were still looking well for Sir
+Roland, and better still at three. The Viscount’s poll remained almost
+stationary now, and the Radical candidate was left far behind. True,
+his supporters were mainly those likely to register their votes later
+in the day, but on the whole there was a feeling in the minds of Sir
+Roland and his committee that the day was going very well for them, and
+the cheering and enthusiasm outside, whenever news from the poll was
+received, was loud and increasing.
+
+But the Duke, though keenly interested in the contest, was not desirous
+of remaining much longer. He wished to get home before the mills ceased
+work, and the operatives came pouring out. At any rate, he wished to
+be clear of the town by that time; and when he was told that to-day
+many of the mills were to close at four o’clock, he quickly ordered his
+carriage to be got ready, for there was not too much time to spare.
+
+It took time, with the yard so full of vehicles and the stables so
+overcrowded, to get the great coach out and equipped; and Eustace
+suddenly resolved that he would at least make one of the party in
+it on its way through the streets. The hands of the clock were
+drawing rapidly on to the hour of four, and still the coach could
+not be got free of the yard. Then a messenger from the poll came
+tearing up with news of farther advances for Sir Roland, and some
+more congratulations and cheering had to be gone through, whilst the
+crowd, surging up closer and closer round the hotel, made egress for
+the moment practically impossible. Before the horses were in and
+the start accomplished, the clocks had boomed out the hour of four
+some ten minutes since; and as Eustace looked out through the window
+at the crowded state of the streets, and the threatening aspect of
+the operatives swarming round them, he wished they had cleared the
+precincts of the town some half-hour ago, but was very glad he was in
+the carriage.
+
+They had turned out of the main thoroughfare, where progress was almost
+impossible, on account of its proximity to the polling booth, and were
+making their way down a narrow alley, when a sudden sound of hooting
+and yelling broke upon their ears, and Eustace, trained to such things,
+detected a note of menace in it which he feared was directed against
+the well-known carriage of the Duke. This suspicion was heightened by
+the conduct of the coachman on the box, who suddenly lashed his horses
+into a mad gallop, as though the man felt that this was the only chance
+of getting through some barrier suddenly raised before them.
+
+This manœuvre was received with a howl and a yell. The next moment,
+the carriage lurched violently, the horses plunged and kicked in wild
+terror. Cries, groans, and curses arose in deafening tumult around the
+carriage, and Bride half started up, exclaiming--
+
+“They are trampling down the people. Eustace, stop the horses! Tell the
+coachman to pull up! They must not hurt the people! See that they do
+not! See if any one is hurt!”
+
+There was no fear in her face, only a great compassion and anxiety.
+But before Eustace could make any move or answer, the horses had
+been brought to a standstill by the hands of the mob, and the wild
+and enraged people were yelling and surging round the carriage in a
+fashion which could not but remind all its occupants of scenes they had
+heard described as having taken place in France during the days of the
+uprising of the populace there.
+
+Bride sank back in her seat, pale, but with a look of quiet
+resolution, which bespoke the high courage of her race. The Duke
+put out his hand and took his daughter’s in its clasp, but remained
+otherwise perfectly quiet and unmoved. His fine old face regarded the
+tumult without a change or a quiver; his eyes looked quietly, though
+rather sternly, out from beneath the pent-house of his bushy brows, and
+his lips looked a little thin and grim. The men on the box were making
+a gallant fight, laying about them right and left with the great whip
+and with the reins, whose buckled end made no bad weapon when whirled
+round the head of some approaching ruffian. But these demonstrations
+only provoked the crowd to wilder fury, and Eustace knew not whether
+to open the door and remonstrate with both parties, or reserve his
+words for any attack likely to be made upon the party inside. It was a
+terribly anxious moment for him, knowing as he did the temper of the
+people, and the terrible lengths to which angry passions will drive
+furious and disappointed men. It was very plain that these turbulent
+malcontents had heard that Sir Roland seemed carrying the day; and
+their native bitterness towards all persons of rank and station was
+intensified fourfold by the discouraging news just made known.
+
+A large stone came crashing in through the window, shivering the glass
+to fragments, and sending the sharp morsels flying round the occupants
+in a most dangerous fashion.
+
+“Come out of that!--give up your coach to proper uses!” cried rough
+voices in every key. “Down with the tyrants and oppressors! Down with
+all dukes and baronets and fine gentlemen!”
+
+Eustace looked out of the window with flaming eyes.
+
+“Men!” he cried in a loud voice--and for a moment his well-known face
+and voice arrested attention and respect, “be men!--not brutes! There
+is a lady with us. Respect her womanhood, if you cannot respect her
+station; and let us pass in peace. You do not make war on women. Be
+men, and let us through. I will go with you if you will; but not till
+you have promised not to molest this carriage.”
+
+A mocking roar was the answer; those behind set it going, and the whole
+crowd took it up.
+
+“You!--and what are you, pray?--a turncoat--a deserter--a
+trimmer!”--and at that word a yell went up transcending anything that
+had gone before.
+
+“Trimmer!--trimmer!--traitor!” was bawled and yelled on all sides, and
+then there arose such a hubbub as cannot be described, a hubbub in
+which no articulate words could be detected, save oaths of blasphemous
+import, which made Bride whiten and shiver as no sense of personal
+peril could do. Eustace better analysed the meaning of those shouts
+and yells and cries, and turning to the Duke, he said, “I think we
+must leave the carriage. If we were alone we might sit it out and
+brave them; but we have a lady with us, and it will not do to provoke
+them too far. They will stop short, I fully believe, at personal
+violence, and there is a house just opposite where they are making
+friendly signals to us, and will give us shelter if we can reach the
+door. Bride, will you be afraid to face the mob for one minute? They
+will howl and yell; but they will not molest you--they shall not!
+Come!--there is no time to lose.”
+
+Indeed there was not. A new sound arose, a sound of more hooting and
+yelling, as though a new crowd was upon them; and as this fresh noise
+smote upon the ears of the mob round the carriage, it became mingled
+with a new war-cry, and Eustace distinguished the shout of “Saul
+Tresithny!--Saul Tresithny!” mingling with other sounds.
+
+If indeed it were Saul coming upon them, he would be most likely
+heading the wildest crew in the town. Eustace looked suddenly pale
+but intensely resolute as he flung open the door of the carriage and
+sprang out, before the people were prepared for the action.
+
+“You shall have the carriage, men,” he said, “but make way for this
+lady to pass;” and he gave his hand to Bride, who came out with her
+simple air of quiet fearless dignity, and stood for a second regarding
+the surging crowd with such a great compassion in her eyes, that those
+nearest involuntarily fell back, and not a sound arose from any but
+the hinder ranks, as the Duke and his daughter passed through the mob
+and gained the friendly shelter of the humble house which Eustace had
+recognised as a place where they would find shelter.
+
+Was it the fearless dignified bearing of the old nobleman, or the
+gentle self-possession of the girl? Eustace wondered, and could not
+say. All he knew was that for the brief moment of the transit there was
+comparative silence and tranquillity; and the Duke showed no sign of
+nervous haste as he paused to direct the coachman and footman to cease
+ineffectual resistance and to come also within doors.
+
+Then he followed Eustace and Bride with firm and quiet bearing, whilst
+just as the door closed behind the whole party, the hootings and yells
+redoubled in fury, mingling freely with the name which seemed to infuse
+fresh life into the howling mob--the name of Saul Tresithny.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+_THE DUKE’S CARRIAGE_
+
+
+Two hours later Bride looked up with an eager air, for she had heard
+the sound of a familiar footstep on the stair, and knew that she should
+have tidings at last.
+
+She was comfortably established in a small parlour over a shop, and
+was making friends with a pair of solemn-looking little children,
+who were strangely fascinated by, though half afraid of, the pretty
+stranger lady. The house which had opened its door to the Duke’s
+party--and had had several windows broken in consequence--belonged to
+some humble tradespeople, and they had put everything in their house at
+the disposal of the Duke and his daughter, and had done all in their
+power to make them comfortable during the brief time which they had
+been forced to remain prisoners, owing to the presence of the howling
+mob without. Then when the crowd was diverted to some other spot, and
+had left this little street empty, Bride had still been left in the
+security of this humble abode, whilst the Duke and Eustace made their
+way back to the hotel, promising to return for her when the kidnapped
+carriage should have been recovered, and they could make another
+attempt to quit the town.
+
+Bride had passed these two hours somewhat anxiously--her anxiety being
+for her father and Eustace, not for herself. The grocer’s two big
+lads, who acted the part of scouts, and ran in and out with items
+of news, reported that there was much excitement and rioting going
+on in the town now that all the mill hands were at liberty, and the
+supporters of the Radical candidate going to the poll. Sometimes sounds
+of distant yelling and hooting broke upon the ears of the listening
+girl, and sent a thrill through her frame. Sometimes there was a rush
+of growling operatives down the narrow street where she had found
+shelter, and for a moment her heart would stand still in expectation of
+an attack upon this very house; but the worthy people who had sheltered
+her took it all very quietly, and were not at all seriously disturbed.
+They said it was always so at election times, and smiled at the notion
+of there being any danger to dread.
+
+So Bride had sipped the tea brought to her, and begged for the company
+of the two little children when their mother was obliged to go to her
+duties below. The time passed somewhat wearily and anxiously, but at
+last the sound of a familiar footstep without warned her that her time
+of waiting was at an end.
+
+The door opened and Eustace entered, his face pale, his left arm in a
+sling, his clothes, though not exactly torn, and evidently carefully
+brushed, showing traces that their owner had been in some sort of
+skirmish or riot. The girl sprang up anxiously at sight of him, her
+face blanching a little.
+
+“My father----?” she began, her lips forming the words, though her
+voice was barely a whisper. Eustace’s smile reassured her.
+
+“He is quite safe. He will be here soon with a coach to take you safely
+home. He has not been in any of the troubles; he has been in the hotel
+ever since he left you. We got there by the back way without any
+difficulty; but the town was too disturbed for it to be advisable to
+attempt to drive out till some sort of order had been restored.”
+
+“But you are hurt,” said Bride, with a look at the slung arm; “what
+have you been doing?”
+
+“Oh, it is nothing,” answered Eustace, as he sat down to tell his
+tale, for he had been on his feet the best part of the day and was
+very fatigued; “only a little crushed and mangled--no bone broken. I
+could not keep within doors when so much that was exciting was going
+on without, and I was in the thick of the _mêlée_ once. Poor Saul
+Tresithny fared worse than I. I am afraid he will never walk again.
+They are taking him to his grandfather’s house to be cared for: we
+thought it was the best thing to do. Poor fellow! poor fellow!--such a
+fine character run to waste! He might have done much for the cause of
+liberty and advancement; but he would not listen to aught save his own
+wild passions.”
+
+Bride clasped her hands and looked earnestly at Eustace.
+
+“Tell me what has happened,” she said breathlessly.
+
+“I will tell you as much as I know myself. You are aware, of course,
+that to get possession of your father’s carriage and drag all the
+Radical voters to the poll in it was considered the most wonderful
+triumph over us and our man. As soon as you were safely out of the
+way, the mob turned its attention to the spoil they had confiscated. A
+young blacksmith who could drive was put on the box; the colours were
+torn from the horses and replaced by others; and the equipage was sent
+dashing all over the town, returning each time crammed inside and out
+with the shabbiest and least reputable voters that could be found, the
+snorting, terrified, foaming horses being goaded almost to madness by
+the shouting and the blows they received, and threatening again and
+again to become altogether unmanageable.”
+
+“Poor creatures!” said Bride softly; “I hope they have not been hurt.
+My father would be grieved.”
+
+“I think they will not be the worse in the end. They are on their
+homeward way now with their own coachman driving them, and poor Saul
+lies groaning in the torn and ruined carriage, being taken to his
+grandfather’s cottage by the wish of the Duke. It is doubtful whether
+he will live through the effects of this day’s work; and your father
+wished him to be taken to Abner, as the only person likely to exercise
+the smallest influence over him.”
+
+“Ah! poor Abner!” said Bride, with compassion; and looking again at
+Eustace, she said, “Go on, please; tell me the rest.”
+
+“Well, as far as I understand the matter, it was like this. Saul and
+his satellites were in possession of the Duke’s carriage, and acted
+as a sort of bodyguard whilst it made its journeys through the town.
+But as soon as it was recognised by the other side as being the Duke’s
+coach, and rumour spread abroad the report of how it had been taken
+from his Grace and put to these vile purposes, a counter-demonstration
+was at once organised. A mob of men wearing the colours not only of Sir
+Roland but of the Viscount, combined together to effect the rescue of
+the carriage, and very soon this ill-fated vehicle became the centre of
+a continuous and never-ceasing furious riot. It still remained in the
+possession of Saul’s men, but it was hemmed in by a crowd of enemies;
+and though by sheer weight and dogged power of resistance it was driven
+to and fro between the polling place and the town streets, its progress
+became with each succeeding journey more difficult, and the fighting
+around it hotter and hotter.”
+
+“How extraordinary people are!” said Bride, with a light shiver, “as
+though it did any good to make these fearful disturbances and riots. Do
+they really think any cause will be benefited by such things? It seems
+all so strange and sad.”
+
+“At least it seems the outcome of ordinary human nature at such times,”
+answered Eustace. “I did not know much about what was going on for
+some time, but by-and-bye word was brought that the fighting over the
+carriage was getting really rather serious. Once it had been taken
+possession of by the rival rabble, and was being borne back in triumph
+to the hotel to be put once more at the service of its owner; but
+then Saul led a tremendous charge with his roughs, and the fortunes
+of the day turned once more in his favour. Things in the town were
+getting so serious that some soldiers had been brought in under Captain
+O’Shaughnessy, and were drawn up in readiness not far off. But we all
+hoped there would be no need for their interference, and I thought I
+would go down and see what it was all about, and, if it was possible,
+draw off our own adherents from the unseemly riot.”
+
+“And that was how you got hurt?” said Bride.
+
+“Yes; perhaps I was foolish to suppose that one man, and that myself,
+could do any good at such a moment; but I think one has a natural
+desire to be in the thick of everything, and I knew that I should not
+come to harm, if Saul Tresithny could help it. I went down and out into
+the street. The noise told me that the carriage could not be far away,
+and very soon I had forced myself into the thick of the fight, hoping,
+when I got between the combatants, to induce Saul on the one side to
+draw off his men, whilst I urged those of our own supporters who had
+joined in the scrimmage to retire from the unseemly disturbance. But
+things had gone much too far for any pacific endeavours on my part.
+I do not know exactly in whose possession the carriage was at the
+moment when I reached it; and the press round it and the fighting was
+so fierce and indiscriminate that I could hardly move or breathe,
+let alone trying to make my voice heard. And soon I was recognised by
+one great fellow as an enemy, and a new element of fury was added to
+the struggle; but what really made the danger, and caused the damage
+at last, was a sudden shout raised at the back of the crowd that the
+soldiers were coming.”
+
+“Ah!” breathed Bride softly.
+
+“I suppose the man on the box of the carriage saw over our heads that
+it was true, for he suddenly deserted his post, and flung himself down
+to the ground; whilst the horses, feeling the sudden jerk of the reins,
+and then the slackness which followed, set to plunging and kicking
+wildly, scattering the mob right and left, and knocking down at least
+half-a-dozen of the crowd, as they swerved and tried to turn, before
+bolting off in their terror. Saul saw the peril to every one, rushed
+forward and made a gallant spring at their heads; but he was knocked
+down and trampled upon in a fearful way, before I and a few others
+could come to his assistance and get to the heads of the horses. When
+we brought them to a standstill at last, I had got my arm crushed, I
+shall never know exactly how; and the other fellows had all got bruises
+or cuts of one sort or another. As for poor Tresithny, he lay on the
+ground like one dead, his head bleeding, one foot so crushed that I
+fear he will never walk again, and with other injuries of quite as
+grave a character. But the mob had scattered helter-skelter by that
+time, and the soldiers, with their bayonets fixed, were quietly bearing
+down through the street, clearing a path before them, as a gale of wind
+clears away the fog wreaths through a valley.”
+
+“They did not hurt the people--they did not fire?”
+
+“Oh, no; they behaved very well and good-temperedly, for they were
+a good bit pelted and hooting at starting. I heard. They just fixed
+their bayonets, and marched quietly on in rank, and the mob dispersed
+more quickly than one would suppose possible. I think the fall of poor
+Tresithny, and the rumour that he was dead, frightened and discouraged
+the crowd, and perhaps they had had enough of it by that time. At any
+rate, by the time the soldiers reached us the street was almost clear;
+and after we had soothed and quieted the poor horses, who were in a
+lather from head to foot and quaking in every limb, they had picked
+up Tresithny tenderly enough, and laid him in the carriage, making a
+sort of bed for him there with all the cushions. It did not matter then
+that the poor fellow was bleeding, and that his clothes were covered
+with dust and mud: the carriage was in such a state inside and out
+that nothing could harm it more. When we had placed him there, we led
+the horses to the hotel yard, and your father was told everything, and
+came down to look for himself at the state of the equipage, and at the
+prostrate leader of the mob.”
+
+“And he sent him home to Abner?” said Bride, with a soft light in her
+eyes.
+
+“Yes. We got a surgeon to look at him without moving him, and he bound
+up the wound on his head, and cut away the boot from the crushed foot.
+He would not have him taken out of the carriage or moved in any way
+till he could be put straight to bed; and after the horses had been
+groomed and fed, the coachman was called for, and directed to drive
+young Tresithny to his grandfather’s cottage, the surgeon going in the
+carriage with him.”
+
+“Poor Abner!” said Bride once more; “but it will be the happiest thing
+for him to have Saul under his own roof.”
+
+“That is what your father said. So two soldiers were told off to see
+the carriage safe out of the town, and there is a sharp patrol of the
+streets being kept up to prevent any more organised rioting. I think
+the disturbers of the peace have had enough of it by this time. There
+is the ordinary scrimmaging and hustling about the poll, but that is
+quite a different thing from the desperate fighting and blackguardism
+that was going on round the Duke’s carriage. And now I have come to
+tell you that you will soon be called for and taken home. The hotel has
+furnished us with a coach to drive back in, and Captain O’Shaughnessy
+himself will accompany us out of the town to make sure there is no more
+rioting about us.”
+
+“And how is the poll going?”
+
+“Well for us. Mr. Morval has polled a large number of votes these
+past two hours, but Sir Roland still holds his own. So far as one may
+guess till the end has come, I should say he was quite safe for the
+seat; though I think his majority will be considerably reduced, as is
+natural, seeing how the party split. Things might have been much worse
+under such circumstances.”
+
+The rattle of wheels below announced the arrival of the promised coach,
+and Bride took her departure, after having made acknowledgment of all
+kinds to the friendly people who had given her shelter. She found her
+father looking fagged and worn, but quiet and tranquil, and the journey
+home was accomplished without any farther disturbance.
+
+Early next morning news reached the castle that Sir Roland had won the
+seat by a reduced though still substantial majority. The other piece of
+news was that Saul Tresithny had lived through the night, and, though
+very much injured, might still survive, only that he must lose his
+foot. It was so crushed and mangled and dislocated that nothing could
+be done for it. If his life were to be saved, the foot must go.
+
+Bride went down herself to see Abner and make personal inquiries. The
+old man looked very pale and grave, but was quiet and composed.
+
+“It may be, my Ladybird, that the Lord has sent this in mercy and not
+in wrath,” he said. “There’s many a one as has found the door of the
+fold in the time of weakness and sorrow and pain, that never could see
+it when things were otherwise with him. It is better to enter into life
+maimed than to lose the hope of salvation for this life and the next.
+Pray God he will turn to Him at last in this dark hour, when he could
+not make shift to see the way before.”
+
+“Ah! I hope so!--I trust so,” said Bride softly. “That is why I am so
+glad for him to be with you and not amongst strangers. You can point
+the way; you can tell him of the hope. When his life here looks so dark
+before him, perhaps he will turn at last to the hope of the glory and
+blessedness that will be revealed in the kingdom. I do not see how men
+can live without that hope, when the things of earth fail them, and
+show how hollow and empty they always are.”
+
+Abner smiled with a look on his face in which hope and sorrow were
+strangely blended. He knew better than this girl could do the hardness
+of the human heart and the stubborn toughness of a nature like Saul’s,
+and yet he would not despond.
+
+“The Great Gardener never takes the pruning-knife but for the good of
+the plant He is about to prune,” he said. “It’s hard sometimes to watch
+the living tree cut away from the stem, but in days to come one sees
+and knows why it was needful. We can but live in faith that it will be
+so with these poor frail bodies of ours.”
+
+“Does he know?” asked Bride, with a little shiver.
+
+“No, he has never come to his senses yet, and I am hoping he won’t
+until it is all over. The doctor will come this afternoon with another
+gentleman, and then ’twill be done quick and sharp. I’m hoping and
+praying it will all be over before the poor lad comes rightly to
+himself.”
+
+Bride spent that day mostly alone, and much of it in prayer. Her
+father, wearied out by the fatigues and excitements of yesterday, kept
+to his room, and Eustace had gone into Pentreath to see Sir Roland.
+
+It was evening when a message from Abner was brought to the girl to
+tell her that the operation was over successfully, and that the patient
+was sleeping quietly under the influence of an opiate.
+
+That evening she and Eustace dined alone together, the Duke preferring
+to keep still to his room. It was a soft clear evening in May, and the
+sunlight lay broad and bright upon the sparkling water as they passed
+out, at Eustace’s suggestion, upon the terrace, and sat there watching
+the beautiful pageantry of the evening sky. Eustace looked pale and
+tired, and there was a touch of gentle solicitude in Bride’s manner
+towards him that sent quick thrills through all his pulses. Those weeks
+just passed had not been too full of other interests and excitements
+to blind Eustace to the fact that Bride was still the one woman of all
+others for him. He had not spoken a single word of love to her all this
+while, and she gave no sign of remembering what had once passed between
+them; but the thought of it was strong in his mind to-night, and he
+was wondering with an intensity of feeling whether he might venture
+upon expressing some of those many thoughts and hopes which always came
+crowding upon him in the presence of his cousin when they were alone
+together.
+
+She had told him all she knew of Saul--they could talk of him, at any
+rate; and both were keenly interested in the young man, and deeply
+grieved at the terrible injury he had received.
+
+“If it had been in a good cause, it would have been easier to bear,
+I think,” she said. “But a street-fight--in the display of brute
+violence and unmeaning hostility--ah! it makes me so sad even to think
+of it!”
+
+“I think it was better than that, Bride,” said Eustace. “I think, when
+Saul sprang at that great pair of plunging horses, he was trying to
+hinder mischief and hurt for others. I think he was trying to save me,
+for one, for I was very near. He had been fighting and leading rioters;
+but I think he fell in the cause of humanity and charity; I think he
+deliberately sacrificed himself for others.”
+
+Bride’s eyes lightened and glistened.
+
+“Oh, I am glad of that--I am very glad. I must tell Abner.”
+
+There was silence for a few minutes between them, and then Eustace said
+in a low voice--
+
+“Bride, you will let me know how it goes with him, and what sort of a
+recovery he makes. Your father is not very likely to mention it in his
+letters; but will you write now and then yourself, and tell me how it
+fares with Saul?”
+
+She looked up quickly.
+
+“Then are you going, Eustace?”
+
+“I must go soon, quite soon, Bride. I do not know exactly when this
+new Parliament will first meet. The polling in the country is not over
+yet, but it soon will be now; and there is much to learn and to discuss
+before the House meets. I cannot delay much longer, now that I have a
+seat of my own.”
+
+“No, I had forgotten for a moment. Of course, you are a member of
+Parliament now.”
+
+He looked at her rather searchingly.
+
+“Bride--tell me that you do not despise me for it?”
+
+“Oh, no, Eustace, I do not despise you. I hope I do not despise
+anybody. I think it is very sad that men and women should ever hate or
+despise each other. We have all our faults and our imperfections. We
+ought to be very gentle and loving and patient.”
+
+He wished she would be just a little less impersonal in her replies;
+and yet he could not wish her other than she was. He put out his hand
+and laid it softly on hers.
+
+“Bride,” he said, “you have not given me the promise I asked for.”
+
+She did not take her hand away, but let his lie upon it as they sat
+together in the soft evening light. She turned her sweet face towards
+him. It was not flushed, and was very calm and tranquil; yet, deep
+down in those liquid dark eyes there was a look which sent the blood
+coursing through his veins in a fashion that made him giddy for a
+moment. Yet he showed nothing outwardly, and she saw nothing to alarm
+her or drive her into herself.
+
+“What promise?” she asked softly.
+
+“To write to me sometimes when I am far away.”
+
+“To tell you about Saul?” she added quietly. “Yes, Eustace, I will do
+that very willingly.”
+
+“Thank you, Bride; but do not let your letters be restricted to news of
+Saul only. You will tell me of other things. You will tell me of St.
+Bride, St. Erme, of the St. Aubyns, Mr. Tremodart, of yourself.”
+
+“I will tell you any news that I think will interest you,” she
+answered. “But you know there is little to happen at Penarvon. Nothing
+ever happens to me that would interest you.”
+
+“Indeed, you are wrong there,” he answered with suppressed eagerness;
+“everything that happens to you is of the greatest possible interest to
+me.”
+
+“I hardly think so,” she said musingly; “for you see one day here is
+outwardly just like another. Except at such times as these, there are
+no external events; and I do not think you take account of any but
+outward things--no one can speak of what is inward and spiritual to one
+who does, not understand.”
+
+“And you think that I do not understand such things, Bride?”
+
+Her glance into his face was very steady and searching.
+
+“I do not _think_ you do--yet,” she answered; “I may be wrong, but we
+generally feel those things. You have an intellectual life--a much
+deeper and fuller one than mine; but I think you have starved your
+spiritual life for a great many years. I think you have tried to judge
+all things spiritual by your intellectual standard, and all the things
+that cannot be made to agree with your philosophy are set aside as
+superstitions. I often think that the pride many men take in being
+above superstition is one of the subtlest and most destructive weapons
+the devil has ever forged. What is superstition? I have been told
+that long, long ago, it was almost the same in meaning as religion.
+It certainly means a belief in the unseen--in the powers of good and
+evil, in the mysterious actions of God--and of the devil--with regard
+to the children of men. But everything too deep or mysterious for human
+comprehension may be called superstition by those whose spiritual
+insight is blunted, and who have no experience of God’s dealing in the
+hearts of individual men. I know that hundreds and thousands of clever
+men call it superstition when they hear of men and women believing
+in special providences of God--believing that prayer is answered for
+such things as rainfall or drought or epidemic sickness. Others call
+it superstition when they are told of the coming kingdom of Christ and
+His Second Coming in glory, of which the Apostles constantly wrote and
+spoke, and which long ago the Early Church hoped to see. It is all so
+very, very sad to me when I think of it. Ah! Eustace, if you could but
+see the beautiful truth of God with eyes unclouded by the mists of your
+worldly philosophy! I sometimes think and believe that you will do so
+yet; but I do not think men can ever shake off the scales from their
+eyes until they begin to know that scales are there. Whilst they think
+it is their eyes that see, and their souls that embrace true wisdom,
+how can the Spirit of God find a home in their hearts? It is those who
+pray, ‘Lord, that I might receive my sight!’ who feel the Saviour’s
+hand laid upon them, and go away seeing.”
+
+Eustace sat perfectly still, with his eyes fixed upon Bride’s face.
+A quick strange thrill went through him at her words, as it had done
+many times before when she was speaking with him. But during these past
+busy weeks there had been no talk of this sort between the cousins; and
+Eustace felt with a sensation of surprise, and almost of exultation,
+how far more responsive was his heart now when such words fell on his
+ear, than it had been months ago--a year ago, when she had sometimes
+spoken in this strain, and he had smiled to himself at her mystic
+fanaticism.
+
+She had certainly come gradually to a clearer appreciation of what was
+going on in the world, and to a juster estimate of the good and the
+evil of the movements of the day. He often felt her increased power
+of sympathy and comprehension, and rejoiced in it; but had he too
+changed on his side, and were they really growing nearer together in
+all things? He no longer felt disposed to smile when she spoke words
+like these; rather he longed for her purity of faith and singleness of
+heart, and felt that she possessed a reserve of power and strength that
+was in many respects greater than his own. Where he would be led away
+by self-interest, she would see with perfect clearness of vision. Where
+he would be influenced by a partisan spirit to fail in discrimination,
+and adopt the evil with the good without analysis or reflection, she
+would detect at once all that was impure and unworthy, and refuse
+contact with it, even at the price of personal loss. It was, perhaps,
+impossible for a man in the vortex of political life and a keen party
+struggle to keep his heart perfectly pure, and always be found on the
+side of right, and the opponent of wrong in every phase; but at least
+she had inspired him with this desire as he had never known it before;
+and he began to understand--what once he would not have believed--that
+she gained this insight and this purity of heart and motive through the
+workings of that spiritual nature which had been such a perplexity to
+him before.
+
+“Bride,” he said at last, in a strange voice, which he hardly knew
+for his own, “you almost persuade me to ask for that power of vision
+myself.”
+
+Her eyes lighted with a strange radiance, though they were not turned
+to him, but out over the sea.
+
+“I think it is never asked in vain,” she said softly, “if it is asked
+in humble repentant faith.”
+
+“You will have to teach me, Bride, for I am very ignorant in all these
+things.”
+
+“I cannot teach you,” she answered softly, “though, perhaps, I can
+help you with my prayers. Only the Spirit of God can guide you into
+all truth. He will lead you to the cross of the Crucified One first,
+and then by gradual steps to the knowledge of the Risen, the Ascended,
+the Glorified Lord, for whose bright and glorious coming we and all
+creation are waiting in patient confidence and joyful hope.”
+
+He was silent. He could not follow her yet into these regions, but
+faint stirrings of the desire to do so were working in him. Once he
+had thought, “I must draw her down to earth and my level;” now, the
+unconscious aspiration of his mind was, “Would that I might follow her
+there!” But all he said was--
+
+“Do you pray for me, then, Bride?”
+
+“Always,” she answered softly; and although Eustace went in having
+spoken no word of love (as he had almost intended at the outset), he
+felt that he and Bride had never been so near together as at that
+moment.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+_ABNER’S PATIENT_
+
+
+Eustace went back to London about ten days after the election at
+Pentreath. Parliament was to meet in June, and there was much of
+importance to be discussed beforehand. He and Sir Roland travelled in
+company, and the Duke’s farewell was warmer and more cordial by many
+degrees than it had been on the occasion of his last departure. As for
+Bride, there had been something so sweet and subtly tender in their
+relations during the past few days, that the parting with her was
+wonderfully hard. Eustace lay awake the whole of his last night at the
+castle, thinking of her, and wondering how he could bear to say adieu;
+and when they met in the morning, her eyes were heavy and her face was
+sorrowful, as though she too had kept vigil and dreaded the coming day.
+In point of fact, Bride had kept vigil in a very literal fashion, for
+she had been kneeling in prayer for Eustace very many hours of that
+summer’s night--praying that he might be delivered from any and all of
+those perils which might happen to the body whilst travelling through
+an excited country; but above all, praying that he might be kept safe
+in those assaults of evil that might assail and hurt the soul--that he
+might be strong to resist temptation, that he might be the champion
+always for good, yet discriminate and discern the moment when evil
+crept in, and where party spirit took the place of the true desire
+after the best welfare of the nation. She understood far better than
+she had done a year ago the difficulties of that strife, and where once
+she would have stood aloof with a sense of pained disappointment and
+disapproval, she would now, as it were, stretch forward a helping hand,
+and strive to show the firm path amid all the quagmires of strife and
+emulation. As she clasped hands with Eustace for the last time, and
+their eyes met, some strange electric current seemed to pass between
+them, and, as though in answer to spoken words, he said, in a low moved
+tone--
+
+“I will be true--I will be faithful--I will strive to fight the good
+fight, and you will be my best helper.”
+
+She did not answer with her lips, but her eyes made amends for that.
+Suddenly Eustace came one step nearer, put both his hands upon her
+shoulders, and bent his head and kissed her on the lips. For a single
+second she started, as though the touch of his hands had alarmed her,
+but the next moment she looked straight into his eyes, and yielded her
+lips to his for that last salute.
+
+“God be with you, Eustace,” she whispered; and as the young man rode
+away he felt he understood for the first time in his life the true
+meaning and application of the simple and oft-used phrase, “Good-bye.”
+
+Bride stood where he had left her, in the middle of that anteroom where
+their parting had been exchanged. Her face was slightly flushed; there
+was a strange gleam of vivid light in her eyes; the sweet mouth was
+tremulous with emotions strongly stirred. The Duke, who had witnessed
+the parting between them, looked at her with a veiled inquiry in his
+eyes. Bride, coming back to everyday life, saw that look and answered
+it.
+
+“It is not what you think, papa,” she said very softly, “yet I think
+Eustace and I belong to one another now. I do not know how else to
+say it. It seems as though there was something linking us together
+stronger than ourselves.”
+
+A slight smile lighted the old man’s face.
+
+“I am glad to hear that, my child,” he said gently. “I am far better
+pleased with Eustace this time than I was before. He has greatly grown
+in wisdom and moderation--greatly improved. I believe he will turn out
+one of those men whom the world needs. He is after all a Marchmont,
+and the Marchmonts have generally the gift of government in some
+form or another. A young and ardent temperament may be led astray at
+the outset; but the experience of life gives ballast; and there seem
+to have been many influences at work upon Eustace, moderating his
+impetuosity, and showing him the reverse side of the shield.”
+
+“I think he is learning a great deal,” answered Bride softly; “I am
+glad you feel the same about him.”
+
+She could not settle to her ordinary avocations that day. There was a
+subtle sense of exhilaration and happiness in her pulses which made
+active exercise needful to her. She had her pony saddled, and started
+to ride along the cliffs to St. Erme. She wanted to be alone for
+awhile to think and muse upon the sudden sense of new happiness that
+had come into her life. She had visits to pay at St. Erme’s which had
+been waiting for a day of leisure. Eustace had filled much of her time
+of late, but now she must learn to do without him. She rode quietly
+onward, with the sunshine about her, and the soft breeze fanning her
+cheek and lighting her eyes. There came over her, almost for the first
+time in her life, a sense of the beauty and joyousness of it, even in
+this fallen world of sorrow and sin. Before she had thought, almost
+exclusively at such times as these, when alone with nature and at peace
+with herself and all the world, of the brightness and glory of the
+Kingdom. Her heart had had little here to feed itself upon, and she had
+dwelt in the thought of the glory which shall be revealed. But to-day
+she felt as though she was experiencing a strange foretaste of that
+glory and happiness in this inexpressible sense of sweetness and love.
+An atmosphere of joy seemed to enwrap and envelop her. She scarcely
+understood herself or her heart; but she was happy with a happiness
+that was almost startling, and in her head some words seemed to set
+themselves to the joyous hymn that nature was singing all the while.
+
+“I will be faithful--I will be true!” ... “God be with you!”
+
+Her absorption of mind did not hinder her from paying her visits and
+entering with full sympathy and tenderness into the trials and troubles
+of those she had come to see. The sight of her was always very welcome
+to the simple people who had known her from childhood, and who regarded
+her something as an angel visitor, as they had regarded her mother
+before her.
+
+Her visits paid, she was about to turn homewards, when, as she was
+passing the gate of the rectory, she encountered Mr. St. Aubyn riding
+forth on his sturdy cob. They exchanged greetings gladly.
+
+“I am on my way to St. Bride,” he said, smiling. “Shall we go in
+company? or are you coming to pay a visit to my wife?”
+
+“I think I will ride back with you,” said Bride, “and see Mrs. St.
+Aubyn another day. It will be too hot to be out with comfort if I
+linger longer. Are you coming to the castle?”
+
+“My errand is to your gardener’s cottage. My good friend Mr. Tremodart
+has asked me to visit young Tresithny in his terrible affliction. He
+seems to close his heart and his lips against all the world. My kind
+friend at the parsonage thought I might have more success in dealing
+with him; but I fear me the time has not yet come when the words of man
+will avail aught.”
+
+Bride’s face was very sorrowful.
+
+“It seems so sad,” she said softly, “so very, very sad. Oh, I am
+grieved for Abner. He looks aged and bowed like an old man, yet his
+faith never fails. He is a lesson to us all. ‘The child of many
+prayers,’ he calls Saul, and he will not give up hope. But it must be
+terrible for him to have to sit by and hear the poor young man shouting
+out all sorts of horrible imprecations and blasphemies in his delirium
+and pain. No one can tell whether he quite knows what he is saying; but
+his words are terrible to hear. Widow Curnow has come to help to nurse
+him, and I hear almost more from her than from Abner. I hoped he would
+have been able to see my cousin Eustace before he went to London; but
+he has never been enough himself, and all excitement has to be avoided.
+I believe Eustace has the most influence upon him of any person in the
+world. He has won his affection, and I fear poor Saul knows more of
+hatred than of love towards the world at large.”
+
+“He has had a very sad life,” said the clergyman sorrowfully, “a life
+of spiritual revolt against the very conditions of his existence, as
+well as a mental and physical revolt against the wrongs of a world
+which can never be set truly right, save by the advent of One to whom
+in their blindness these would-be reformers never look for guidance,
+still less join in the cry for Him to appear and take the reins of
+government Himself. It is sorrowful to think of--that the very men most
+forward in the struggle to do justice to their fellow-men, are often
+the most careless about giving God His dues. They will render to Cæsar
+the things that are Cæsar’s, but will they render to God the things
+that are God’s? How often, as one hears them speak or reads the words
+they are speaking to the nation, does one say in one’s heart, ‘Lord,
+open their eyes so that they may see!’ for philanthropy alone will
+never raise or purify the world; it must be joined with a living faith
+in a living God, and the first love and service of our hearts must
+belong to God; the second, given to our neighbours.”
+
+Bride looked with a sudden questioning wistfulness into the clergyman’s
+face.
+
+“Mr. St. Aubyn, do you not think that a man who loves mankind with a
+true and unselfish love must somewhere in the depths of his heart have
+a love for God also, even though he may not know it? Is not love in its
+essence Divine? and can there be a true and pure love that does not in
+some sort own allegiance to God?”
+
+Mr. St. Aubyn’s face was serious and thoughtful.
+
+“Pure and true love is indeed Divine in its essence; but there is a
+carnal and earthly love too, which is but a travesty of God-given love,
+and burns to its own destruction. I think man often confuses these two
+loves, and sometimes calls the lower one the higher. Perhaps no eye but
+God’s can really distinguish altogether the gold and the dross, but we
+can sometimes judge the tree by its fruit. How often do we see evil
+fruit springing from a tree which we have thought to be good! We are
+deceived sometimes, but our Heavenly Father never!”
+
+“Yes! I think I know what you mean. I have seen something of that, as
+in poor Saul’s case. The fruit is a sorrowful crop, and yet he means
+nobly and well, I am sure. But there is no love of God in his heart;
+and yet I sometimes wonder whether perhaps the love for man does not
+come first with some: ‘If he loves not his brother whom he hath seen,
+how shall he love God whom he hath not seen?’ There are words very like
+that somewhere.”
+
+“True, God’s love is so beautiful and infinite, and His patience with
+His erring children so inexhaustible, that He will do everything in
+His power to lead their hearts to Him. We are taught and entreated
+throughout the Bible to seek _first_ the kingdom of heaven; to give the
+whole of our strength, and mind, and heart, and soul to God in loving
+submission; to be living members of His Body first, and then members
+one of another; but as though He would make provision for the weakness
+and frailty of the flesh, and the infirmity and lack of faith in
+human nature, we find here and there just such loving touches as show
+us that our Father will lead us to Himself by every possible means;
+that love for our brethren shall be a stepping-stone, if used aright,
+towards that higher and holier love; though perhaps the truer meaning
+of the words is to teach us that no love for God can be really pure and
+sincere if it does not carry with it love for our brethren too. The
+greater must embrace the less; and a man cannot truly love God who is
+in bitterness with the brethren.”
+
+They rode along in silence for a time then, each thinking deeply. Mr.
+St. Aubyn was the first to speak.
+
+“Mr. Marchmont has left you then?”
+
+“Yes, he started for London this morning.”
+
+“I knew it was to be soon. He came to say good-bye a few days ago. I
+was greatly pleased by the talk we had on that occasion.”
+
+Bride looked up quickly.
+
+“I did not know Eustace had been to see you.”
+
+“Yes, he came and sat above two hours with me. We had a most
+interesting conversation. I almost wish you had been there to hear.”
+
+Bride was silent. She would not ask the nature of the conversation. She
+knew that Mr. St. Aubyn would tell her all that he felt at liberty to
+reveal.
+
+Presently he spoke again, a slight smile playing on his lips.
+
+“Long ago, as you know, we had a talk, part of which you overheard,
+in which Mr. Marchmont betrayed how deeply the philosophy of the
+destructive rationalists had eaten into his soul. I told him then
+that he would never be able to rest where he was; that even the
+philosophers and students who had been so glad to destroy were already
+finding rest impossible, and were beginning a constructive form of
+rationalism, in which scope was allowed for an objective as well as a
+subjective Divinity, and a semblance of Christian faith creeping back,
+because men invariably find at last that they cannot do without it,
+although they too often content themselves with half-truths, or very
+small fragments of the whole truth. Well, he did not agree with me
+then; but it is wonderful what this year has done for his spiritual
+life. It is like talking to another man. It was wonderfully inspiring
+to mark the work of the Spirit in that heart. But I dare say you have
+found that out for yourself.”
+
+There were tears of joy in Bride’s eyes. She did not turn her head as
+she answered--
+
+“I have hoped so--I have thought so; but I have been afraid to ask or
+to hope too much.”
+
+“Ah! you need never fear that. Are we not bidden to ‘hope and believe
+all things’? Is anything too hard for the Lord?”
+
+“Indeed, I think not,” answered Bride softly.
+
+“It made me think of our talk once about forgiveness and the Father’s
+love,” continued Mr. St. Aubyn musingly. “It is such a beautiful
+mystery--that yearning love over all these myriads of disobedient
+children. And yet never an individual instance of spiritual grace comes
+before us, but we realise how true it is that the Father has gone forth
+to meet the erring son whilst he is still a great way off, and is
+leading him so tenderly home, sometimes almost before the wanderer has
+realised it himself.”
+
+Bride made no reply: her heart was too full; and so in happy communion
+of spirit the pair rode down the hill, and through the gate of the
+castle grounds.
+
+“You will come and see my father when you have been to see Saul?” said
+Bride. “He would be sorry for you to go without paying him a visit.”
+
+Mr. St. Aubyn promised, and Bride rode on to the castle, and had
+changed her riding gear for a cool white dress before the clergyman
+appeared. His face was grave, and he looked troubled and compassionate.
+
+“I have seen him,” he said, in reply to Bride’s look of inquiry, “I
+have seen him, and I found him stronger in body than I anticipated
+after all I have heard of the injuries he received. The doctor was
+leaving as I rode to the door, and said he was making a wonderful
+recovery. But I fear that the recovery is only one of the body. The
+soul and spirit are terribly darkened. It seems almost as though the
+powers of evil had so taken possession there that there was no room for
+the entry of God’s light. I could not even speak the words I would have
+done. I saw that to do so would be only to provoke more blasphemies.
+May God in His mercy do something to soften that hard heart, for only
+He can do it!”
+
+It was the same tale all the way through where poor Saul was
+concerned. Impenitent, rebellious, cursing his own fate and crippled
+condition, and cursing yet more bitterly those he held responsible
+for the accident--the tyrants who set soldiers upon poor and harmless
+people, to trample them to death beneath their iron heel for no other
+offence than claiming the rights of human beings and citizens of the
+commonwealth. He refused all visits save those from such men of his own
+fashion of thinking as came to condole with him, and to fan the flame
+of his bitterness and wrath. Abner soon ceased to try and reason with
+him. He wrestled ceaselessly in prayer for him, as indeed did many of
+his neighbours, who were wont to meet together at intervals for the
+reading the Scripture, and that prayer for the speedy coming of the
+Lord, which had become one of the leading features of the faith of the
+little community of St. Bride. It was indeed all that could be done
+for the unhappy young man; and so soon as he was able to get about on
+crutches, he announced his intention of going back to Mother Clat’s,
+and resuming his old life with the fishermen.
+
+There was indeed one very good reason why he should do this. In a boat
+his lameness would matter comparatively little. He could manage sheet
+and tiller whilst he sat quietly in the stern; and although there would
+be moments when he would feel somewhat keenly the loss of his foot and
+his crippled condition, yet this would be not nearly the same hindrance
+to him on the water as it would be on land.
+
+A collection had been made for him in the town by a number of those
+who regarded him as a victim and a martyr. This amounted to a sum
+sufficient to enable him to purchase a little cutter of his own, that
+happened to be going cheap at a neighbouring seaport town. Saul’s
+mates having heard of it, went to look at it, and finally negotiated
+the purchase, which made him the proud possessor of this fast-sailing
+cutter, which was significantly said to be far faster and more
+responsive to wind and tide than any of the Customs boats in these
+parts.
+
+And now a new life began for Saul. He had always done some smuggling
+along the coast with his friends the fishermen; but now it became a
+regular trade with him. Fishing was the merest excuse for the more
+serious occupation of his life; and as his health and strength returned
+with this free life on the sea, so did his ferocious hatred to all
+restraints of law and order grow and increase in him. He delighted in
+his illicit traffic far more because he was a breaker of the law than
+because it brought him large gains. He began to be a notable man along
+the coast; appearing now at this place, now at the other; landing his
+goods with a skill and daring that made him the idol of the fisher-folk
+all around, and the terror of the custom-house officers, who tried in
+vain to catch him, and began to think he must bear a charmed life, so
+absolutely impossible did they find it to get sight of him.
+
+As for the gentry round, there was a very mixed feeling in their minds
+with regard to the defaulter and his occupation. They had nearly all of
+them cellars of excellent brandy and wine that had never paid duty, and
+were by no means desirous of seeing the illicit traffic too rigidly put
+down. They winked at it, if they did not actually encourage it; and it
+was well known that half of them would always buy smuggled goods and
+ask no question, in spite of all that the indignant officers could urge
+to the contrary.
+
+The country was soon in a state of pleasurable excitement with the
+news that the Reform Bill had successfully passed the Commons, and
+had only to go through the Upper House to become law. The ignorant
+people considered the triumph already assured, and began to wonder why
+something wonderful did not immediately happen to change the current
+of their lives and issue in a new prosperity and affluence. But others
+shook their heads, and said the Lords would be certain to throw it
+out, whilst some argued that they would not dare, when the mind of the
+country had been so emphatically declared.
+
+The Duke was very doubtful as to the result.
+
+“The Duke of Wellington will fight it tooth and nail,” he said to those
+who asked his opinion, “and I think he will carry the House with him.
+My kinsman, young Marchmont, tells me that if the Lords refuse to pass
+it, they will urge the King to make such a number of new Whig peers as
+shall suffice to carry it in the teeth of all opposition. His Majesty
+is very averse to such a step, though anxious for the passage of the
+bill. It remains to be seen what will happen. But I do not think the
+Iron Duke will give way.”
+
+All this talk sufficed to keep the country alive and excited through
+the early autumn months. Eustace wrote regularly, sometimes to the
+Duke, sometimes to Bride; and she wrote to him according to promise,
+telling him the news of the place, her own particular history, and the
+doings of Saul. Eustace himself wrote to Saul from time to time, and
+received answers from the wild young man always breathing a spirit of
+personal loyalty and devotion; but nothing which passed induced him
+for one moment to give up his wild life. His boat was always speeding
+between the shores of England and France. He was seldom at home, and
+when in the cottage on the beach, seldom to be spoken with by any of
+those who would gladly have tried to approach him for his own good.
+Bride once or twice encountered him, and spoke gently to him; but
+though he stood before her silently and with an outward aspect of
+respect, he would scarcely give her back a word, and only appeared to
+listen to her with any willingness when she told him of Eustace.
+
+He sometimes went into Pentreath, and addressed meetings there, in
+response to invitations from old associates; but his personal interest
+in the place and in politics seemed to have flagged just now. The
+passing of the measure upon which his heart had been set took away from
+him his sense of grievance, and robbed that side of his character of
+its main element. He shared the half-ignorant expectations of the lower
+classes, that as soon as the Reform Bill became law some great change
+in the condition of the people would result immediately from it; and he
+supposed this change was already going on in other places, and would
+soon reach the West-Country. If that was so, his task was over for the
+present, until some new agitation was set on foot. Meantime the free
+and lawless life he was leading was all-sufficient for him. He was the
+hero of St. Bride’s Bay, the most successful man all along the coast,
+and was not only making money fast, but was enjoying his life as he had
+perhaps never enjoyed it before.
+
+But the old class hatred which had long burned within him was still
+smouldering as fiercely as before, and only wanted a breath of wind to
+fan it to a raging flame.
+
+Nor was this breath long wanting; for in November came the news that
+the Lords had thrown out the bill, that for the moment it was dead,
+could not pass into law, that the battle would have to be fought all
+over again (as most people thought), and that the Lords had shown
+themselves once and for all the fierce and inveterate enemies of the
+rights and liberties of the people.
+
+A great wave of anger and revolt swept all through England when this
+thing became known. Perhaps never had she been so near to revolution
+as that dark November, when the people, eagerly awaiting the advent of
+some wonderful and semi-miraculous change in their condition, received
+the news that the measure which was to ensure this had been trampled
+under foot, and cast ignominiously to the four winds of heaven by
+the peers of the realm. A cry of execration and hatred ran through
+the country. Riots and incendiary fires broke out wherever the news
+penetrated. At Pentreath there was a hot demonstration of popular
+fury; and Saul had never so raged against his physical infirmity as
+when he found himself forced to remain at home, eating his heart out
+in silence, whilst the other men of his persuasion marched with the
+rioters, and committed acts of lawlessness which gratified their bitter
+hatred, without, as it happened, doing very much permanent harm in the
+place.
+
+But the passion that can vent itself is less dangerous than that
+which is locked up without an outlet, and seethes and smoulders till
+something suddenly causes a violent explosion. Could Saul have gone
+with his comrades, perhaps more immediate mischief might have been
+done, since his was always the most daring spirit; but possibly the
+blackest chapter of his life might not have been written, and he might
+have been saved from the depth of iniquity into which he speedily fell.
+
+There is an anger so terrible in its intensity that it works like
+madness in the brain; and this anger is generally the fiercest when
+it exists between class and class, and results in reality less from
+inherent ill-will between the two parties concerned, than from a
+constitutional and insurmountable difficulty in mutual understanding.
+
+This hatred (which has been at the bottom of many of the world’s
+tragedies) was now burning with such a white heat of silent fury in
+Saul’s breast that there began to creep into his sombre eyes a light
+like that of madness. He would sit up late into the night brooding over
+the dying embers of the fire, and thinking thoughts that hardly bore
+putting into words. The wild weather had for the present put a stop to
+his cruises. He felt the change from the mild autumn days, and often
+had pain in the maimed member which had suffered from the surgeon’s
+knife. He was not able to get out much in the cold and wet, and this
+constant brooding and fierce silent thought were almost enough to turn
+any man’s brain.
+
+“Revenge! revenge! revenge!” such was the burden of his thoughts; and
+as he sat pondering over his wild yearnings after vengeance, there
+would steal into his mind, like whispers from the evil one, memories
+of what desperate men in past days had done to bring about ruin
+and disaster. Great ships, containing the wealth of the proud and
+prosperous, had been shattered on these cruel rocks, and high-born men
+and women had found a grave in the dark cruel waters, a grave less
+cruel and dark than the one which engulfed hundreds and thousands
+of their helpless brothers and sisters through their own greed and
+selfishness. Would it not be a righteous retribution to lure some such
+vessel with its living freight upon those cruel “Bull’s Horns”? He
+knew his comrades would aid and abet such a notion, if he propounded
+it, for the sake of the plunder and the gain it would bring. But for
+him the plunder was nothing; he would not touch the gold. But he should
+feel he had struck a vengeful blow against the rich and the mighty of
+the land, and then perchance the fever-thirst of his soul would be
+quenched, and he could rest again.
+
+And thus, brooding and planning and meditating, the dark days slipped
+by one by one, and the light of madness and unquenchable hatred burned
+ever brighter and brighter in Saul’s eyes.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+_THE BULL’S HORNS_
+
+
+It was so fatally easy.
+
+St. Bride’s Bay lay between two very dangerous points along the coast.
+Its south extremity was bounded by the long jagged reef known as the
+Smuggler’s Reef, whilst its northern limit was formed by the jutting
+cliff upon which Penarvon Castle had been built, and by those two huge
+crescent-like projecting rocks, significantly termed the Bull’s Horns,
+just below the castle walls, with the treacherous silting, shifting bed
+of quicksand between.
+
+For many years now in one turret of the castle there had burned from
+dusk till dawn a strong, steady light, warning vessels along the coast
+of this dangerous spot. The lantern-tower, as it was commonly called,
+had a separate entrance and staircase of its own, and the light was
+watched and tended by a disabled fisherman, who had been appointed
+by the late Duchess to the office when unfit for more active work.
+Although growing old and feeble now, he still clung to his task, and
+had never been found unfaithful to his post, or unable to fulfil the
+light duties it imposed upon him.
+
+The light in this lantern-tower warned vessels of their exact position,
+and was a most valuable beacon to them; for as soon as ever they had
+passed it, it became necessary (if they were passing down Channel) to
+set the ship’s head almost due east, so as to avoid a dangerous cross
+current round some sunken rocks out at sea, and to keep for some short
+distance very near in-shore, the water being at this point very deep,
+and free from any rock or reef.
+
+The plan fermenting in the darkened mind of Saul Tresithny became thus
+fatally easy. A small body of determined men had only to go to the
+lantern-tower after the household at the castle had retired to rest,
+overpower the old custodian, extinguish the light, and light a false
+beacon farther along the coast--a little to the south of the Smuggler’s
+Reef--and the thing was done. Any vessel beating down Channel would
+see the light, would clear it, and then turn sharp towards the land,
+and upon a dark and moonless night would strike hopelessly, and
+without a moment’s warning, upon those cruel Bull’s Horns, from whose
+deadly embrace there would be no escape. The vessel would shatter,
+the crew and passengers would be sucked into a living tomb. The men
+bent on plunder would have time to secure for themselves a certain
+amount of the cargo, but before morning dawned the vessel would in
+all probability have disappeared utterly and entirely. Saul’s act of
+purposeless vengeance would be accomplished, and he told himself that
+he should then have some peace.
+
+Of the hapless crew--men drawn from his own class--he would not allow
+himself to think. They always went, more or less, with their lives in
+their hands, and sooner or later a large proportion met a watery death.
+They must take their chance. It was not with them he was concerned.
+What he longed to do was to strike a blow at wealth, prosperity, and
+rank. He was unable to take any part in the turbulent scenes enacting
+in the country round; but if he could lure to its fate some great
+vessel with its freight of passengers--one of those new vessels which
+worked by steam-power, that were just beginning to make headway and to
+appear along the coasts, to the astonishment and superstitious terror
+of the fishermen--if he could lure one of these vessels, which always
+carried wealthy passengers, who could afford to pay for the extra
+advantages of speed and independence of contrary wind, he felt he
+should be striking a blow at the hated world of wealth and opulence;
+and little recked he of any personal peril he might run were the thing
+found out.
+
+As to his own fate, he was perfectly indifferent. A fierce despair
+mingled with his reckless hatred of his kind. He would willingly lay
+down his own life if he could by those means compass the ruin of his
+enemies. He would sometimes sit and ponder, with a fierce brooding
+envy, over the story of the death of Samson, with which Abner’s reading
+of the Scriptures to him in his childhood had made him familiar. If
+only he could achieve an act of vengeance like that! What a glorious
+death it would be! But there was no such way open to him of avenging
+his nameless wrongs against the world. He could only accomplish an
+isolated act of malevolent cruelty and destruction. But he brooded
+over that, and thought out its details, till he seemed in his feverish
+dreams to see the thing enacted over and over, till every detail was
+familiar. He used to dream that the vessel had struck, that she was
+going to pieces fast, that he and his comrades were out in their boats,
+listening to the cries and shrieks of the drowning wretches, always
+avoiding giving the help so agonisingly demanded, pushing savagely from
+the gunnel of their boat any frantic hand that might cling to it, and
+laughing with fiendish joy as the wretched victims sank with a gurgling
+cry, or were washed within the region of the treacherous quicksand.
+
+Such dreams might well work a sort of madness in a brain inflamed with
+hatred, and a mind all but unhinged by illness, and perpetual revolt
+against the conditions of life. Saul had every detail planned by this
+time with almost diabolical precision. All that was wanted now was the
+right moment and the right vessel. He had his scouts out along the
+coast. He knew they would receive warning of the approach of such a
+vessel as would afford a rich prey for plunderers and a rich vengeance
+for him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Papa,” said Bride one morning, seeking her father with an open letter
+in her hand, and a soft flush upon her cheek, “I have a letter here
+from Eustace. He thinks of coming to the castle to tell us all about
+the bill, and what has been happening in London, and what is likely to
+happen.”
+
+The Duke looked up with something approaching eagerness in his face.
+He had missed his young kinsman during these past months, and was
+beginning to feel it pleasant to have Eustace about the place, even
+though they were by no means of entire accord in their views or in
+their outlook on life. Although he seldom spoke on the subject, the
+old peer had begun to feel his hold upon life rather uncertain. He had
+never recovered the shock of his wife’s death, and he experienced from
+time to time an uneasy sensation in the region of the heart, which
+made him suspect that that organ was in some sort affected. His father
+had died suddenly of syncope at seventy years of age, and the Duke
+remembered hearing him describe sensations exceedingly like those from
+which he began at times to suffer himself.
+
+He could not therefore but feel a wish to see something settled as to
+Bride’s future. She was very much alone in the world, and would be
+in sore need of a protector were her father taken away. He had long
+felt that a husband’s loving and protecting care was what she truly
+needed, and rather blamed himself for having kept her so entirely from
+meeting with men of her own age and station. But if his own heir, this
+young enthusiast Eustace, of whom he was really beginning to think
+well and to regard with affection, had really succeeded in making an
+impression upon the girl’s sensitive heart, nothing could be more
+entirely satisfactory from a worldly standpoint. No one knew better
+than the Duke how well fitted his daughter was to be the future Duchess
+of Penarvon, and how greatly she would be beloved by all, as indeed
+she was already. He had entertained this hope when first Eustace came
+amongst them, and had then allowed it to fall into abeyance, fearing
+how the young man’s character would turn out, and that he and Bride
+would never agree. But hope had revived upon the second visit, when
+Eustace had shown a different calibre of mind and a greater moderation
+and thoughtfulness. The hearts of both father and daughter had changed
+towards him, and again a hope had awakened within the Duke’s heart that
+he should still live to see his daughter the wife of the man who must
+succeed him at Penarvon.
+
+Thus this announcement of Bride’s came upon him with a note of
+gladness, and he looked at her with unwonted animation.
+
+“A visit from Eustace? That is good hearing. I had written to ask if he
+could not spend his Christmas with us. Is this his answer?”
+
+“I think he can hardly have got your letter. It does not sound like an
+answer. But he speaks of a wish to see Penarvon again, and to consult
+with you about the political outlook. He knows he will be welcome, from
+other things you have said. He will get your invitation, I dare say,
+before he starts. I hope he will be with us then. It is hard to be
+happy at Christmas--hard not to feel it a sorrowful instead of a joyful
+day; but it will help us to have Eustace. I am glad he will be with us.”
+
+“Does he say when he will come?”
+
+“Not exactly; he does not know when he can get away. He seems very
+busy; but he says he thinks he shall come by water. The roads are so
+very heavy after the long autumn rains.”
+
+“It may be easier and more comfortable,” said the Duke, “but I have
+always preferred land travelling myself. Contrary winds make water
+journeys too tedious at times, and I am not a lover of the sea.”
+
+“I think Eustace is. And he says he will not come if he has to take a
+sailing-vessel; but he thinks he can travel by one of those wonderful
+new boats which go by steam-power. He has been in one before. He went
+to Scotland so once, he told me. Last time he was here he was very full
+of it. He thinks there will soon be nothing else used for long voyages.
+It is wonderful to think how they can move through the water without
+sails or oars. He says in his letter he thinks he may soon have a
+chance of coming along the coast in one of these strange and wonderful
+vessels, and will be put ashore either at Plymouth or Falmouth, and
+come on to us from there.”
+
+“That would not be a bad plan. I myself have sometimes wished to travel
+by these new boats; but I hardly think I shall do so in my time. In
+yours they may become more common. Eustace was telling me of them
+himself. If I knew where he would land, I would travel down to meet him
+and see the ship myself.”
+
+“Ah! I wish we did know,” answered Bride, with brightening eyes; “I
+would go with you, papa, and see the wonderful new ship too.”
+
+The Duke was studying her face attentively.
+
+“You are pleased to think of having your cousin here again, Bride?” he
+asked tentatively.
+
+Her face was very sweet in its soft increase of colour, but her eyes
+were steady, and truthfully fearless.
+
+“I think I am very glad,” she said softly. There was a pause after
+this which neither seemed exactly to know how to break; but at last
+Bride said in a different tone, “And I am glad for another reason
+too. Eustace is the only person who has any influence over poor Saul
+Tresithny. It seems as though he were the only person in the world that
+Saul has ever loved. He does love him. His name is just the one thing
+that will rouse him to listen to Abner, or which wins him a look from
+me if I try to speak to him. Whatever harm Eustace may have done Saul
+in the beginning--and I fear he did help to rouse in him those fierce
+and evil passions which have worked such havoc of his life--at least
+he has won the only love of a heart that seems closed to all the world
+besides; and Abner thinks as I do, and Mr. St. Aubyn also, that no soul
+is quite dead, no spirit altogether beyond hope of reclaim in which the
+spirit of love yet burns, however feebly and fitfully. Eustace always
+believes that it was to save him from being trampled down by the sudden
+turning and plunging of the horses that day in the crowd, which made
+Saul spring at them, and almost cost him his life. If so, there must be
+a vein of gold in his nature somewhere; and I always think that Eustace
+will find it some day, somehow. Poor Saul! He looks most terribly
+haggard and wild and miserable. Everybody else has failed to touch
+him; but I do think Eustace may succeed when he comes. He had to leave
+last time, before Saul had recovered consciousness enough to bear the
+excitement of a visit.”
+
+“I trust it may be so, for the sake of the unhappy young man himself,
+and of his patient and heroic old grandfather. Abner’s faith is a
+lesson to us all. May God send him at last his heart’s desire!”
+
+It was so seldom that her father spoke thus, that sudden tears sprang
+to the girl’s eyes; and instead of answering, she laid her hand softly
+on his shoulder, the mute caress speaking more eloquently than words.
+For a moment there was silence between them, and then the Duke asked--
+
+“Shall you let Saul know that Eustace is coming?”
+
+“I shall tell Abner. I never see Saul now. He can do as he thinks best;
+but I believe he will decide to say nothing, but let Eustace come upon
+him quite unexpectedly, before Saul knows anything about his being
+here, or has had time to harden his heart, as he might try to do, even
+against Eustace, if he were prepared beforehand. I think with such
+natures as his it is better to give no time for that. But Abner will
+know best.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Now’s our chance. Her be beatin’ down Channel. The lads ’a sighted she
+round t’ corner. Her’ll be passin’, in an hour. ’Tis zo dark’s a hadge
+out o’ doors, and ’twill be cruel cold bimbye. The bwoys are all out
+ready with the false light. We’m goin’ to put out t’other light, then
+we’ll be all ready.”
+
+The light leaped into Saul’s sombre eyes as this news was brought by a
+pair of breathless and excited fishermen, after more than ten days of
+anxious watching. So soon as the last moon had begun to wane, a close
+watch was established all along the coast, and had been continued on
+every dark night since; and as all the nights had been wild and dark,
+the watch had never been relaxed. The watchers kept their look-out
+from a little cove not more than four miles off as the crow flies, but
+situated just where the coast made a great bend, so that the coasting
+vessels had to make a great détour, and took a considerable time
+getting round the point, especially with a raging north-westerly gale
+driving up Channel as on to-night.
+
+“Be she a zailin’ ship?” asked Saul.
+
+“Naw, her be one o’ they new-fangled ones wi’ smoke querkin’ out of her
+middle. Yu’ll be gwoin’ to the bwoat, Zaul, mappen, and get she out.
+Us’ll be a’ter yu quick’s us can. ’Twidden tak’ us long to put out ol’
+Joey’s light.”
+
+“I’ll go tu the boat,” answered Saul, seizing his crutch “She’s all
+ready at her moorin’s. Yu’ll find me there when yu’ve changed the
+lights. I’ll watch for yu tu come. I s’pose it’s pretty quiet in the
+bay?”
+
+“Ess zure. Win’s tu northerly tu hurt she. Us wunt keep yu long
+waitin’. Coome on, lad. Us is bound vur tu be sharp.”
+
+The men hurried off through the driving rain and bitter wind of
+midnight upon their diabolic errand; and Saul, with a look upon his
+face which spoke of a purpose equally diabolic, limped down to the
+shore, seeming to see in the dark like a cat, and took up his place in
+his own stout and seaworthy little boat.
+
+It was what sailors call a “dirty night,” a stiff half-gale blowing,
+and scuds of rain driving over, making the darkness more pitchy whilst
+they lasted. There was no moon, and the sky was obscured by a thick
+pall of low-lying cloud. It was the kind of night just suited to a deed
+of darkness and wickedness, such as the one about to be perpetrated.
+
+Saul, with a face that matched in gloom and wildness the night itself,
+sat in his boat with his eyes fixed steadfastly upon the gleaming light
+in the lantern-tower of the castle, that strong and steady light which
+shone out over the waste of waters like a blessing as well as a beacon.
+All at once, even whilst he watched, the light suddenly flickered and
+went out, whilst at the very same instant up sprang another light,
+equally steady and strong, on the other side of the bay, which, after
+flickering for a few moments, settled down as it were, and burned on
+with a fixed and calm radiance.
+
+Saul’s face, turned towards it, seemed to catch a momentary gleam.
+His dark eyes glowed and flashed in their hollow caverns. His hands
+clenched themselves convulsively upon the tiller by which he sat. There
+was in his fierce heart a throb of triumphant satisfaction which made
+life almost a joy to him at that moment. He felt a spring of life well
+up within him, such as he had not experienced for months. After all, so
+long as vengeance remained to him, life was not altogether devoid of
+joy.
+
+The sound of voices approaching from the shore warned him that his
+confederates were approaching. Some came from the castle, others from
+the neighbourhood of the false light they had kindled. In all there
+were a dozen of them, stout fierce men, bent on plunder, and caring
+nothing for the loss of human life, like too many of their race all
+along the coast in those days.
+
+Some of these men pushed off in a second boat, others joined Saul in
+his small cutter. They carried no lights with them, nor did they do
+more than row out into the bay. Once safely off from shore, they lay
+still on their oars, and listened and watched intently, talking in low
+tones to one another from time to time, but mostly absorbed in the
+excitement of expectation.
+
+All at once out of the darkness hove a light, out beyond the Smuggler’s
+Reef, where the false light was burning, and a stilled exclamation of
+triumph burst from all--
+
+“That be she!”
+
+Then deep silence fell again, and the men held their breath to watch
+her course. She went slowly by the reef; they could hear the throb
+of her engines in pauses of the gale; and then suddenly they saw her
+lights shift--she had fallen into the trap--she was turning inwards. In
+a few short minutes more she would strike upon those cruel horns, and
+be dashed to pieces before them, without the chance of escape. If they
+struck outside the rock, there would be more spoil and prey; but it
+might be safer for the wreckers if she went within the extended horns
+and grounded there. Then the quicksands would suck down all traces in
+a very short time, and none would know the fate of the missing vessel,
+which would be supposed to have met her death through the failure of
+the new-fangled machinery.
+
+Onward, ever onward, came the doomed ship, riding fearlessly through
+the angry sea, secure of the course she was going. She had slowed down
+a little in turning, but the engines were at work now at full power.
+Her light was very near. The men in the boats almost felt as though
+their close proximity would be observed....
+
+CRASH!
+
+It was an awful sound. No man of those who heard it that night ever
+forgot it, and it rang in Saul’s ears for many a long weary day,
+driving him well-nigh to madness.
+
+One terrific splintering crash, and then an awful sound of grinding and
+tearing and battering. The ship’s lights heaved up and fell again in a
+terrible fashion, and amid the shrill whistling of the gale there rang
+out a wail of human anguish and despair, and then hoarse loud voices,
+as if in command; though there was no distinguishing words in the
+strife of the elements.
+
+Motionless, awed, triumphant, yet withal almost terrified, the wreckers
+sat in their boats and listened and waited. It needed no great exercise
+of knowledge to tell them that the great vessel had heeled over and was
+settling--settling slowly to her end; that there could be no launching
+of boats--no hope for any on board unless they were stout and sturdy
+swimmers and well acquainted with the coast. The vessel had actually
+impaled itself, as it were, upon the cruel sharp point of one of the
+horns. The water had rushed in through the ruptured side, and almost at
+once the great floating monster had heeled over, and, though partially
+upheld by the rocks, was being battered and dashed in the most fearful
+way, so that no living being could long escape either being drawn down
+to a watery death, or battered out of all human form upon the cruel
+jagged rocks.
+
+At first a shriek and a cry of human anguish would rend the silence
+for a moment, and then sink again. But now many moments had passed and
+no such sound had been heard. Moments grew into minutes, and perhaps
+a quarter of an hour passed thus in watching the one light rising
+and falling as the vessel rose on the crests of the waves only to be
+dashed down again with renewed fury, whilst the rending of timbers
+and snapping of spars told a tale that was intelligible enough to the
+fierce men only a stone’s throw from the doomed vessel.
+
+At last they deemed they had waited long enough. From the very nature
+of the catastrophe, it was unlikely there would be many survivors.
+All who were below must have perished like rats in a trap, and the
+few on deck would quickly have been swept overboard. It was time the
+plundering began, else there might be little left to plunder. As it
+was, there would be peril in trying to rifle the hull; but these men
+knew what they were about, and producing their dark lanterns, they
+cautiously approached the floating mass, and after due precautions,
+scrambled one after another upon her, and commenced a rapid but
+cautious search.
+
+With this sort of thing Saul had no concern. He knew that his comrades
+must be gratified in their thirst for plunder, but his work had been
+accomplished when the great vessel struck without hope of succour. As
+the larger boat could not approach too nearly to the wreck, all the men
+had gone off in the smaller one, and were to bring to him from time
+to time such valuables as they could find and secure. Twice already
+had this been done, and the men reported that there was more still to
+come, and that they might make a second journey to the wreck perhaps,
+if she would only hold together whilst both the laden boats put ashore
+and came out again empty. His comrades were daring and skilful, and ran
+less risk than they appeared to do in thus treading the decks of the
+vessel. She had lodged now, and though still swept by heavy seas, was
+not tossed about as she had been at first. The tide was falling and had
+landed her fast upon a serrated ledge of rock. Unless she broke up, she
+would lie there till the next tide dashed her off again and sucked her
+into the quicksand. But as the water fell, more and more booty became
+accessible. The greed in the men’s hearts rose with what they found.
+They told themselves that this night’s work would make them rich for
+life.
+
+But Saul would not leave the spot. A curious fascination held him
+rooted to it. When the boats were filled and the men insisted on going,
+he said he would get upon the wreck and await their return there.
+The wind was abating. The sea was running less high. It was clear to
+experienced eyes that for some hours at least the vessel would lie
+where she was, and that there would be no great peril in remaining on
+her. Saul was not a man easy to thwart or contradict. His comrades
+raised no objection to what he proposed. It was his affair, not theirs,
+and they helped him to a station on the deck and left him. They left a
+light with him--it would serve them as a beacon in returning.
+
+Saul sat where he had been placed and watched them row away, their
+light growing fainter and fainter over the great crested waves. He sat
+alone upon the shivering, heaving wreck, pondering on the night’s work,
+and on all he had seen and done. He pictured the scene that these decks
+must have witnessed but one short hour ago, and thought of all the dead
+men--and fair women, perhaps--lying drowned and dead in the cabins
+beneath his feet. A savage light came into his eyes. A wild triumphant
+laugh rang out in the silence and the darkness. He thought for a moment
+of trying to get below and looking upon the dead faces of his foes--men
+and women he had hated for no other cause than that they lived in a
+world that was for him a place of evil and oppression, and deserved to
+die for the tyranny and oppression of the race they represented to his
+disordered imagination.
+
+But he did not go. For one thing, his lameness hindered him; for
+another, there was something almost too ghastly even for him in the
+thought. But as he sat brooding and thinking of it all out in the cold
+and the darkness of the night, well might he have been taken for the
+very spirit of the storm, sitting wild-eyed and sullenly triumphant
+in the midst of all this destruction, gloating over the death of his
+fellow-men, and picturing the ghastly details with the fascination of a
+mind on the verge of madness.
+
+Suddenly an object floating in the water, quite near to the vessel,
+took his eyes, and roused him from his lethargy. In another moment his
+experienced and cat-like eyes had grasped its outline, and he knew what
+it was.
+
+A human creature--a man, in all probability--supported in the water by
+a life-belt, for he could see the outlines of head and shoulders above
+the crests of the waves. Well could Saul guess what had happened. This
+man--sailor or passenger, whichever he might be--had been on deck when
+the ship struck. He had had the good fortune and presence of mind to
+secure a life-belt about him during the few minutes that the ship kept
+above water, and probably struck out for shore when washed from the
+deck. In all probability he had quickly been dashed against the rocks
+and deprived of consciousness, and the ebb of the tide had dragged
+and sucked him back from the shore and in the direction of the wreck.
+A little more and he would be washed upon the shoals of treacherous
+quicksand--and then!
+
+A sudden fierce desire came upon Saul to see the face of this man. He
+was floating almost close to the wreck now, rising and falling upon the
+heaving waves without any motion save what they endowed him with. Saul
+turned and possessed himself of his lantern, and moving cautiously to
+the very edge of the wreck, turned the light full upon the floating
+object in the water.
+
+Then the silence of the night was rent by a wild and exceeding bitter
+cry; and in the midst of the darkness and terror of that winter’s
+night, the soul of Saul Tresithny suddenly awoke, amid throbs of
+untold anguish, from its long lethargy and death. In one moment of
+intense illumination, in which for a moment he seemed wrapped in
+flame--scorched by a remorse and despair that was in essence different
+from anything he had experienced hitherto, he saw his past life and
+the crime of the night in a totally new aspect. It was a moment not
+to be analysed, not to be described; but the impression was such that
+its memory was graven on his mind ever after in characters of fire.
+It was as if in that awful moment something within him had died and
+something been born. Heart and soul, for those few brief seconds in
+which he stood mute and paralysed with horror, were crowded with all
+the bitterness of death and the pangs of birth. Yet it was scarce five
+seconds that the spell held him in its thrall.
+
+What was it that he saw in that heaving waste of waters?
+
+The face of the one man that he loved. The face of the only human
+creature whom he had thought on as a friend. The face of Eustace
+Marchmont!
+
+And he--Saul Tresithny--had lured his only friend, and the one being he
+loved and trusted--to a terrible and hideous death.
+
+It was as he realised this that the awful cry broke from him, and after
+that the five seconds of paralysed waiting and watching that seemed
+like an eternity to him.
+
+Then in the midst of that unspeakable agony there came one whisper as
+of hope--the voice of an angel--penetrating the terrible despairing
+anguish of his soul.
+
+“Perhaps he is not yet dead. Perchance it may be given you to save him
+yet. But lose not a moment, else your chance may come too late.”
+
+When Saul heard that voice, he hesitated not one second. Flinging off
+his heavy pilot-coat, and casting a rope round him, which he fastened
+to a broken mast, he plunged without a moment’s hesitation into the
+sea, striking out for the floating object now just being carried beyond
+the circle of light cast by the lamp.
+
+Saul had always been a strong and bold swimmer, but since he became
+maimed and lame and enfeebled, he had seldom been in the water save for
+the purpose of launching his boat or getting it in, and he had done no
+swimming for many months. Still there was no difficulty in reaching
+Eustace and getting a firm grip round his neck. The life-buoy supported
+the double weight well; but when Saul strove to strike out in the
+direction of the ship, he found that the ebb of the tide was carrying
+them both farther and farther away. Struggle as he would, he could get
+no nearer, but saw the light as it were receding from him, and knew
+that the ebb was sucking them little by little towards those terrible
+quicksands close at hand, which if they touched, their doom was sealed.
+
+When would the rope be payed out and stop them? He had not guessed how
+long it was when he had tied one end about his waist and fastened the
+other about the broken mast. Would it never become taut, that he could
+try hauling himself and his comrade in? And even where they now were
+they might touch the sand any moment with the fall of the tide. It was
+constantly changing and shifting. No one knew exactly where it would
+lie from day to day and week to week.
+
+A sense of cold numb horror fell upon Saul. He was growing faint and
+giddy. A whisper in another voice now assailed his ears.
+
+“Save yourself at least--and leave him to perish. Likely enough he is
+dead already; why risk your life for a corpse? Without his weight you
+could easily make the ship. Save yourself, and leave him to his fate.
+What is he to you?”
+
+Saul’s senses were leaving him fast, ebbing away in a deadly faintness
+that made even the terror of his position more like a dream than a
+reality. But even so the words of the tempter fell powerless upon his
+ears. His answer was to set his teeth and close his embrace more fast
+around his friend.
+
+“If he dies, I will die with him!” was the unspoken thought of his
+heart.
+
+A sudden jerk told him that the rope was all payed out. Had he strength
+to pull it in again? Rallying his failing powers with an almost
+superhuman effort, and still keeping his arms clasped about Eustace, he
+got hold of the rope behind his back, and bit by bit he pulled upon it,
+drawing the double burden slowly--oh! how slowly and painfully!--inch
+by inch towards the wreck.
+
+The whole of his past life seemed to rise up in review before him
+without any volition on his own part--his happy childhood with his
+grandfather in the gardener’s cottage--Abner’s words of loving
+admonition and instruction--the teaching he had imbibed almost without
+knowing it, and had deliberately thrust from him later on. Then he
+seemed to see himself at the farm, working early and late with Farmer
+Teazel’s men; his brief but ardent courting of Genefer seemed like
+nothing but a dream; whilst the sudden appearance of Eustace Marchmont
+into his life was stamped upon his soul as in characters of fire. This
+man had called him friend--had taught him, cared for him, put himself
+on an equality with him--had taken his hand as brother might the hand
+of brother. And he--Saul--had brought him to _this_--had perhaps done
+him to death! It must not--it should not be!
+
+A noise of rushing was in his ears. His breath came in laboured gasps.
+His heart seemed bursting; his eyes were blinded, and could see nothing
+but a floating, blood-red haze. In laboured gasps of agony the words
+came from him--words of the first prayer which had ever passed his lips
+since the days of his childhood--
+
+“Lord, have mercy upon us! God, give me strength to save him!”
+
+And even with those words on his lips his consciousness failed him;
+black darkness swallowed him up.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+_BRIDE’S VIGIL_
+
+
+Bride was awakened from sleep by the sound of a voice.
+
+“Bride! Bride! Oh, my love, farewell! God grant we meet again in the
+eternal haven of rest! Farewell, my love, farewell!”
+
+The voice sounded so loud in her ears that the girl started wide awake
+in bed, and found herself sitting up, gazing across the dimly-lighted
+room, in the expectation of seeing some one beside her.
+
+But there was nothing. The room was empty, save for her own presence.
+The fire was not yet out, and the night-lamp on the table in the corner
+burned with a steady ray. Outside, the voice of the storm wailed round
+the corners of the house; but Bride was too well used to the voice
+of wind and water to think she had been deceived by that. There was
+nothing in the voice of the gale to-night different from what she was
+used to hear wherever the winter days had come. Often and often the
+tempest raged with double and treble power about the exposed castle,
+and yet she was not disturbed. What, then, had happened to-night?
+
+She passed her hands across her eyes, as if to clear away the mists of
+sleep.
+
+“It was Eustace’s voice!” she said in her heart, and a light shiver ran
+through her.
+
+Perhaps she had been thinking of Eustace at sea before she slept, for
+her dreams had been of a ship ploughing through the waves. She could
+not recall all that she had dreamed; but she was vaguely conscious that
+her visions had been uneasy ones of terror and peril. She could not
+be sure whether she had dreamed of Eustace: everything was confused
+in her mind. But that voice calling her name through the darkness had
+been utterly different from anything that had gone before, and had
+effectually aroused her from sleep.
+
+“Is he in peril? Is he thinking of me?” she asked herself; and even as
+she put the question she rose from her bed and began mechanically to
+dress herself; for there was only one thing now possible for Bride, and
+that was to pour out her soul in prayer for the man she loved--the man
+she believed to be in danger at this very moment. Why that conviction
+of his peril came so strongly upon her she could hardly have explained.
+She had had no vivid dream; she had gone to rest with no presentiment
+of evil. That dream-cry was the only cause of her uneasiness; but the
+conviction was so strong that there could be no more sleep for her that
+night. She was absolutely certain of that, and she quickly dressed
+herself, as though to be ready for a call when it came; and when she
+had stirred the fire into a glow, and had trimmed and lighted her
+larger lamp, she knelt down beside the little table whereon lay her
+books of devotion, and the Bible which had been her mother’s, and laid
+bare her soul in supplication and prayer for the man she now knew that
+she loved, and whom she fully believed to be in peril to-night, though
+whether this peril were physical or spiritual she could not tell.
+
+And yet it mattered not, for God knew, and He would hear her
+supplication, and answer it in His own way. Bride did not know whether
+Eustace had yet learned to pray for himself; but she had been praying
+so long that there was nothing strange in this long and impassioned
+prayer for him to-night. How the time passed the girl did not know; nor
+did she know what it was that prompted her at last to go to the window
+and draw aside the curtain to look out into the night.
+
+When she did this, however, she became aware that the darkness without
+was something unwonted, and for a moment she could not understand the
+cause of this. There was no moon, and the sky was obscured by a wrack
+of drifting cloud; why should there be anything but black darkness?
+and yet it was not always so, even on the pitchiest nights. And then a
+sudden cry broke from her pale lips--
+
+“The lantern-tower is not lighted to-night!”
+
+That was it. That was what she missed--the faint refulgence she was
+accustomed to see shining from the turret where the great lamp always
+burned. What had happened? Had the old fisherman neglected to come? or
+had he been negligent of his charge and suffered the lamp to go out?
+She felt sure the light must have been burning as usual earlier in the
+night. It was lighted at five now, and numbers of persons would have
+noticed had it not been lighted, and news would certainly have quickly
+reached the castle. No, it must be that the old fisherman had gone
+to sleep, and had omitted to fill up the lamp, which had burned down
+and gone out. And ah! suppose some vessel even now was beating down
+Channel, and anxiously looking out for the beacon! Oh, suppose some
+vessel was already in peril for want of the guiding light! Suppose that
+vessel were the one in which Eustace was journeying to them! Ah!--was
+that the meaning of that cry? Had it indeed been sent as a sign--as a
+warning?
+
+With a sense of sudden comprehension Bride turned back into the room
+and hastily took up her lamp. Without waiting to summon any other
+person--without a moment of needless delay--she made her way along the
+dark still corridors, where the heavy shadows lay sleeping, but woke
+and fled away like spectres at her approach; through the blank silence
+of the great house she stepped, followed silently by the faithful
+hound, who always slept at her door, till she reached a heavy oaken
+door, studded with brass nails, and fastened on the inside with heavy
+bolts and clamps, that led from the castle into that corner turret
+which had for so many years been given up to the beacon light and its
+custodian.
+
+Bride used as a child to go frequently into the tower with her mother.
+Latterly she had been much less often, but she was familiar with the
+fastenings of the door, and knew her way to the upper chamber where the
+great lamp burned.
+
+The place was perfectly dark as she entered, and as silent as the
+grave; but as she ascended the spiral staircase which led to the
+chamber where the great lamp burned, she was aware of a peculiar
+moaning sound, she hardly knew whether human or not, and a thrill of
+horror ran through her, though she did not pause in her rapid ascent.
+
+The hound heard it too, and sped past her with a low whimper of
+curiosity, bounding upwards and into the room overhead, where he broke
+into a loud bay.
+
+Bride was keenly excited, too much excited to feel any personal fear;
+moreover, she knew that if the dog had found any unknown occupant in
+that upper chamber, he would have flown at him at once and pinned him,
+and she should be warned by the sounds as to what was going on. Hastily
+mounting the last flight, she entered the room, which, as she fully
+expected, was in utter darkness. The sound of inarticulate moaning
+grew louder as she approached, and the moment her lamp threw its beams
+within the chamber, she saw the old custodian lying on the floor,
+gagged, and bound with cruel cords, his head bleeding a little from
+some cuts upon it, and his face drawn and white.
+
+In a moment she had sprung to his aid. The hound was sniffing round the
+room with lashing tail and a red light in his eyes, uttering from time
+to time a deep bay, as though asking to be let out to follow on the
+track of the evil-doers who had forced a way into the tower to do this
+deed of darkness.
+
+But Bride could not attend to him then. She got a strong knife out
+of the old fisherman’s pocket, and in another minute he was free. He
+rose, looking dazed and shaken; but his first thought was for the
+extinguished light.
+
+“They put her out zo zoon’s they’d gotten me down,” he explained in
+trembling tones, as he set about to kindle the beacon, not able even to
+drink the contents of the cup Bride had mixed for him (there was always
+refreshment kept in the room for the watcher on these cold nights) till
+he had set the lamp burning again. “They bwoys ban’t a’ter no gude.
+Lord help any ship that’s passed to-night. A take it they will ’ave
+abin an’ gone vur tu light a valse light zumwheeres ’long t’ coast. Yu
+can’t remember they days, my laady, when ’t wuz common ’nuff for the
+bwoys tu du that. But his Grace and your mawther, they zet theerselves
+agin it: and a’ter vour or vive o’ the worst o’ the lot ’ad abin
+clapped intu clink, and t’ light zet burnin’ heer, theer wuzzn’t near
+zo much, and a thought it wuz pretty night stopped vur good. A reckon
+Zaul Tresithny’s abin at the bottom o’ this night’s work, that a du. A
+zeed he t’other daay. ’E wuz just zo zavage’s a bear, he wuz. With the
+faace aw’m like a death’s ’ead ’pon a mop-stick. A zed then theer’d be
+mischief wi’ ’e, afore we heerd t’ last o’t.”
+
+“Oh, I trust not!” breathed Bride, with clasped hands, as she stood
+watching the old man kindling the lamp, slowly drawling out his words
+as he did so. “It would be too terrible. Saul of all people! Oh, I
+trust it is not so! It is awful for any of them to do such things; but
+some are too ignorant to understand the full meaning of such a fiendish
+act. But Saul is not ignorant; he would know. I pray he has had no hand
+in this thing!”
+
+“A dawn’t knaw, but a zuzpecs ’e’s abin at the bottom o’t,” was the
+deliberate reply. “Ef yu wuz tu luke out o’ yon winder, my laady,
+mappen yu may zee a false light a burning zomewheeres ’long the shore.
+They’ll a’ve tu putten out now we got this ’un alight: but I reckon
+they will ’ave abin burnin’ one all this time. God help any poor ships
+as may ’ave bin goin’ by tu-night!”
+
+Bride, shivering with a nameless horror, went to the window indicated,
+and there, sure enough, about a mile away, she saw the twinkling of
+a false light, the dread purpose of which she but too well divined.
+Heaven send that no vessel had been lured by its false shining to a
+terrible fate!
+
+“David,” she said to the old man, “I must go and rouse the men, and
+send down to the shore to see what has been passing there. It is too
+fearful. Are you afraid to be left? Do you think there is any chance of
+those wicked men coming back? I will send somebody to you very quickly,
+and the dog shall stay to protect you meantime: he will not let anybody
+touch you or the light so long as he is here.”
+
+“Lorblessee! Dawntee by afeared to leev me. A dawn’t think as they’ll
+dare come agin. They’d be vules ef they were tu. A’ll be zafe’s a want
+in ’is burrow. Duee go and tell his Grace what they bwoys ’ave abin at.
+A reckon they’d not ’a dued it unless they’d ’a knawed as zome ship
+were like tu pass by. They bwoys mostly knaws what tu be at. Yu let me
+be, and go tu his Grace. Mappen theer’s help wanted tu the shore by
+now.”
+
+Bride hastened away with a beating heart, leaving the angry hound,
+who had never ceased sniffing round the doorway which led downwards
+to the outer door of the tower, to act as protector to the old man,
+in case the miscreants should again invade him with intent to put out
+the light. She rapidly retraced her steps to the inhabited part of the
+castle, and knocking at her father’s door, told him enough to cause
+him to ring the bell in his room which communicated with the men’s
+quarters, and quickly brought quite a number of them hurrying up to the
+master’s room, ready dressed against some emergency.
+
+The Duke had hastily attired himself, and was in earnest confabulation
+with his daughter by the time the household assembled. A few words to
+them sent them flying after lanterns and ropes, and Bride asked her
+father--
+
+“What are you going to do?”
+
+“I am going down to the shore, with all the men I can muster, to try
+and seize the wreckers if possible at their fiendish work, or to render
+help if it be possible to any hapless vessel they may have lured to
+destruction. I pray Heaven we may defeat their villainous intentions;
+but I fear old David is right, and that they know very well what they
+are about, and do not light false fires without warrant that they light
+them not in vain. Bride, remain you here; call up the women, and let
+one or two rooms be prepared. It may be we shall have some half-drowned
+guest with us when we return. It can do no harm to be prepared. That is
+your office. See that all is in readiness if wanted.”
+
+The excitement and alarm had by this time spread to the stables, and
+the men from there came hurrying round, eager to take a share in the
+night’s expedition. Two stout young fellows were sent to the foot of
+the lantern-tower to keep guard there, and see that no hurt came to the
+old man; and the rest were formed into a regular marching squad by the
+Duke, who always had his servants drilled into some sort of military
+precision, ready for an emergency of this kind, and led by him straight
+down to the beach, carrying such things as were thought needful, both
+in the event of a struggle with the wreckers, or the necessity of
+organising a rescue party to some vessel in distress.
+
+Bride was left in the castle, surrounded by the women of the household,
+who had by this time been aroused, and had come out of their rooms,
+some in terror, some in excitement, and were all eager to know both
+what had happened and what was to be done.
+
+Bride took a little on one side the housekeeper and her old nurse, two
+old servants in whom she had the utmost confidence, and quietly gave
+her orders. One or two of the spare bed-chambers were to be quickly
+prepared for the accommodation of possible guests. The fire in the hall
+was to be lighted, and some refreshment spread there. Visitors at the
+castle had been rare of late, and some of the chambers were likely to
+be damp, and the fires might very likely smoke on being lighted.
+
+“You had better make use of the rooms Mr. Marchmont uses when he is
+here,” said Bride. “They have been used a good deal this year. I think
+there has never been any trouble with them.”
+
+“They are all ready, my lady,” answered the housekeeper. “His Grace
+gave orders that they were to be put in readiness to receive him at any
+time. They only want the fires lighting.”
+
+“Ah! true--I remember,” answered Bride. “Then let fires be lighted
+there instantly. Set the girls to work at something. They are only
+growing frightened and upset by talking and wondering. Let everything
+be ready in case there are persons brought in drowned, or almost
+drowned. Let everything be at hand that can be wanted. Nurse, you
+understand that sort of thing. You know what is needed in every kind
+of emergency. See that all is ready. We do not know what may be coming
+to-night.”
+
+Bride spoke calmly, but her heart was throbbing wildly the whole
+time. In her head was beating the ceaseless repetition of the one
+name--“Eustace! Eustace! Eustace!”
+
+She seemed all at once to understand the meaning of her troubled dream,
+and the cry which had awakened her. Eustace was truly in some deadly
+peril, and her name had been upon his lips, as it was in his heart, at
+the supreme moment when he believed himself passing from life to death.
+Bride had too full a belief in the independent life of the spirit to
+feel any great surprise at such a thing as this. The power and the deep
+mystery of love were a part of her creed. She held that a true and
+God-given love was as immortal as the soul--was the very essence of the
+soul; and now that she fully recognised the depth of her own love for
+Eustace, she could well believe (knowing his love for her) that his
+spirit would seek to meet hers in the supreme moment when he thought
+death was coming upon him. But, surely--ah! surely, her prayer for him,
+which had immediately followed upon that cry, would have been heard
+in heaven, and God would give him back to her! Ah! how she had prayed
+for this man--body, soul, and spirit! How she had poured out herself
+in supplication for him again and yet again, that his heart might be
+changed and softened, that the Spirit of grace might work therein,
+that he might learn to know his Saviour, and that his body might be
+preserved from all perils.
+
+Bride had that faith which believes all things; and even through the
+anxious terrors of that night she believed that Eustace would be given
+back to her. She believed absolutely that he had been in deadly peril,
+that the cry she had heard in her dreams was no dream, but that it
+portended some crisis in the life of her lover. She knew that he was
+likely to be at sea to-night, and coming down Channel along these very
+coasts. It might indeed have been his vessel that these desperate men
+had striven to wreck. She never tried to fight against the conviction
+that something terrible had befallen Eustace that night; but so
+convinced was she that God had heard her prayers, and had made of her
+an instrument for the deliverance and saving of her lover, that she
+was able to retain her calmness and tranquillity, even through that
+terrible hour of suspense, saying always to herself--
+
+“Perhaps it is the Father’s way of leading home the erring son. Perhaps
+it was in the darkness and the storm that He went out to meet him.
+I think he will be given back to me; but even if not, and he is in
+the safe-keeping of the Father, I can bear it. But I believe I shall
+receive him back as from the dead.”
+
+She went to and fro through the house, seeing that her own and her
+father’s orders were carried out, her face wearing a strange expression
+of intense expectancy, but her bearing and manner retaining their
+customary calmness. When everything that could be done in advance had
+been done, she went down into the hall again. The fire was blazing
+there and the lights were burning. Upon a table stood refreshments, and
+all was as she desired to see it. The old butler, who had not gone with
+the rest of the men, stood in a dim recess, looking out of the window,
+and half concealed by the curtain. Suddenly he moved quickly towards
+the door.
+
+“Do you see anything?” asked Bride breathlessly.
+
+“I hear steps,” he answered, and went to the door. The next minute he
+opened it wide and the Duke entered.
+
+Bride made a quick step forward. Her father’s face was pale and stern.
+His clothes were wet as from contact with salt water, but his manner
+was composed, though indicative of mental disturbance. His first words
+were to the servant.
+
+“Go or send instantly to Abner Tresithny’s cottage, and tell him to
+come here at once.”
+
+The butler disappeared without waiting to hear more. Abner’s cottage
+was on the premises, a little distance from the stable-yard. He could
+be there in a very short time after the summons reached him; but why
+was he summoned?
+
+Bride’s eyes asked the question her lips could not frame. Her father
+came forward, and put his hands upon her shoulders.
+
+“Can you be brave to bear bad news, Bride?” he asked; and she saw
+that his face looked very grave, and that his lips quivered a little
+involuntarily.
+
+“I think so,” she answered steadily. “Is it Eustace?”
+
+She felt him give a slight start.
+
+“How did you know? Who has told you?”
+
+“I hardly know--Eustace himself, I think. I have felt sure the whole
+time that he has been in peril to-night. Do not be afraid to tell me
+the worst. Is he dead?”
+
+“I fear so! I fear so! God grant I may be mistaken, but I have no
+hope--it is the face of the dead!”
+
+There was something in the tone of the voice that bespoke a keener
+distress than Bride would have looked for her father to show in any
+matter connected with Eustace. She gave him a quick glance of grateful
+sympathy, and, moving from his side, went to the table and poured him
+out a glass of wine. He drank it, and then she said softly--
+
+“Tell me about it.”
+
+“I will tell you all I know; it is a hideous tale, but the details will
+only be known when the wretched miscreants whom we have apprehended
+are brought before the proper authorities. We know that our light was
+extinguished and a false one kindled, in order that some vessel might
+be deluded to dash itself upon the Bull’s Horns, where nothing can save
+it. This diabolic deed has been done only too well. The men, taken
+red-handed bringing their boat back full of spoil, could deny nothing.
+Evidence was too clear against them. We apprehended every man of them,
+and they are lying bound under a strong guard of our fellows to await
+the arrival of the officers of the law. But one man said that Saul
+Tresithny was still upon the wreck, that it was he who had planned all
+this, and that he was waiting there till they went for another load and
+fetched him off.”
+
+“And you sent a boat for him?” questioned Bride breathlessly.
+
+“The men were for leaving him to his fate, but of course that could
+not be allowed, and I wished to see for myself the position of the
+wreck, and to learn all that was possible about her; for we all know
+that before another tide has risen and fallen she may be dashed off the
+ledge on which she rests now, and sucked into the treacherous shoals of
+quicksand.”
+
+“Papa,” said Bride quickly, interrupting the tale for a moment; “tell
+me one thing--are any lives saved?”
+
+“None--unless Eustace be living, and I fear he is not and as Bride for
+a moment pressed her hand to her eyes, the Duke took up the thread
+of his narrative, though always with his face towards the open door,
+listening and watching intently.
+
+“The sea was falling, and we in the bay were sheltered from its power.
+We soon reached the wreck, and there found a light burning, but for a
+moment there was no sign of Tresithny. Then one of our men called out
+that he saw something in the water--that it was attached to the wreck
+by a rope. We got hold of the rope and pulled upon it, and drew the
+floating mass towards us.”
+
+“And found--Eustace.”
+
+The words were scarcely a whisper. Bride’s pale lips moved, but scarce
+a breath came through them.
+
+“Found Eustace and Saul Tresithny, locked in an embrace so tenacious
+that it has been impossible to unloose it. How they came to be so
+locked together no man yet knows. The wreckers declare that there was
+no living soul on board when they left Saul alone on the wreck. What
+passed whilst he was there alone none can say. Eustace had a great
+life-belt passed under his arms, holding him well out of the water.
+Saul Tresithny’s arms were locked in a bear-like embrace around his
+neck, and his hands were so clenched upon the rope which was attached
+to the broken mast of the vessel that it was impossible to loosen
+it. We had to cut the rope when the two men were lifted into the
+boat. Had Saul been alone, one would have said that he was hauling
+himself in towards the vessel, from which he had been washed off when
+unconsciousness had come over him. But how those two came to be locked
+thus together none can say. I can form no guess. That will be one of
+the riddles we shall never solve.”
+
+“Is Saul dead too?” asked Bride, in an awed voice.
+
+“So far as we can tell, both are dead,” answered the Duke; “but until
+they can be separated it is not possible to be absolutely certain on
+the point. Saul cannot have been so very long in the water, and the
+belt supported both well; but there appears no sign of life about
+either. I think they have both passed away together in the darkness and
+the storm--master and pupil together--master and pupil! Ah! Eustace,
+Eustace! what do you think of your teaching now?”
+
+The last words were only just breathed in a tone of gentle sorrow.
+Bride said nothing, for the sound of measured tramping was borne to her
+ears, and she looked quickly at her father.
+
+“They are bringing them here, of course?”
+
+“Of course,” he answered, with a slight motion of his head. “Whether
+living or dead, Eustace must lie here; and till Tresithny’s grasp can
+be unloosened we cannot separate them.”
+
+“Let Saul lie here too, papa,” said Bride suddenly. “Whether living or
+dead, let us shelter him. If he has greatly sinned, he has suffered
+terribly. We do not carry enmity beyond the grave, nor punishment after
+a man has been so struck down.”
+
+“I have sent for his grandfather. I will settle with him about that
+unhappy young man. Bride, my dear, I think you had better go. This will
+be no sight for you.”
+
+But Bride slipped her hand within her father’s arm, and looked
+beseechingly into his face.
+
+“Do not send me away till I have seen him. You know that I love
+Eustace, papa, and he loves me. I believe that this is God’s way of
+giving him back to me. I can bear it whichever way it turns.”
+
+The Duke said no more. He recognised in Bride that inherent strength of
+character, born of a perfect faith, which had characterised her mother.
+He let her stay beside him as the heavy steps drew nearer and nearer,
+and the hand upon his arm did not quiver as the bearers appeared with
+their strange load at the great door.
+
+In they came, panting with the effort, for the ascent to the castle was
+steep, and the load a heavy one. And when once within the shelter of
+the hall, they were forced, without waiting for leave, to lay it down
+and gasp for breath.
+
+Bride stepped forward and looked. There was nothing ghastly in the
+sight to her--only something unspeakably solemn and mysterious.
+
+The faces of both men were white and rigid, but in nowise distorted.
+There was a calm nobility of aspect about Eustace, which suggested the
+hope that the soul was at peace in the midst of the terrors of that
+fearful night. Saul’s brow was knitted, and his lips were set in lines
+of vehement resolution, as though not even death could obliterate from
+his face the intensity of his great resolve.
+
+As Bride looked, she said within herself, “He died trying to save
+Eustace;” and though she could not tell how such a thing could be, she
+felt the sense of certainty rise up glad and strong within her. If his
+life had been a wild and wicked one, might not his death have witnessed
+to the dawn of the eternal love in his darkened heart? Might not this
+sudden act of self-sacrifice have been the Divine spark kindling in his
+soul, and lighting his way to God?
+
+And then from two different doors entered on the one hand Abner, and
+the other the doctor, who had been summoned in hot haste by a mounted
+messenger some time before; and Bride, with one last lingering look
+upon her lover’s face, silently withdrew, to return to her vigil and
+her prayers, till she could learn what was the verdict about these two
+men so strangely locked together.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+_FROM THE DEAD_
+
+
+“My lady, I cannot stay, but I must be the one to bring the news. He is
+living after all.”
+
+Bride had risen from her knees at the sound of hurrying steps along
+the corridor, and now stood face to face with the faithful old nurse,
+who with the doctor had been fighting the two hours’ battle, in the
+teeth of almost hopeless despair, over the rigid and motionless form of
+Eustace Marchmont, and now she stood white and panting before her young
+mistress, but with tears of gladness standing in her eyes.
+
+Bride raised her face for a moment, her eyes alight with the intensity
+of her thanksgiving. The dawn was just stealing in through the
+uncurtained window. She looked for a moment at the crimson blush in the
+east, and then suddenly bent her head and kissed the faithful woman
+beside her.
+
+“Thank God!” she said very softly; “and thank you, dear nurse, for I
+know how you have been toiling for him--and for me.”
+
+“Oh, my Ladybird, it would have broken my heart if he had slipped away
+out of life just when--but there, there! I mustn’t stop to talk. And we
+mustn’t build too much on keeping him here. He’s been a terrible time
+in the water, and been fearfully dashed about. He’ll have a fight to
+pull through; but then he’s young and strong, and he’ll have the best
+sort of hope to help him. There, deary, there, there! I can’t linger
+longer. There’s a deal to be done, and the doctor has to go when he can
+spare a moment to look to that other poor fellow. I don’t know which is
+the worst of the two, but they are both of them alive at least.”
+
+“Saul too? Ah! I am glad!” cried Bride; and then the nurse hurried
+away, and she sat down after the long strain of those strange hours,
+and tried to collect her scattered thoughts.
+
+Eustace living--though by no means out of danger! Ah! but was it not
+enough just now to be assured that the life was still in him? Surely
+since God had given him back in answer to her prayers, He had spared
+him for some great purpose. He had brought him to the very gates
+of death, but had brought him back therefrom already. Was not that
+evidence that he was spared for some good purpose? Might she not look
+forward in faith and confidence to Him, Who had saved him from these
+terrible bodily perils, that He would also be with him in any other
+trial that might lie before him, bodily or spiritual? Need she be
+fearful or troubled any more after the wonderful experiences of the
+past night? Eustace had been given back to her prayers. What need she
+fear when that proof of Fatherly love was hers?
+
+Bride mechanically put the finishing touches to her toilet, and washed
+from her face the traces of her long vigil; then, unable to remain
+inactive any longer, she left her room and descended the staircase, the
+light broadening and strengthening in the sky as she did so, as the sun
+rose from behind banks of low-lying cloud, and looked forth upon the
+new day now begun.
+
+The great door at the far end of the hall stood wide open to the breezy
+morning, and even as Bride reached the foot of the staircase a tall
+figure darkened it for a moment, and Mr. Tremodart came in with an
+uncertain air, glancing about him here and there, as if in search of
+something or some one.
+
+Bride stepped forward and held out her hand.
+
+“You have heard?” she asked briefly.
+
+“Ah yes! it is a terrible thing, a terrible thing! Lady Bride, it
+makes me feel that I must send in my resignation to the Bishop, and
+ask him to appoint another pastor to this flock. Surely had I done my
+duty, they would not now be such savages and fiends! I have been down
+with them, poor miserable men! I have been hearing their confession.
+They have been led away by a spirit stronger than their own. The Lord
+forgive me! Perhaps had I been more to them and more with them, they
+would not have hearkened to such evil counsel!”
+
+The clergyman’s remorse was painful to see. Bride had grown to feel
+a great liking and respect for Mr. Tremodart during the past year.
+That he was somewhat out of his element as a parish priest, she never
+attempted to deny. That he had been placed in his present position
+without any real aptitude for his vocation, he never himself denied;
+but he had tried to do his duty according to his own lights; and though
+often too much engrossed in his favourite pursuits to give all the time
+he should have done to his flock, he had never neglected to respond to
+a summons from any one of them, however personally inconvenient, and
+had always striven to relieve distress, both of body and mind, as far
+as in him lay, though his methods were sometimes clumsy, and his words
+halting and lame.
+
+Still on the whole he had won the respect and liking of his flock,
+and the confidence of the black sheep better, perhaps, than a more
+truly earnest and devoted man might have done. The fishermen were not
+afraid of him. They knew he understood their ways of thinking, and had
+a sympathy with them even in their peccadillos. He did not receive or
+purchase smuggled goods, as too many of his profession did in those
+days; but he did not look with any very great displeasure on a traffic
+that he had been used to all his life, and which seemed almost a part
+of the economy of life. But with all his faults and his easy-going
+ways, he had never for a moment encouraged indifference to human
+life or suffering; and the knowledge that the men of Bride’s Bay had
+deliberately lured to her doom a great vessel, from which only one man
+had been rescued alive, was a terrible thought. The moment the news had
+been brought to him, Mr. Tremodart had hastened down to the shore to
+learn the truth of the matter, and had now come to the castle with a
+grave face and heavy heart, to seek news of the survivor, and the man
+who had been found with him.
+
+“Perhaps we might all have done more for them than we did,” said Bride
+gently; “but men will listen so much more readily to the voice of the
+tempter than to those who would hold them back from their sinful deeds.
+And Saul Tresithny had such power over them! I fear it was he who led
+them on.”
+
+“Ay! ay! there can be no doubting that. One and all, they all say it.
+’Twas his doing--his planning from first to last. They, poor fellows,
+thought of the spoil to be had, and listened with greedy ears; but he
+was thinking darker thoughts, I fear. They say he wanted nothing for
+himself. All his mind was fixed upon some evil hope of vengeance. His
+hatred for mankind had driven him well-nigh mad. Ah! Lady Bride, I
+think that we may well say that if God is Love--as we have His blessed
+assurance--then the devil is--hatred. For sure only the devil himself
+could so have inspired that spirit of hatred which could vent itself in
+such an act as that of last night.”
+
+“Indeed, I think so,” answered Bride, in a low tone of great feeling.
+“It is too terrible to think of. What will happen to those poor men?
+Where are they now?”
+
+“The officers have taken them. I fear they will be committed for trial.
+I scarce know the penalty--transportation, I should think. Perhaps a
+few may be released--a few of the younger men; but example will be made
+of some. It would scarce be right to wish it otherwise. That noble
+vessel! and all hands lost, and every soul on board save one! Ah me! ah
+me! And the men of St. Bride the culprits! I could sink to the ground
+for shame!”
+
+“Do you know who the survivor is?” asked Bride.
+
+“Nay; I did but hear he had been carried here--he and Tresithny, locked
+in one embrace, none knowing whether either were alive or dead. I came
+for news of them.”
+
+“They are both living--now,” answered Bride, with a strange light in
+her eyes, “though we must not build too much on that. The survivor from
+the wreck is our kinsman, Eustace Marchmont.”
+
+“God bless my soul! you don’t say so?” cried the clergyman, starting
+back in great astonishment.
+
+“Yes,” answered Bride; “we were expecting him shortly, and he spoke of
+coming by sea in one of the new steam-ships. That was the one which was
+wrecked last night. Eustace was there. He had on a great life-belt, and
+Saul was clinging round him when they were carried in. Saul had been
+left behind on the wreck whilst the other men took their first load of
+spoil to shore. What happened then nobody yet knows; but when my father
+and his men reached the wreck, they found those two in the water,
+floating near to it at the end of a rope--whether alive or dead, it was
+hours before anybody knew.”
+
+“You don’t say so? What an extraordinary thing! Do you think they were
+struggling together in the water? Could Saul have been striving to do
+some injury to Mr. Marchmont----?”
+
+“Oh no, no,” cried Bride quickly; “I am sure that was not so. What
+it all means I cannot tell yet; but I know that Saul loved Eustace. I
+think he was the only being in the world he has ever truly loved. I
+cannot help thinking he was trying to save him--trying to draw him out
+of the water. But we may never know the truth of it. Yet I shall never
+believe that Saul would lift up a hand against Eustace.”
+
+“I trust not--I trust not. Ah! poor fellow, it will be a mercy for him
+if he die a natural death from exposure. He has nothing to live for
+now, I fear, save transportation or the gallows.”
+
+Bride turned pale and took a backward step. That aspect of the case had
+not struck her before.
+
+“Ah!” she exclaimed, with a little gasp, and was silent, trying to take
+it all in. Oh, that blind, misguided nature, warped and deformed by
+unreasoning and unreasonable hatred! How had the springs of nobility
+lying latent there been poisoned at their very source! How had the
+man’s whole career been blasted and shattered through the entering in
+of that demon of jealousy and hatred, which had gradually struggled
+with and overpowered every other emotion, and become absolute master of
+the man! And there had been a time when Saul had been spoken of as a
+youth of such promise. Alas! how had that promise been fulfilled?
+
+Bride and the clergyman stood facing each other in silence, the morning
+sunshine lying in broad bands across the paved floor of the hall,
+and the sounds of life from without speaking cheerful things of the
+awakening day. The butler came forward and broke the spell of silent
+musing by informing his young mistress that breakfast had been carried
+in, but that His Grace was still resting after the fatigues of the
+night, and did not wish to be disturbed.
+
+“Then you will breakfast with me, Mr. Tremodart,” said Bride, “and then
+we will ask for fresh news of the patients.”
+
+The meal was a silent one, but both stood in need of refreshment and
+felt strengthened by it. At the conclusion Bride rose up, and looking
+at her companion said--
+
+“Will you come with me? I am going to ask news of him at his door.
+Perhaps, if he is conscious, he will like to see you. I fear his life
+will be in danger for some time. He may feel the need of your presence.”
+
+“I--I--hardly know whether I could help him if such were the case,”
+answered Mr. Tremodart, always rather nervous at the prospect of being
+called upon for spiritual ministrations, especially by those of the
+educated and superior classes. He was not a man of ready speech, and
+felt his deficiency greatly. “Perhaps Mr. St. Aubyn would come,” he
+suggested. “I think he knows Mr. Marchmont better than I.”
+
+“I think it is likely he will come when he hears,” answered Bride; “but
+we belong to you too, Mr. Tremodart, and at least you will come and
+hear the news from the sick-room?”
+
+He was very anxious to do so, and followed the girl up the staircase
+and along the corridors. Bride paused at length at a half-open door. It
+led into a pleasant room furnished as a study, and beyond it was the
+bedroom, from which proceeded a quiet murmur of voices.
+
+Bride held her breath to listen. Was it Eustace speaking? No, she
+thought it was the doctor; but was there not a still lower voice, a
+mere whisper? or was it only the beating of her heart?
+
+The door of communication opened suddenly, and the nurse came out. Her
+face lighted at the sight of Bride.
+
+“Oh, my lady, I think he is asking for you. We can’t quite make out his
+words. He has no voice, and scarce any breath; but I saw his lips move,
+and I’m almost sure he’s saying your name. We can’t tell whether he
+knows us yet--whether his mind is there. But I think if you would go in
+to him we might be able to tell.”
+
+Bride looked at her companion.
+
+“Let us go in together,” she said, feeling a strange desire for the
+support of another presence. She hardly knew what it was that she
+would be called upon to witness in that room; but at least Eustace was
+there--Eustace was still living; and if he wanted her, was not that
+enough?
+
+Her face was very pale, but her manner was quite composed as she walked
+forward, passed the screen, and stood beside the bed.
+
+Upon the bed, perfectly flat, with only one thin pillow beneath his
+head, lay Eustace, as motionless and almost as rigid as though life
+were extinct. His arms lay passively outside the bed-clothing just
+as they had been placed. The left arm was bound up in a splint, but
+the right lay almost as helpless and powerless beside him. There was
+a white bandage about his head, and his face was almost as white as
+the linen. The lips were ashen grey, and a shadow seemed to rest upon
+the face, robbing it of almost all semblance of life. Only the eyes
+retained any of their colour. They were sunken and dim, but there was
+life in their glance yet; and as Bride stood beside him, and softly
+spoke his name, a sudden gleam of joyous recognition flashed from them,
+and the white lips curved to the faint semblance of a smile.
+
+“Bride,” he said, in the lowest whisper.
+
+She took the powerless hand in his, and then bent down and kissed him.
+
+“I am here, Eustace, I am with you. You will live for my sake,” she
+said, in soft clear tones, which seemed to penetrate the mists of
+weakness closing him in. The dim eyes brightened more and more, and
+fixed themselves upon her fair, sweet face. She felt a very slight
+answering pressure of the fingers she held, and again she heard the
+whisper of her name.
+
+The doctor was standing a little distance off. He had known Bride from
+her infancy, and was watching the little scene with extreme interest,
+both professional and personal. Now he came forward and stood on the
+other side of the bed; his kind old face was beaming with satisfaction.
+
+“That is good, very good, Lady Bride,” he said; “I can see what is the
+medicine our patient wants. You have done more for him in a minute than
+I have been able to do all these hours. We want him to get a grip on
+life again--just to help him to hold on to it till Nature can make up
+for the terrible exhaustion of those hours in the water. Now look here,
+it’s most important he should take the hot soup and the cordial nurse
+has over there. We can’t get more than a few drops down at a time, but
+perhaps you will be more successful. We are keeping up the animal heat
+by outward applications, but we must keep the furnace inside going
+still. Try what you can do for him, my dear. I think you have made him
+understand as we have not succeeded in doing yet.”
+
+The nurse came to the bedside with cup and spoon, and Bride took them
+from her hand. With a gentle tenderness almost like that of a mother
+she bent over Eustace, raised his head as she had been wont to do for
+her mother in her long last illness, and gave him what the doctor bade
+her.
+
+He swallowed it without a murmur, perfectly understanding her voice
+and touch. Three or four spoonsful were taken in this way, the doctor
+looking on and slightly rubbing his hands.
+
+“If you can stay with him two hours, and feed him like that every ten
+minutes, Lady Bride,” he said, “I think we shall see a change for the
+better by that time. Everything depends on keeping up the vital power.
+It was down to the very lowest ebb when he was brought in. If he had
+not the most magnificent constitution, he could never have survived all
+that exposure. It will be everything if he can be kept up. Will you be
+his nurse for to-day, and keep guard over him? You can do more than all
+the rest of us put together. Are you willing?”
+
+Bride desired nothing better. She had hardly dared to let herself hope
+to see Eustace for many days, and here she was established beside him
+as head-nurse, and the person most needful to his recovery. Her heart
+bounded within her as the doctor and Mr. Tremodart stole away together
+to visit the other patient, and she found herself left in charge of her
+lover.
+
+Yes, she called him so now without hesitation or fear. She had long
+known that love was stealing more and more into her heart, and latterly
+she had not been afraid to face the thought and to follow it to its
+conclusion.
+
+She loved Eustace, and he loved her. She had heard that from his own
+lips before she had had any love to give to him. But since she had
+begun to pray for him, to intercede for him, to bring his name into the
+presence of God day by day and night by night, not in despondency, but
+in perfect faith, faith that her prayers for him would be heard and
+answered, and that the Father would turn his heart homewards, and go
+forth to meet him when once his steps were homeward set--since she had
+begun to think of him and pray for him thus, love had gradually stolen
+into her heart; whilst since the strange events of the past night, when
+their spirits had met in the darkness and the storm, and God had used
+her as an instrument for the saving of her lover’s life, she had not
+feared to recognise that love, and to call Eustace her own.
+
+His eyes were turned now upon her with a restful look of infinite
+content. He did not try to speak; he had not strength to return the
+soft pressure of her hand from time to time, but he lay and looked
+at her; and when she bent over him, and spoke his name in words that
+sounded like a caress, and touched his brow with her lips, or smoothed
+away the dank tumbled hair, he smiled a slight smile of restful peace,
+and he never resisted her pleading voice when she put food to his lips,
+and bade him make the effort to swallow it “for her sake.”
+
+Two hours had gone by thus, and Bride began to see a slight, indefinite
+change in her patient. The grey shadow was lighter than it had been.
+There was more brightness in the eyes; once or twice she had heard a
+whispered “thank you” spoken, and when the sound of the opening door
+fell upon their ears, he as well as she looked to see who was coming--a
+plain proof of a distinct advance in his condition.
+
+It was the Duke. He looked weary and worn and pale. He had not escaped
+without some exhaustion and suffering from the effects of the night’s
+adventure, and was feeling old and shaken, as indeed he looked. But
+sleep had restored him to some extent, and now his anxiety had brought
+him to Eustace’s side. His face lighted with pleasure as he saw the
+look of recognition on the white face, and noted that Bride had taken
+up her station beside the bed.
+
+He came forward and stood beside them, looking down at his young
+kinsman.
+
+“You are better, Eustace?” he said kindly; and to Bride’s surprise the
+answer came quite audibly, though only in a very faint whisper--
+
+“Bride is giving me new life.”
+
+“That is well, very well. Do not talk. Keep quiet, and Bride will take
+care of you;” and at that moment the doctor came back, and looked at
+his patient with an emphatic nod of approval.
+
+“Very good, very good, couldn’t be better. Lady Bride, if you will only
+go on as successfully as you have begun, we shall have him round the
+corner by the time the day is over. A magnificent constitution--truly
+a magnificent one! Could not have believed it! Gave very little signs
+of life four hours ago--just a flicker; but I was afraid to hope too
+much, and now--why, there’s quite a pulse, and no fever. Wonderful!
+wonderful!”
+
+Eustace was growing drowsy by this time--a very favourable symptom in
+the doctor’s sight. The murmur of voices about him induced a state of
+dreamy torpor. His eyes closed, and he dropped off into a light dose,
+as people do who are very weak, but have no fever or pain. Bride looked
+up with a smile at her father.
+
+“He will be better if he sleeps,” she said. “Will you not sit down,
+papa? you look so tired.”
+
+The doctor gave a shrewd glance at the Duke’s face, and seconded his
+daughter’s recommendation. They drew a little away from the bed, and
+Bride asked softly--
+
+“What about Saul?”
+
+The doctor shook his head.
+
+“He is in a raging fever. Whether it is an affection of the brain,
+or the effects of the exposure and wetting on a constitution already
+much enfeebled, I hardly know yet, but he is in raving delirium at
+present, and I doubt if we pull him through. Poor fellow! poor fellow!
+It is a fine character blasted and ruined, a fine career flung away
+for the gratification of senseless passion! Ah me!--we live in a world
+of perplexities. The history of that young man has been a source of
+wonderment and sorrow to the whole place. I fear it is drawing to its
+close now.”
+
+“Perhaps that is the happiest thing for him,” said Bride softly, “if
+only----”
+
+She did not finish her sentence--there was no need. All who knew the
+young man’s story could finish it themselves. As the girl sat beside
+Eustace whilst the hours sped by, each one renewing her hope and sense
+of thankful relief in seeing the flame of life within him burn more
+steadily and brightly, her thoughts were much with that other patient
+lying not so far away, wondering what was going on in his soul, and
+whether this chastening had indeed been for the salvation of his soul.
+Towards evening Eustace was so wonderfully recovered that he had
+spoken a few short sentences, and would have told her something of the
+wreck of the vessel, only that consecutive speech was forbidden him.
+The grey shadow had vanished, a faint colour had come into his lips.
+He was able to take such nourishment as his condition required, and to
+dispense with much of the outward application of heat. At last he fell
+into a sound, refreshing, and perfectly natural sleep, and Bride, at
+the suggestion of the nurse, stole away to get a mouthful of air on the
+terrace before dark, after which she went herself to that other part of
+the house where Saul lay, to try to get speech of Abner, who was with
+his grandson, as he had been ever since he was brought in the previous
+night.
+
+The old man came out to her, looking bent and aged, but with a light in
+his eyes which Bride saw at once.
+
+“Is he better?” she asked eagerly; and the answer was curious.
+
+“I trust and hope that he is, my lady. I think that he has prayed.”
+
+“Prayed?” repeated Bride, her eyes lighting in quick response. “Ah,
+Abner!--then he must indeed be better!”
+
+“I think he will die,” said Abner, with quiet calmness; “but what
+matters the death of the corruptible body, if the spark of immortal
+life and love be quickened in the soul? My lady, in his ravings of
+fever my boy has laid bare his soul to me--all the terrible darkness,
+all the wild hatred, all the fearful thoughts which went to prompt
+that last dread act of his life. But he has told other things as well.
+He has told how, whilst he sat alone upon the wreck, gloating over
+the crime he had committed, he saw an object in the water, and knew
+that one of his victims was near him. I cannot paint that scene as he
+has painted it in his ravings, but I think I see it all. He turned
+his light upon the victim, and he saw the face of Mr. Marchmont, his
+friend. Then I think he saw his handiwork as it appears in the sight
+of God. He saw himself the blackest of sinners, and with a prayer on
+his lips that he might be permitted to make this atonement, he sprang
+into the water to strive and save Mr. Marchmont, who else must surely
+have been sucked back into the cruel quicksands lying so close at hand.”
+
+“Ah!” cried Bride softly, “I said so--I thought so!”
+
+“So he tied himself to the vessel--ah! he has been acting it all so
+fearfully, that I can see it as though I had been there!--he flung
+himself into the sea and grappled with the floating figure, trying
+to pull it to the wreck and place it in safety. Ah! how he must have
+struggled with the wind and tide that were fighting against him! but
+in his mortal agony he turned in prayer to the God he had despised and
+defied, and prayed to Him that this life--this one life--might be given
+to him. Ah! how many times has that prayer passed his lips to-day--‘God
+help me! God give me strength! God be merciful to me, a sinner!’ He
+knows not what he says now, but he knew it when he lifted his heart
+in prayer in the hour of his extremest need. It was not for his own
+life he prayed, but for the life of the one he sought to save. I truly
+believe that in those terrible moments he lived through a lifetime
+of agony and repentance. God does not measure time as we do. I think
+He will accept those moments of agonised penitence as He accepted
+the repentance of the thief upon the cross. I think he looked to his
+Saviour in that hour of mortal weakness and despair, when life and all
+seemed slipping away. Last night was the witness of the crowning sin of
+his reckless life, yet I believe, by the grace of God, it was witness,
+too, of a penitent malefactor turning towards Him at the last. This
+gives me more hope and joy than I have ever known before for him.”
+
+Bride went away with a great awe upon her--a deep respect and sympathy
+for the faith of this patient man, and a sense of the intense reality
+of the power of prayer such as she had scarcely experienced in her
+life before. She knew that Abner had been praying for the conversion
+of Saul, even as she had been praying that Eustace might turn in faith
+towards the God of Salvation. Once it had seemed as though nothing
+could conquer the invincible wildness of the one or the intellectual
+scepticism of the other. But God had put forth His hand in power, and
+had caused that even the powers of evil should aid in bringing about
+the answer. She wanted to think it out. She wanted to be alone in her
+awe and her thankfulness. She went swiftly up to her own room, and sank
+upon her knees, burying her face in her hands.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+_SAUL TRESITHNY_
+
+
+His eyes opened slowly upon the unfamiliar room. The shaft of sunlight
+slanting in from the west shone upon a comfortable apartment, far
+larger and loftier than anything to which he had been accustomed. The
+window was larger, the fireplace was wider, and there was a clear
+fire of coal burning in the grate, very different from the peat and
+driftwood fires to which he had been long accustomed. The only familiar
+object in the room was the figure of his grandfather, bending over
+the big Bible on the table, as he had been so used to see it from
+childhood, when he awakened from sleep in the early hours of the night,
+and looked about him to know where he was.
+
+For a moment a dreamy wonderment came over him. He asked himself
+whether he had not been dreaming a long, long troubled dream of manhood
+and strife, and whether, after all, he were not a little child again,
+living in his grandfather’s cottage, happy in his games upon the shore,
+and looking eagerly forward to the time when he should be a man and
+could follow the fortunes of fishermen and smugglers, or have a big
+garden to care for like Abner.
+
+But this dreamy condition did not last long. There was a bowed look
+about Abner, and his hair was altogether too white for him to be
+identified with the Abner of twenty years back. Saul raised his own
+hand and looked at it curiously. It was shrunken to skin and bone, but
+a great hand still, with indications of vanished power and strength.
+The dark sombre eyes roved round and round the room. Memory was
+awakening, the mists of fever and delirium were passing away. Suddenly
+Saul seemed to see as in a panorama the whole map of his past life
+rolled out before him. It was written in characters of fire upon the
+bare walls of the room. Everywhere he looked he saw his wild and evil
+deeds depicted. Why was it that they looked black and hideous to him
+now, when hitherto he had gloried in them--gloated over them? He saw,
+last of all, the doomed vessel bearing straight down upon the cruel
+rocks. And now he seemed to see a face on board that vessel--the face
+of one he loved--the face of the man who had held out his hand in
+friendship, when (as he believed) all the world beside had turned its
+back upon him. He saw the face of this friend looking at him with a
+deep reproach in the eyes, and a sudden groan of anguish broke from
+Saul’s lips as he stretched out his hands to stay the course of the
+doomed vessel.
+
+At the sound of that groan Abner rose quickly and came forward to the
+bedside. The ray of dying daylight was fading already, and the shadow
+of the winter’s evening closing in; and yet in the dimness about the
+bed, Abner thought he saw something new in Saul’s face.
+
+“Saul, my lad,” he said gently, “do you know me?”
+
+“Tu be sure I du,” answered Saul, and wondered why his voice sounded so
+distant and hollow. “What’s the matter, grandfather?”
+
+“You have been in a fever for many days, my lad, and didn’t know
+anybody about yu. What is it, boy? Don’t excite yourself. Yu must be
+kept quite quiet.”
+
+Saul’s face was changing every moment, turning from red to pale
+and pale to red. He was struggling with emotion and a rush of
+recollection. For a moment Abner’s voice and presence had arrested the
+course of his memories; but now they came surging back.
+
+“Grandfather, tell me,” he cried, struggling to sit up and then sinking
+back in his weakness, “what happened?--how did I get out of the water?
+Where is Mr. Marchmont?”
+
+“Here in the castle. You were brought in together. They could not loose
+your clasp upon him for a long time.”
+
+“And where is he? Is he alive?”
+
+“Yes--alive, and like to live.”
+
+Saul suddenly pressed his hands together and broke into wild weeping.
+
+“Thank God! thank God!” he cried, his whole frame shaken with sobs.
+“Grandfather, pray for me--you know I never learned to pray for
+myself--at least I have well-nigh forgotten now. But down on your
+knees and thank God for that for me! May be He will hear yu. It must
+have been He that saved him; for the devil was at my ear all the while
+prompting me to let him die.”
+
+Abner was already on his knees, with a thanksgiving of his own to
+offer. He had prayed too much and too earnestly, both in secret and
+before his fellow-men, to lack words now in this hour of intense
+gratitude and thanksgiving. In rugged yet not ill-chosen words
+he lifted up his voice and gave thanks to God for His great and
+unspeakable mercies in giving back this one life from the destruction
+that had come upon all besides; and in permitting the very man whose
+sin had brought about this fearful thing to be His instrument for the
+salvation of the life of his friend. He pleaded for mercy for the
+sinner with an impassioned eloquence which bespoke a spirit deeply
+moved. He brought before the Lord the sins and shortcomings of this
+erring man, now stretched on a bed of sickness, and besought that the
+cleansing blood of Christ might wash them all away. He pleaded for
+Saul as he never could have pleaded for himself. He brought together
+all those eternal promises of mercy which are to the sinner as the
+anchor and stay of the soul in the deep and bitter waters of remorse.
+He pleaded with his Redeemer for the soul of his grandson with a
+fervour only inspired by a love and a faith too deep to be daunted by
+any considerations as to the weight of iniquity to be pardoned, or the
+lack of faith in the one thus prayed for. And Saul, lying helpless
+and tempest-tossed, listened to this pleading, and found his tears
+bursting forth again. He had seen before all the black and crushing
+iniquity of his own past record, but now was brought before his eyes
+a picture of the infinite and ineffable love of a dying Saviour--the
+Lord of Glory crucified for _him_--bearing _his_ sins upon the Cross
+of shame--stretching out His wounded hands and bidding _him_ come to
+that Cross and lay down his burden there. It was too much for Saul,
+softened as he was by the sense that God had already answered his
+prayer even in the midst of his sin and wickedness, and had given him
+the one petition, the only one he ever remembered to have offered. The
+whole conception of such divine mercy was too much--it broke down all
+his pride and reserve and sullen defiance--it broke his heart and made
+it as the heart of a little child. His tears gushed forth. He clasped
+his hands, and lifted them in supplication to his Saviour. He could not
+have found words for his own guilt, but he could follow the earnest
+words of the grandfather, whose simple piety he had hitherto held in
+a species of lofty contempt. And in that still evening hour, with the
+dying day about them, and the shadow of death hovering as it were in
+the very air above them (for Saul was dying, although he knew it not
+yet; and Abner knew that his hours were numbered, though he might
+linger for a day or two yet), the erring soul turned in penitence and
+love to the Saviour in Whose death lay the only hope of pardon, and in
+Whose resurrection-life the only hope of that life immortal beyond the
+grave, beyond the power of the second death, and found at last peace
+and rest, in spite of all the blackness of past sin.
+
+For when the Saviour’s Blood has washed away the sin, the blackness
+can no longer remain. Humble penitence and contrite love remain, but
+the misery and despair are taken away. He bears the grief and carries
+the sorrow; He takes the shame, the curse, the wrath of a holy and a
+just God. It was a thought almost too overwhelming for Saul to bear.
+It broke his heart and humbled him to the very dust. But he no longer
+fought against the infinite love--no longer hardened his heart against
+the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of comfort and sanctification. He had felt
+the blessedness of the pardoning love, and he yearned for the guiding
+light that should show him how he might direct his steps for the time
+that remained to him.
+
+Of that time he had not yet thought. Those hours had been too crowded
+with extreme emotion. He had passed through a crisis of spiritual
+existence which made all earthly things dwarf into insignificance. It
+was only when the hour of midnight tolled forth, and he recollected
+that a new day had begun for him, that he first folded his hands in
+prayer, lifting up his heart to God in thanksgiving for the light which
+was now in his soul, and then turning his gaze upon Abner, who had
+never moved from his side all this while, asked softly--
+
+“What day is it?”
+
+“Sunday, my lad. A new day and a new week. I little thought upon the
+last Sunday what the Lord had in store for me for this. The Lord’s Day,
+my lad--the Lord’s Day. That’s what I love to call it. May we have
+grace to keep it to His glory. Saul, my lad, you have no fears now?”
+
+“Fears of what, grandfather?”
+
+“Fears about the Lord’s love--about the forgiveness He has granted yu?”
+
+A singular radiance came over Saul’s face.
+
+“No--I can’t doubt it. It’s too wonderful to be understood. But I can
+feel it right through me. I’ve no fear.”
+
+“And would you fear, my boy, if you had to see Him face to face--if you
+should be called upon to meet Him--if He should come this very night to
+gather to Himself those that wait for His coming?”
+
+Saul looked earnestly into the old man’s face. He knew something of
+Abner’s belief and hope, though it was now several years since he had
+spoken of it in his hearing. As a youth his grandfather, who was slowly
+gathering up fragments from the prophetic Scriptures, and, in common
+with many others who met for prayer and meditation, beginning to awaken
+to a belief in the sudden and instantaneous appearing of the Lord on
+earth, had striven to convince the boy of the truth of this belief,
+and awaken within his soul that burning love and longing after the
+coming and kingdom of the Lord which was stealing upon his own. Saul,
+however, had not been responsive. To him it was all old wives’ fables,
+and he had sometimes mocked and sometimes sneered, so that Abner
+had soon ceased to urge him, trusting that faith would come at last
+through the mercy of God, though not by the will of man. Nevertheless
+the foundations had been laid, inasmuch as Saul now understood what
+his grandfather meant, and could even recall the words of Scriptural
+promise in which Christ had spoken of His return, and the Apostles had
+exhorted the early churches to remain steadfast in the hope of it. And
+as these memories crowded in upon his mind and brain now--now that
+the love of the Lord had awakened within him, and he was only longing
+for some means of showing that love and abasing himself at His feet
+in penitence and adoration--the memory of these words and promises
+came back to him charged with a wonderful beauty and significance, and
+clasping his hands together he replied in a choked voice--
+
+“It is too wonderful and beautiful to be believed, but He has said it.
+If He were to come to-night, grandfather, I dare scarcely to hope that
+such an one as I should be counted worthy to be caught away to meet Him
+in the air; but if I might but look upon His glorified face it would be
+enough. He would know how much I love Him, and how I hate myself and
+my vile life. I should see Him--I should be able to look up to Him and
+say--‘My Lord and my God!’ I do not even ask more!”
+
+Abner was silent for a moment, and then said in a voice that quivered
+with the intensity of his emotion--
+
+“And, my lad, if the Lord delays His own coming, but calls to you to
+meet Him in another way, would you be afraid?”
+
+Saul looked at him quickly, and read in a moment all that was in
+Abner’s soul.
+
+“Do you mean that I shall die?” he asked.
+
+There was silence for a moment, and then Abner spoke--
+
+“It may not be to-night, but it must be soon. The doctor says you
+strained your heart so terrible hard that night, and there was
+something amiss with you before. I don’t rightly understand his
+words, but you’ve never been the same since that fever, and when you
+were knocked down by the horses they did you a mischief you’ve never
+got over. That night on the wreck was the last straw, as folks say.
+There’s something broke and hurt past mending. You won’t have no pain,
+but things can’t go on long. You’ll not be long before you see your
+Saviour, my lad; for I’m very sure we go to be with Him, even though we
+may not share His glory till the blessed day of the Resurrection.”
+
+A strange awe fell upon Saul. His eyes looked straight at Abner with an
+expression the latter could hardly fathom. Was it fear? Was it joy? Was
+it triumph? He did not know, but Saul’s next words gave him the clue.
+
+“It is goodness past belief--I can’t understand it!”
+
+“What, my boy?”
+
+“Why, that the Lord should take me to Himself, when He might have left
+me to a life of misery and degradation in a far-off land with criminals
+and evil-doers, or sent me to the scaffold, as I was nearly sent
+before. After such a life as I’ve led, to take me away to His beautiful
+land of rest. It’s too much--it’s too much! I don’t know how to thank
+Him aright. Grandfather, get down upon your knees again and tell
+Him--though He knows it, to be sure--that for love of Him I’m willing
+to live that life of misery, or die the shameful death I’ve deserved,
+and led others to, I fear. Let it be only as He wills, but to be taken
+away from it all to be with Him seems more blessedness and goodness
+than I can rightly understand.”
+
+Tears were running down Abner’s face. His voice was broken by sobs.
+
+“Oh, my boy! my boy! if that’s how you feel, I’ve no fears for you.
+That’s the feeling we should all strive after. Whether we live, we
+live unto the Lord; and whether we die, we die unto the Lord: so
+that, living or dying, we are the Lord’s. If it’s so with thee, my
+boy, there’s nought else to wish for thee. The peace that passes all
+understanding will be with thee to the end. Oh, bless the Lord! thank
+the Lord! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”
+
+For many minutes there was in that chamber of death such a sense of joy
+and peace as was indeed a foretaste of the everlasting peace of God.
+Saul lay and looked out before him through the casement, through which
+a very young moon was just glinting. It was a strange thought that
+before that moon waned his body would be lying stiff and cold beneath
+the churchyard sod. But there was no fear in Saul’s mind. Fear had
+never been a friend to him, and now the perfect love of his crucified
+and ascended Lord had driven out all fear. Yet even with the prospect
+of that wondrous change to pass upon him, Saul’s thoughts were not all
+of himself. He listened to all there was to know of the men he had
+lured and tempted to this great crime, and heaved a sigh of relief to
+hear that the magistrates had themselves dealt with the cases of the
+younger men--men some of them little more than lads, who had plainly
+been led away by their associates, and had had a lesson they would not
+be likely to forget. Only six had been committed for trial, and these
+were all men of bad character and reckless lives. Their fate might
+likely be a hard one, but they were to have counsel to defend them,
+and stress was to be laid upon the action of Saul in the matter, and
+the part he had taken in urging the crime upon them. Saul made a full
+confession of all his share to Abner that night, and made him promise
+to attend the trial and repeat this before the judges if possible. It
+might militate in their favour perhaps, and Saul directed that his boat
+and all that he had should be sold and given to the wives of the two
+men out of the six who were married; and having settled all this with
+his grandfather, he felt his mind relieved of a part of its burden, and
+lay quiet and exhausted for some time.
+
+He had fallen into a doze when Abner aroused him to take food, and
+looking up quickly he asked--
+
+“Where are we now? I don’t know this place.”
+
+“It’s a room in the castle--in the servants’ block,” answered Abner.
+“I told yu they could not get your clasp loosened from Mr. Marchmont’s
+neck. They had tu bring yu both here, and then the doctor would not let
+yu be taken away--not even so far as my cottage. Yu were brought here,
+and yu’ve had the same care and attention as Mr. Marchmont himself. The
+doctor went to and fro betwixt yu all that night, and has been three
+and four times a day tu see yu ever since.”
+
+A little flicker passed over Saul’s face. He remembered, as a thing
+long since past, his old hatred of the class above him. Now he could
+only feel love for all men--a natural outcome of the intense and
+burning love for his Lord which was filling all his heart.
+
+“If I could only see him once more!” he said softly.
+
+“See what?”
+
+“Mr. Marchmont.”
+
+But Abner shook his head, and such an expression of gravity came over
+his face that Saul cried out quickly--
+
+“What is it? Yu said he was doin’ well!”
+
+“Yes--that is what we heard at first. It is true tu--so far as it goes.
+When we feared he would die, it seemed everything to know that his
+life was spared; but after that came terrible bad news tu. His life is
+safe--the doctor says he will live years and years--to be an old man
+like enough; but it’s doubtful whether he will ever walk again. He’s
+been hurt in the back, and is what folks call half paralysed. He’s got
+the feelin’s in his limbs, but no power. He lies on his back, and there
+he’ll lie for years. He may get better very slowly, they say. A great
+doctor from London has been down, and says with his strength and youth
+he may bit by bit get back his strength and power; but anyhow it’ll be
+a question of years; and meantime there he’ll lie like a log, and have
+to be tended and cared for like a baby.”
+
+Saul put his hand before his eyes and Abner stopped short, realising
+that perhaps he had said too much, and that what had grown familiar to
+him during these past days had come on Saul as a shock.
+
+And indeed it might well do so; for if any one in so different a
+position in life could estimate the terrible death-in-life of such a
+fate for one with all Eustace’s enthusiasm and ardent thirst for active
+work, Saul Tresithny could; for Eustace had talked with him as man to
+man, and had told him of his personal aims and ambitions and purposes
+as a man of his class seldom does to one in a sphere so entirely
+different.
+
+“Crippled for life--perhaps! Crippled through my crime! O my God, can
+there be forgiveness for this? Ah! yes--His Blood washes away _all_
+sin. But my punishment seems greater than I can bear!”
+
+He lay still for a few moments and then half rose up in bed.
+
+“I must see him--I must! I must ask his pardon on my knees. If my
+Saviour has pardoned my guilt, I must yet ask pardon of him whom I
+have so grievously wronged. Grandfather, help me!--I must go to him. I
+cannot die till I have seen him once again!”
+
+In great perplexity and distress, Abner strove to reason with the
+excited patient, and great was his relief when the doctor appeared
+suddenly upon the scene.
+
+Inquiring what all the commotion was about, and learning that Saul had
+recovered his senses, but had grown excited in his desire to see Mr.
+Marchmont once more, he thrust out his under lip and regarded the young
+man intently, his finger upon his patient’s wrist all the while. Then
+he spoke to him quietly and soothingly.
+
+“I will let you see him to-morrow, if possible,” he said kindly. “I
+understand your feeling; but to-night you must be content to wait and
+gather a little strength. Mr. Marchmont is sleeping, and had better
+not be disturbed; but if you sleep too, the hours will soon pass.
+To-morrow I will do what I can to gratify you,” and having quieted Saul
+and administered a soothing draught, he drew Abner with him outside the
+door.
+
+“Can he really do it?” asked the old man wonderingly. “I thought he was
+like to die at any sudden movement or exertion.”
+
+“Yes, that is true; but there are cases where repose of mind does
+more than rest of body. Saul is so near to the gates of death that it
+matters little what he does or does not do. How the heart’s action
+keeps up at all in the present condition of the organ I do not know;
+but the end cannot be far off. If he is bent on this I shall not thwart
+him beyond a certain point. He may have forgotten by the morning; but
+if not, we must see what we can do to get him there. The distance is
+very short--only a few steps along this corridor, and through the swing
+door, and you are close to Mr. Marchmont’s room. I think the exertion
+of movement will try him less than the tossing and restlessness of
+unfulfilled expectation and desire. Let him have his night in peace,
+if possible. But if the desire should grow too strong upon him, let
+him have his way. It cannot do more than hasten the inevitable end by
+a brief span. I am not sure whether his strength will not desert him
+at the first attempt to move, and he may give it up of his own free
+will; but do not thwart him beyond a certain point. We doctors always
+try to give dying men their way. It is cruelty to thwart them save to
+gain some real advantage. In your grandson’s case there is nothing to
+be gained. He is past human skill; but if we can ease his passage by
+relieving his mind of any part of its burden, I should not stand in the
+way because it might hasten the end by a brief hour or more.”
+
+Saul, lying with closed eyes, his senses preternaturally acute and
+sharpened by illness, heard every word the doctor spoke, and a quick
+thrill of gratitude and thankfulness ran through him. He lay quite
+still when his grandfather returned. He gave no sign of having heard.
+He was exhausted to an extent which made any sort of speech or movement
+impossible at the moment, and told him even more clearly than the
+doctor’s words had done of his close approach to the dark valley. But
+his mind was at rest, concentrated upon the one purpose of making his
+peace with man, as he had already made it with God. He felt a perfect
+confidence that this thing also would be permitted him, and he lay calm
+and tranquil, resting and thinking.
+
+He saw his grandfather moving softly about the room, saw him put out
+beside the fire a suit of his own (Saul’s) clothes, evidently ready
+against a possible emergency. He saw a servant come in with food for
+them both, and watched through half-closed eyes while Abner ate his
+supper. Then he felt himself made comfortable in bed and fed with
+something strong and warm, which gave him an access of strength. He
+fell into a light sleep after that, and when he opened his eyes again,
+Abner was sleeping soundly in his chair--sleeping that deep sleep of
+utter exhaustion which always follows at last on a prolonged vigil.
+
+Saul lay still and watched him, and then a sudden and intense desire
+took possession of him. He sat up in bed, and found himself strong
+beyond all expectation. A glass of some cordial was standing at the
+bedside. He took it and swallowed the potion, and rose to his feet. He
+crossed the room softly, still marvelling at the power which had come
+to him, and clad himself in the warm garments put out in readiness.
+Abner meantime slept on, utterly unconscious of what was passing. To
+Saul it all seemed like part of the same wonderful miracle which had
+been wrought upon his spirit by the power of the Eternal Spirit of
+God. His eyes had been opened at the eleventh hour to see the light;
+and now the goodness of God was giving to him just that measure of
+physical strength which was needed to accomplish the last desire of his
+heart before he should be called away from this earth.
+
+Once dressed, there was no difficulty in finding his way to the room
+where Eustace lay. Saul knew something of the castle, and had once
+been taken by Eustace himself up the staircase in the servants’ wing,
+past the door of this very room, and into the rooms he occupied to
+look at some plant under the microscope. He opened the door softly,
+and found that the passage was lighted by a lamp. He was able to walk
+by supporting one shoulder against the wall and crawling slowly along.
+His breath was very short; every few steps he had to pause to pant, and
+there were strange sensations as of pressure upon his windpipe; but he
+felt that he had strength for what he purposed, and he persevered.
+
+Through the swing door he passed, and into the carpeted corridor of the
+main block of building, and here a light was also burning, whilst the
+door he remembered to have opened before stood ajar. He paused there a
+moment and looked in. The room was empty, and beyond lay the sleeping
+chamber, its door half-open also. Pausing again to gather breath, Saul
+passed slowly through that door, and found himself in a dim and quiet
+chamber, where a man-servant kept a quiet watch in a chair beside the
+fire; and upon the bed, his eyes closed and his face quite peaceful,
+lay Eustace Marchmont.
+
+But the entrance of this tall, gaunt, spectre-like figure produced an
+effect Saul had not calculated upon. The man-servant well knew Saul
+Tresithny by sight, and knew that he lay at the point of death in an
+adjoining chamber of the castle. Seeing this figure glide noiselessly
+through the door and up to the bed, he fully believed he saw the young
+fisherman’s ghost, and springing to his feet with a cry of terror, he
+fled precipitately from the room, overcome by invincible fear. The cry
+awoke Eustace, and the next moment he and Saul Tresithny were looking
+into each other’s eyes--almost as men might look who had passed beyond
+the realms of this world and had met in the land of spirits.
+
+“Is that you, Saul--in the flesh?” asked Eustace faintly. “I have asked
+for you, but never thought to see you again.”
+
+“I have come to ask forgiveness of you,” cried Saul in a choked voice,
+sinking to his knees beside the bed, partly through physical weakness,
+partly through the abasement of his self-humiliation. “I am dying,
+sir; I am glad to die, for I know my sins are forgiven by a merciful
+Saviour. But oh! I feel I cannot go without your forgiveness too! I
+have done you so terrible an injury. Ah! let me hear you say you can
+forgive me even that before I go!”
+
+The voice was choked and strained. Saul’s head sank heavily upon the
+bed. Eustace heard the gasping breath, and a hoarse rattle in the
+throat, which told its own tale. With a great effort he just lifted his
+hand and laid it on the bowed head.
+
+“My poor fellow,” he said, “you have as much to forgive as I. May God
+forgive you all your sins, as I forgive all you have done amiss towards
+me, and as I pray I may be myself forgiven for such part and lot as I
+have had in much of sin that has stained your past life.”
+
+With one last effort Saul raised his head, and saw standing beside him
+a shining figure which he took to be one of the angels from heaven.
+A wonderful, radiant smile lit up his haggard face, his eyes seemed
+to look through and beyond those about him, and with the faint but
+rapturous cry--
+
+“My Lord and my God!” he fell prone upon the bed.
+
+Bride, aroused by the cry of the servant, had come in hastily, clad in
+her white flowing wrapper, with her hair about her shoulders, and laid
+a soft hand upon his head as she said in a very low voice--
+
+“Lord, into Thine Almighty Hands we commend the spirit of this our
+brother!” and even as she spoke the words, both she and Eustace knew
+that the soul of Saul Tresithny had returned to the God who gave it.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+_BRIDE’S PROPOSAL_
+
+
+“Papa,” said Bride softly, coming into the Duke’s study and standing
+behind his chair with her arms loosely clasped about his neck, “will
+you let me marry Eustace now?”
+
+The Duke gave a very slight start, and then sat perfectly still. He
+could not see Bride’s face, and he was glad for a moment that his own
+could not be seen.
+
+“My dear child,” he said, after an appreciable pause, “do you mean that
+you do not know?”
+
+“I think I know everything,” answered Bride softly. “I know that
+Eustace will be as he is now for two or three years--perhaps all his
+life; but I do not think it will be that--I mean not all his life. I
+had a long talk before he went with the doctor from London, and he said
+he was almost confident that power would return, only the patient must
+have good nursing, care, and freedom from worry of mind, or anxious
+fears for himself, which might react unfavourably upon him. It is only
+for a few years he will be helpless; and I want to be his wife during
+those years, to help him through with them, to keep him from the worry
+and the care which I believe he will feel if he thinks he may perhaps
+never be a strong man again, never be able to ask me to marry him.
+I know that he loves me, papa, and that I can do more for him than
+anybody else. I know that even now he is beginning to lose heart,
+not because his work is stopped--he is most wonderfully brave over
+that--but because he thinks he may lose me. Does it sound vain to say
+that? But indeed it is true. I can read Eustace through and through,
+because I love him so. Why should I not be his wife? Then I could nurse
+him back to health and strength, and he could stay here with us all the
+time, and we should be so happy together!”
+
+The Duke had been silent at first from sheer amaze. He had never
+yet entered into all the still depths of Bride’s nature; and though
+personally conscious of his disappointment that his daughter and heir
+could not now think of marriage till the health of the latter was
+reestablished, he had never thought of a different solution of the
+difficulty with regard to Eustace in his helpless and lonely condition.
+He had been grieving over the situation in silence many long days, but
+the thing that Bride suggested so quietly and persuasively had never
+entered his head.
+
+Yet even as she spoke there came upon him a conviction of the truth
+of her words. None knew better than he the comfort and support that
+a man can receive from a loving and tender wife. He was beginning to
+recognise in his daughter those very traits of character which had been
+so strongly developed in her mother. Well could he understand what it
+would be to Eustace to be nursed and tended, consoled and strengthened,
+by such a wife. Doubtless it would be an enormously powerful factor in
+his recovery, and the father had long wished with a great desire to see
+the future of his child settled before many more months should pass. It
+had been a sad blow to him to hear that Eustace’s recovery must be so
+slow, for he felt very sure he should not live to see him on his feet
+again; and what would become of Bride, left so utterly alone in the
+world?
+
+Now he drew her gently towards him, and she knelt beside him at his
+feet, looking up into his face with a soft and lovely colour in her
+cheeks.
+
+“Has Eustace spoken of this to you, my dear?” he said.
+
+“Ah no!” she answered quickly. “Is it likely he would? He calls himself
+a helpless log; and I know that the worst trouble of all is, that he
+thinks his helplessness divides him from me. Papa, I want you to go to
+him. I want you to tell him that we will be married very soon--as soon
+as it can be arranged--and that I will nurse him back to health. Tell
+him that we will stay happily together here, and have only one home,
+here at Penarvon. I know you do not want to lose me, yet I know (for
+you have told me) that you would like to see me Eustace’s wife. Well,
+it is all so easy. Do you not see it so yourself? Dearest father, I
+love him, and he loves me. What can anything else matter? Does not his
+weakness and his helplessness make me love him all the more? I want to
+have the right to be with him always, to lighten the load which will
+weigh on him, however brave and patient he is, heavily sometimes. I
+shall never love anybody else; and I think he will not either. Why
+should we wait? Why should we not have the happiness of belonging to
+one another before he is strong again as well as after? Why should
+those years be wasted for us both?”
+
+The Duke looked into her soft, unfathomable eyes, and he ceased to
+oppose her.
+
+“It shall be as you wish, my dear,” he said. “I believe had it been
+with me as it is with Eustace, your mother would have done just what
+you propose to do. God has His angels here below amongst us still. I
+will go and speak of this to Eustace, if you wish it. You are right, my
+child, in saying that I would fain see you married to Eustace, since
+you love each other. I had not thought of this way, but perhaps it is
+the best.”
+
+“You will come and tell me what he says,” answered Bride, with a lovely
+blush upon her face; and the Duke went slowly upstairs to the sick-room.
+
+Eustace was gaining vital power rapidly and most satisfactorily, and
+was not paralysed in the ordinary acceptation of the term; but he had
+received such violent blows in the spine, either from the force of
+the waves whilst he was tossed to and fro at their mercy, or by being
+dashed upon rocks--though there were few outward bruises or cuts--that
+the whole nervous power had been most seriously impaired, and he could
+neither raise himself in bed nor move any of his limbs, although
+sensation was not materially affected. It was a case likely to be
+tedious and trying rather than dangerous or hopeless. There was every
+prospect of an ultimate recovery; but great patience would be needed,
+and any premature attempts at exertion might lead to bad results.
+Eustace had heard his fate with resolute courage, and had breathed no
+word of repining since; but a gravity had settled down upon him which
+deepened rather than lessened day by day; and Bride had been quick to
+note this, and trace it to its source.
+
+With the Duke, the relations of the young man were now of a most
+cordial character. His kinsman had played a father’s part to him during
+these past days, and his visits were always welcome in the monotony of
+sick-room life.
+
+“I have been talking to Bride,” said the elder man, as he took his
+accustomed seat; “we have been talking about your marriage, Eustace,
+and neither she nor I see why it should be indefinitely postponed.
+Indeed, there seems good reason for hastening it on, since she can then
+be your companion and nurse, as is not possible now, greatly as she
+wishes it. We cannot think of parting with you till you are well and
+strong once more, and that will not be for some time even at best. Have
+I your authority to arrange with Mr. St. Aubyn for a marriage here
+as quickly as it can be arranged? Since your minds are both made up,
+there appears no reason why Bride should not have the comfort of caring
+for you and making you her charge. Perhaps you hardly estimate the joy
+which such a charge is to a woman of her loving nature. But you know
+her well enough to believe that she never speaks a word that is not
+literal truth; and as she wishes to have that privilege, I confess I
+see no legitimate objection.”
+
+Eustace had been silent, much as the Duke had been silent when the
+girl laid her proposal before him. Sheer astonishment and an unbounded
+sense of his own unworthiness and her almost divine devotion and
+love held him spellbound for a moment; and when his words came they
+were tempestuous and contradictory, declaring one moment the thing
+impossible--Bride’s youth must not be so sacrificed--the next declaring
+that it was too much happiness, that he dared not accept it, because it
+was altogether too much joy to contemplate. The Duke let him have his
+fling, and then took up his word again, imposing silence by a gentle
+motion of the hand.
+
+“I respect your doubts and your scruples, Eustace; but I think you
+need not let them weigh too heavily in the balance against your own
+wishes and ours. I will take you into my confidence, and I think you
+will then see that even for Bride’s sake this thing is a good one. She
+does not know it, but I have a mortal illness upon me, which may carry
+me off at any moment, though I may perhaps be spared some few years
+longer. I myself consulted the physician whom we summoned for you, and
+he admitted that my life was a bad one, and that with my family history
+I must not look to be spared much longer. You know how lonely Bride
+would be were I taken from her. You can imagine how greatly I desire
+to see her settled in life with a husband to love and cherish her.
+Were I to die whilst you were thus laid aside, you must of necessity
+be separated, and where would Bride go? What would she do? Money is
+not everything. A home--a husband’s care--that is what a woman wants.
+Eustace, if you are made man and wife now, all this anxiety will be
+done away, and the happiness of all will be secured. Will you not
+consent? It all rests with you, for I desire it, and Bride desires
+it--I think you desire it----”
+
+“Only too much!” cried Eustace, with such a light in his eyes as had
+not been seen there for weeks, “only too much. I am afraid of my own
+intensity of desire.”
+
+“If that is all, we may dismiss the objection as frivolous,” said
+the Duke with a slight smile. “Then I have your consent to make the
+arrangements? I will go and tell Bride, and send her to you.”
+
+She came within half-an-hour, calm, tranquil, serene as ever, a
+lovely colour in her face, but no other outward sign of excitement or
+confusion. Her eyes sought his with one of those glances he had learned
+to look for and treasure; and when she came to his side she bent and
+kissed him, which hitherto she had not made a habit of doing.
+
+“Bride,” he said softly, getting possession of her hand, “is this true?”
+
+“Yes, Eustace,” she answered softly; “I do not think we can love each
+other more than we do; but we can belong to each other more when we
+have been joined together by God. That is what I want, to be one with
+you in His sight, so that nothing can part us more.”
+
+He looked earnestly at her, the love in his eyes as eloquent as it was
+in hers, and scarcely as much under control.
+
+“You are not afraid, my darling? You were afraid of trusting yourself
+to me once?”
+
+“Yes,” she answered gently; “I had not learned to love you then, and
+you had not learned love either. You have only learned that slowly, as
+I have learned it slowly myself.”
+
+“How do you know I have learned it--the love which you mean?”
+
+She looked at him with a smile that brought an answering smile to his
+face.
+
+“Do you think I have been with you all these weeks, in and out, by day
+and night, and have not known that? Do you forget how you showed it in
+those days when you seemed to be slipping away from life, and only the
+eternal promises of everlasting love and help could reach you to help
+and strengthen you? You did not talk, but you made us talk to you, and
+your eyes gave their answer. You found then that it was not a beautiful
+philosophy, but a living Saviour you wanted; not an abstraction
+representing an ideal purity, but a Man, the one Incarnate Son of God,
+to whom you must cling in the darkness of the night. Ah! Eustace, it
+was then that you truly turned back to the Father’s house; and I know
+that the Father came out to meet you, and to bring you into His safe
+shelter. I knew He would--oh! I think I have known that for a long time
+now; but the joy of the certainty is so wonderful and beautiful----”
+
+Her voice broke, and she turned her head away for a moment, but he said
+softly--
+
+“The angels of God rejoicing over one sinner that repenteth? Is that
+it, Bride? For you are a veritable angel upon earth!”
+
+“Ah no!” she answered quickly, “do not say that--do not think it. Holy
+and blessed as the angels of God are, we have yet a higher vocation--a
+higher calling to live up to. It is a human body, not an angelic body,
+that our Lord took and sanctified to all eternity. It is for fallen
+human creatures, not for the angels, that He came down to die. And it
+is glorified human beings, changed into His glorious likeness, who are
+called to live and reign with Him in glory unspeakable. I never want
+to be an angel. Ours is a more truly blessed and glorious calling. To
+be His at His coming. To hear His voice, and be caught up to meet Him
+in the air. To be ever with the Lord--kings and priests for ever and
+ever! O Eustace! we cannot conceive of such a thing yet; but the day
+_will_ come when the kingdoms of this world shall become the Kingdoms
+of our God and of His Christ, and He shall reign for ever and ever!”
+
+The face she turned upon him was as it were transfigured already, and
+it seemed to Eustace as though for a moment a curtain lifted before
+his eyes and showed him a glimpse of some unspeakable glory which lay
+beyond the ken of mortal man. For the first time since he had known
+her he began to understand that what had seemed to him as the outcome
+of a mystic fanaticism might be in reality the development of some
+purer spiritual understanding than he had been able to attain to.
+Lying for days at the gate of the unseen world as he had done, he had
+learned that many things formerly slighted and almost despised were the
+very things which brought a man peace at the last, and which glowed
+and strengthened beneath the mysterious fire of peril that turned to
+dross and nothingness the wisdom in which he had trusted, and the
+staff upon which he had tried to lean. Having learned this much, he
+could believe there was more to learn; that even when fear was cast
+out and faith reigned in its stead, there was still progress to be
+made in the heavenly life. He did indeed believe that the Saviour
+had died for the sins of the whole world, and that He lived to make
+intercession eternally for those who claimed the Atonement of His
+blood. But now he began to understand that for those who truly love Him
+and walk every step of their lives in the light from above, there is
+a vision of unspeakable and unimagined glory always open before them;
+and that, leaving those things that are behind, there is a continual
+pressing forward to the prize of our high calling in Christ--the one
+overmastering desire so to live as to be His at His coming, and be used
+for His eternal purpose of establishing His Kingdom on the earth.
+
+“Bride,” he said softly, after a long pause, “you must teach me more of
+this Kingdom. I had hoped to do a great work for our fellow-men in this
+land, and even now I may live to do something; but I can at least seek
+to understand God’s ways of working, which are not always man’s ways;
+that if it please Him to raise me up, I may consecrate my life, _first_
+to His service, and secondly to the service of man. Abner truly told me
+I was beginning at the wrong end when I first spoke to him long ago. I
+did not understand him then, but I begin to do so now. I may never see
+things clearly, as you do, in the heavenly light; but at least I do see
+that our first aim and object must be to do God’s work on earth in His
+way; not blinded by our own wishes and ambitions. The fate of poor Saul
+Tresithny will always be a warning and a landmark to me. He _might_
+have grown as wild and reckless without my teaching--with that I have
+nothing to do--but I did teach him dangerous doctrines of all sorts,
+and his life and death are a standing memorial to me of what such
+teaching may lead to. I trust the lesson has not been learned in vain.”
+
+“And I think his death was a very happy one,” said Bride softly. “I
+think I am glad he died with us alone. He loved you, Eustace. And I am
+sure if any of us had our choice, we should always choose to be with
+the being we love best at the moment of our death. It was so with him.
+I think it was rather beautiful and wonderful how he rose and came
+to you when the hand of death was upon him. Poor Saul!--but we need
+not grieve for him. Abner has ceased to grieve, and is more peaceful
+and happy than I have seen him for many years. ‘To depart and be with
+Christ’ was so much better for him than anything he had to expect upon
+earth. He learned his lesson at the last--I am sure his end was peace.”
+
+After that there was no reserve on any subject between Eustace and his
+betrothed wife. Bride was able to speak to him from the very depths
+of her heart, and as she elevated and strengthened his spiritual
+perceptions, so did he in another fashion impart to her such knowledge
+of the things of this world as were beneficial to her in forming her
+mind and character, and helping her to obtain a just and accurate
+outlook upon the affairs of the nation and the events moving the
+hearts of men. They acted as a check one upon the other; helping,
+strengthening, teaching, and encouraging--growing every day nearer in
+love and in spirit, finding fresh happiness and closer unity of soul
+each day as it passed, and always upheld by the thought that a few days
+more would see their union hallowed and blessed in the sight of God--a
+thought so unspeakably sweet and precious to both that they seldom
+spoke of it, though it was never altogether out of their thoughts.
+
+Mr. St. Aubyn was to perform the ceremony, with the cordial consent of
+Mr. Tremodart, who was glad to be spared the task himself. The Rector
+of St. Erme had been much at the castle when Eustace lay in so critical
+a state, and the young man had profited much from his instruction and
+counsel. Now he came frequently to see both Bride and her betrothed
+husband, for he was one of those who rejoice to see true spirituality
+in all its forms, and to be certain before hearing pronounced any
+solemn and binding vows that they are spoken from the very heart.
+
+The Duke went about looking very happy in those days, and his manner
+to his daughter was more gentle and fatherly than it had ever been
+before. The whole castle was in a subdued state of excitement, whilst
+a lawyer from London arrived, who was to remain till the completion
+of the ceremony and see to all the needful papers. But with these
+things Bride felt little concern, and went about with a tranquil face,
+thankful to be spared the bustle of preparation which would have been
+needful under ordinary circumstances, but which was quite superfluous
+now.
+
+A bridal dress and veil were, however, quickly provided, and Bride was
+content that it should be so, knowing that her white would be pleasing
+to the eye of the sick man. She herself was calmly and tranquilly
+happy, spending much time beside the patient, and the rest in earnest
+musings and meditation, or in visits to the poor, amongst whom so much
+of her life had been passed.
+
+It was a clear, sunny morning toward the end of January when Bride
+awoke with the consciousness that it was her wedding-day--though so
+quiet and uneventful a wedding as was to be hers perhaps no Duke’s
+daughter had yet known. Even her name would not be changed, as
+Eustace had playfully told her, nor would she leave the shelter of
+her father’s roof. All the change that would take place would be that
+she and her husband would take up their quarters in a suite of rooms
+specially prepared for them, with Bride’s nurse and Eustace’s man for
+their especial attendants. But the young wife would continue to take
+her place at her father’s table when he took his meals, waiting upon
+her husband and sharing his at different hours, such hours as were
+prescribed by his medical man. Although all this sounded strange to
+outsiders, who heard with amaze that Lady Bride was going to marry her
+father’s heir while he was still crippled and helpless, it did not seem
+strange to her. Others said it was an obvious marriage of convenience
+and diplomacy, but never had been a marriage of purer and truer
+affection. Bride robed herself with a happy heart and a serene face,
+and was not surprised to receive a message at the last that Abner would
+much like a few words with his young mistress, if she could spare them
+for him.
+
+He was in the great conservatory when she went down--the place where
+so many talks had taken place between them, and where Bride pictured
+Eustace lying in comfort and pleasure before very long, surrounded by
+sweet scents and beautiful blossoms. Abner held in his hand a beautiful
+bouquet of white flowers, and Bride thanked him with one of her
+sweetest smiles as she took it from his hands.
+
+“I did want to see yu my own self, my Ladybird,” he said in a voice
+that shook a little, “to wish yu every joy and a blessing on your new
+life. I know there will be a blessing on it, for there’s One above as
+has yu very near His heart; but yu’ll let an old man as has loved yu
+ever since yu were a babe in the nurse’s arms give yu his blessing
+to-day.”
+
+Bride held out her slim white hand, which the old man took and carried
+very tenderly to his lips; and her voice shook a little as she said,
+“Thank you for that blessing, Abner. I feel my heart the warmer for
+it. We know that this world’s happiness is but a small thing compared
+to the glory that is to be revealed; but yet we must be thankful when
+it does come to us, and take it as God’s best gift. I think that your
+heart is at peace now, and that your worst trouble is laid at rest.”
+
+“Bless the Lord--it is so indeed. My boy died with His name on his
+lips. I couldn’t ask more for myself.”
+
+Bride could not linger. Mr. St. Aubyn had already arrived and wished
+to speak with her alone. She found him pacing the room with slow and
+thoughtful mien, but his eyes were very bright and glad.
+
+“My child,” he said softly, “I wished to speak with you a few moments
+before we go upstairs. I have just been seeing him you are to wed. My
+dear, I think I need not say all that I feel about the change I find
+in him since first I knew him. I can pronounce the benediction of holy
+matrimony over you two with a glad and thankful heart. In the sight of
+man and of God such a union as yours must be holy indeed.”
+
+Bride’s eyes were softly bright.
+
+“I know we love one another,” she said softly, “but I think that the
+love of God comes first--indeed, I trust it is so.”
+
+“I believe so truly,” he answered; “and, my child, I have been talking
+to-day to Eustace. He has long been hindered by sickness from the
+ordinances of the Church--the most blessed ordinance instituted by our
+Lord for His faithful people to follow until His coming again. Before
+that, as you know, he was something slack and doubtful, and did not
+avail himself of the Christian privileges in their fullest measure;
+and it is long since he has partaken of the bread and wine blessed in
+the name of the Lord. And he wishes now that he may receive this Holy
+Communion with you--his newly wedded wife--so soon as you are made one.
+I indeed have thankfully and joyfully assented to this, and even now
+the room is being prepared for the simple ceremony which shall make you
+his, and then you can together partake of that Body and Blood--the sign
+and symbol of the Ineffable Love. I am sure, my child, that your heart
+will rejoice, as mine does, over this return of the lost sheep to the
+fold. We have known for long that that son has been turning homewards,
+and that the Father has gone forth to meet him. Now we shall see him
+at the Father’s table, partaking of the mystical feast which it is our
+Christian privilege to enjoy. ‘Do this in remembrance of Me.’ It will,
+I know, be a joyous thing for you that the following of this gracious
+and simple command shall be the first act of your married life.”
+
+Tears were standing in Bride’s soft eyes. She put out her hand and laid
+it on Mr. St. Aubyn’s arm.
+
+“I am too happy to talk about it,” she said; “it is the one thing to
+make the day complete; but oh! Mr. St. Aubyn, I have so often wanted
+to thank you for what you said to me that day long ago about the lost
+son and the returning home. It was such a help. It was that which made
+me begin to pray in hope for Eustace, instead of naming him only in a
+sort of faithless despondency. I was in danger of being like the elder
+brother, and looking upon him and many others as altogether beyond the
+pale of the Father’s love. After that I could always pray in hope; and
+I think--I believe, that my prayers did help him. You know what you
+said about that being God’s way of leading to Him some one who would
+not yet pray for himself.”
+
+The clergyman smiled tenderly upon the girl.
+
+“God bless you, my child,” he said softly. “I think you will be your
+mother over again as the years go by. Such faith as hers I have never
+seen in any one else, but I think I shall live to see it in you.”
+
+“I have received so much,” answered Bride softly, “I should not be able
+to doubt even if I wished.”
+
+Only a few minutes later, and Bride entered the room where Eustace
+lay, leaning on her father’s arm, her face shaded by her veil, but not
+so concealed that its serene beauty and composure could not be seen.
+Some dozen of the old servants of the castle, and two or three old
+friends, were present to witness the simple ceremony; but Bride only
+saw Eustace; and none who caught the glance that flashed from one to
+the other ever forgot it. The room was decked with flowers, everything
+was perfectly simple, yet perfectly appropriate, and Mr. St. Aubyn’s
+rendering of the holy words was doubly impressive from the peculiar
+circumstances of the case. Bride’s vows were spoken with a steady
+sweetness which brought tears to many eyes; all the faltering was on
+Eustace’s part, and was made through the depth of his emotion. It was
+a strangely simple yet strangely impressive wedding, never forgotten
+by those who saw it. When all was spoken that was needed to make them
+man and wife, Bride stooped and kissed her husband, without a thought
+of any who stood by, and they heard the passionate intensity of love in
+the voice that responded--
+
+“My Bride--my wife!”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+_CONCLUSION_
+
+
+Bride was riding homewards from Pentreath to the castle on a sunny day
+early in June. The sound of joy-bells was in the air, the faces of men
+were glad and triumphant, all nature seemed in tune with the general
+rejoicing which some recent event had plainly set on foot; and the
+young wife’s face was glad, too, though thoughtfully and temperately.
+For she knew that the news of which she was the bearer would gladden
+the heart of her husband, though it would not be to him now that source
+of triumphant exhilaration which it would have been a year before.
+
+Behind her rode the servant with a bag full of papers at his
+saddle-bow. It was these letters and newspapers which had been the
+object of Bride’s ride that day. Her husband had persuaded her to go
+herself on the chance of news; he was always glad to make an excuse to
+induce her to take the amount of needful air and exercise which was
+good for her health, and she always found it so hard to leave him.
+
+But to-day she had been persuaded, and was now riding rapidly homewards
+with her budget of news, knowing how impatiently her husband and father
+at home would be awaiting her return.
+
+Dismounting at the castle door, and taking the bag from the hands of
+the servant, she passed hastily through hall and corridor into the
+great conservatory, where Eustace was now daily wheeled upon his couch.
+Since the beginning of May he had been taken down to a ground-floor
+room in the wing which he and his wife occupied, in order that, when
+possible, he might be taken out of doors, or into this pleasant place
+of flowers. He had made as much progress as the most sanguine could
+hope for during the past months, and recovery was considered now only
+a matter of time and patience. Time and patience were the only doctors
+for such a case as his, and Eustace surprised all who came in contact
+with him by the extreme patience and cheerfulness he showed under a
+condition of helplessness so trying to youthful manhood; but he would
+say, with a smile, that Bride made life too sweet for him for any
+repining to be possible. Each day he found filled with happiness--the
+happiness of her presence, and of that full community of soul which
+made their union what it was. Every day brought its own measure of
+temporal happiness and spiritual growth; and though the young man
+looked forward with ardent expectation to the hope of being able to
+fight the battle of life once more, and work in the service of his
+fellow-men, he recognised fully and freely that this period of enforced
+idleness had been sent him by the Father in mercy and love, and was
+resolved that the lesson it was sent to teach him should not be learnt
+in vain.
+
+The way in which his face kindled at the sight of his wife was a sight
+good to see. She came quickly forward, bent over and kissed him, and
+said softly--
+
+“It is good news, Eustace. The Lords have passed the bill!”
+
+“Ah!” he said, and drew a long breath. “I felt it would be so when the
+King was obliged to recall Lord Grey. All parties must have known then
+that the mind of the country was made up, and that the thing was right,
+and must be made law. Have you read the news?”
+
+“No; I only heard what they were all saying in Pentreath. I met many
+friends, and they all told me something. The Duke of Wellington, when
+he found the King would create enough new peers to pass the bill,
+if that was the only resource left, retired from his place in the
+House, and, some say, will retire from public life altogether. Lord
+Wharncliffe and his party of waverers came over at once to the side
+of Lord Grey, and so the bill was passed at once. The people are wild
+with delight, the bells are being rung, and bonfires are being built
+up. I sometimes wonder whether they really understand what it is that
+they rejoice at. They seem to think that some wonderfully good time
+is coming for them. Poor creatures! I fear they will be disappointed.
+An act of constitutional justice has been done; but the troubles of
+England lie far, far deeper than an imperfect system of constitutional
+representation.”
+
+Eustace was eagerly skimming the contents of newspapers and private
+letters, and from time to time giving bits of information to his wife;
+but the sense of her words came home to his mind for all that, and
+by-and-bye, laying down the papers, he said--
+
+“That is only too true, Bride. That is the very point upon which my
+eyes have been opened latterly. I used to think that good government
+and pure government was the backbone of a nation’s prosperity and
+well-being--as in one sense of the word it is. I mean, that if all men
+were doing their utmost to walk in the ways appointed by God, we should
+have a pure and good government, and the nation would prosper. But I
+see only too clearly now that I was quite deceived in my old belief
+that this country and the world can ever be renovated and made good by
+any scheme of political reform instituted by man. We may do our best
+to be just and temperate, to act uprightly, and think impartially of
+the interests of all classes; but that alone will never raise them,
+never give them true happiness, never lift them out of the degradation
+into which they, as well as too many of us so-called ‘superiors,’ have
+fallen. There is only one Power which can do that, only one Power
+mighty enough for that task, and that is the Power of which I fear that
+we, as a nation of politicians and upright rulers, think singularly
+little. The time may come when we shall awake to the remembrance that
+God must be Ruler in the earth if right and justice and equity are to
+be done; but at present, though we listen to such words with approval
+from the pulpit, we are absolutely ignorant how to put them into daily
+practice, and our profession and practice are utterly at variance. That
+is where our failure comes in, and where I, for one, foresee failure
+all along the line. This bill may be the inauguration of an enlightened
+and liberal policy for the next generation; but my old hope of seeing
+the world raised out of its misery, its degradation, its wickedness by
+any such means, is fading fast within me.”
+
+Bride was silent for a while, looking out before her with a sweet sad
+smile upon her fair face.
+
+“It will not be achieved by such means,” she said quietly at last;
+“and yet, if men would but look to the Lord for help and deliverance,
+I truly believe He would show us the perfect way, and restore to us
+those things which are lacking in the order of our daily lives, of
+our worship, of our government. We know that the powers that be are
+ordained of God; but we have lost so much of His guidance. Yet I
+verily believe that if men would with one voice and one heart cry to
+Him for light and guidance, He would send it to them, even as in days
+of old. Is He not the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever? Though we
+have forsaken Him, yet He has not forsaken us. As He spoke by holy
+men of old, moved by His Spirit, so I truly believe He would speak
+again had men but faith to listen. But it is that which is always the
+stumbling-block--the hindrance. Men have lost their faith; they will
+not believe that God is still amongst them, even as of old--nay, far
+more truly and nearly than of old; for Christ is the living Head of His
+Church, and all who believe and are baptized are very members of His
+mystical Body. And yet we say He is far away, He has passed into the
+heavens, He is no more working with and amongst us, save through the
+workings of the Spirit in our hearts. But I feel so very, very sure
+that, would we let Him, He would fain be much more to us than that, as
+indeed He will be one day--in the day when the Kingdom shall be set up
+on earth.”
+
+Eustace drew a long breath. He, too, lying there in helplessness, and
+seeing much of the brightness of his early visions fade into dimness as
+he watched the course of events and learned to see more of the workings
+of this world, had come to think with a great longing of the coming
+Kingdom, when all that is vile and evil shall be done away, and when
+Christ Himself shall be revealed and rule in righteousness. Once that
+thought had seemed to him as the veriest vision of the mystic; now he
+had come to long for it himself with a great and increasing longing.
+Loving his fellow-men as he did, he yet loved the Lord more; and to see
+Him reigning over the world, and the misery and the sin all done away,
+was a prospect too bright and happy not to excite his ardent longings.
+Even in his satisfaction at the news just brought, he could yet think
+with calm hopefulness of the time when the crooked things should be
+made straight, and the rough places plain, and men should live together
+in peace and love, and strivings and hatred should be done away.
+
+“And until that day comes,” he said softly at last, “we shall do more
+to help our brethren by teaching them to look for the Kingdom of God
+and of His Christ, than by stirring up in their hearts desires after
+earthly good which perhaps may never be theirs.”
+
+Bride looked up with a sweet smile.
+
+“Ah! that is just what I feel about it, Eustace; let us do all that is
+right for them, but teach them to strive after contentment and love of
+God themselves. That is the only thing that will really raise them or
+make them truly happy.”
+
+“Seek ye first----” said Eustace musingly, not finishing the quotation,
+for there was no need. “After all, that is the best and highest wisdom,
+though for eighteen hundred years men have had the answer to their
+strivings and heart-burnings under their hand, and have not known how
+to use it. You must help me, sweet wife, in the future, when I go
+forth, as I trust by God’s mercy I may, to take my place in the battle
+of life, and stand up for the right and the truth, as I may be called
+upon to do, to bear in mind that great precept, for without it we can
+accomplish nothing.”
+
+Bride gave him an eloquent glance, but made no reply, for her father
+was coming in, anxious to know the news.
+
+She told her tale once more, and the papers were read and discussed
+between the two men with eager interest. It was strange how, by almost
+imperceptible degrees, those two had drawn together--not entirely in
+opinion, but in mutual understanding and sympathy, so that differences
+of opinion seemed trifles. Now it was real pleasure to both to be
+together; and though they still argued and disputed, it was in a spirit
+of toleration and mutual respect and liking which made such argument
+pleasant and stimulating rather than irritating. The Duke took a more
+despondent view of the future of the country than Eustace, and had
+far less confidence in the success of the coming era of more liberal
+principles of government for redressing wrongs and bringing about a
+lasting state of prosperity and peace; but then Eustace was far less
+sanguine about the coming Utopia, far more patient and reasonable when
+existing wrongs were discussed, far less confident in the powers of
+legislation for the elevation of mankind than he once had been. Like
+many other ardent young dreamers in the forefront of the battle of
+reform, he had practically left out of his calculations the mystery
+of original sin--the inherent corruption of men’s hearts, and their
+perversity of vision, their determination to do evil until their eyes
+are opened to see God’s dealings in all things, and their hearts are
+purified by the Holy Spirit. No system, however perfect, will ever
+make men righteous that does not first lead them to God. It was this
+that Eustace had never realised before when he sought to raise men
+by increased prosperity, and wiser and more just legislation. Now he
+had begun to see the futility of his former dreams, and insensibly he
+grew to sympathise with the feelings of his kinsman, who had lived
+through so many crises of the world’s history, but had found at the
+end that human nature was never changed, and that no era of bliss and
+joy followed upon the violent efforts made to secure a better order of
+things.
+
+Leaving them to talk thus together and to discuss the situation to
+their hearts’ content, Bride stole away into the garden, and wandered
+along some of the shady paths, thinking her own thoughts, and filled
+with a sense of profound thankfulness and joy in the unity of spirit
+now existing between herself and her husband. It was the same daily joy
+to her that it was to him, and her heart was charged with a peace and
+restful content that sometimes seemed to her to be a foretaste of the
+Kingdom itself, towards which her heart was always turning.
+
+In one of the alleys of the rose-garden she came upon Abner, who was
+tying up the young shoots upon the arch, and picking off the dead
+blossoms. He welcomed her with the smile that the sight of her always
+called up in his eyes, and stood still with a face full of interest
+whilst she told him the news.
+
+“Well, well, well,” he said when she had done, “may be it’ll be a
+good thing. It sounds just, and right, and reasonable; but I don’t
+understand these big matters, and there’s a deal to be said on both
+sides, so far as I can see. My poor boy would have been pleased. He
+was terrible set on it; but I used to think that when he got it, he
+would find himself as discontented as ever, and set off after some new
+teacher who would tell him this was only the beginning of what men must
+demand. May be he sees things clearer now. I sometimes think we’ll know
+a deal better what to think of such matters once we are free of the
+burden of the sinful flesh. But there’s always comfort in the thought
+that the Lord’s working in one way or another in all these things. He
+sees the fulfilment of His purpose all through, though we can’t. That’s
+what I comfort myself with when things seem blackest. The frost and the
+snow, the biting winds and the storms, all seem against the gardener;
+but by-and-bye he sees they all have their use, and his plants would
+not have done as well without them. I always go back to that when I’m
+perplexed and worried. The great Gardener will bring out His perfected
+garden on the earth in time; and it should be enough for us to be
+trying to help Him on in our little corner, without thinking He can’t
+rule the world without us.”
+
+Bride smiled as she answered softly--
+
+“Yes; though perhaps He wants to use some of us for great tasks, as He
+uses us all for little ones. But I know what you mean, Abner, and I
+feel with you. We can never fully understand God’s purposes till they
+are revealed to us in His perfect Kingdom; but we can all strive to
+live the life of the Kingdom here below, as far as our sinful natures
+will let us, and try to make just the little corner about us bear
+flowers and fruit, as a garden should. I do not think we shall be
+called upon for any great work. I think our lot will lie here, away in
+the west, in this little place. But, for my part, I shall be content if
+we can bring the hope and the life of the Kingdom into just this little
+corner of the vineyard--to our sisters and brothers of St. Bride’s Bay.”
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
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+
+  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
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+
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