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21434.34
Bd. April, 1895.

TARDIAN
SADEM
VMA
Long 03
is
ITI915
Harvard College Library
FROM THE
SUBSCRIPTION FUND,
BEGUN IN 1858.
25 October, 1892.
MASS














I SAW THREE SHIPS
AND
OTHER WINTER'S TALES.


Four of the following Tales have appeared
before, in Yule Tide, The Illustrated London
News, Lloyd's Weekly News, and the Weekly
Dispatch ; and are here reprinted with a few
corrections. “A Blue Pantomime" is, I hope,
an improvement upon a boyish version pub-
lished, four years ago and under another title,
in the Christmas Number of Youth. For per-
mission to collect the five into one volume I
must thank all the Publishers concerned.


----
-
---



“ IS IT BITTER, MY SON ?"
“I Saw Three Ships.”—p. 102.





I SAW THREE SHIPS
AND
OTHER WINTER'S TALES.
BY
AUTHOR OF "THE SPLENDID SPUR," "NOUGHTS
AND CROSSES," ETC.
essence
Dirici
CASSELL & COMPANY LIMITED :
LONDON, PARIS & MELBOURNE.
1892.
[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]


21434.34
685-19
TARD COLLE
OLLEGE
HARVA
OCT 351892
LIBRARY
Dutcore'on
una

SAUVA


Co
weetin mun
T. WEMYSS REID.


WORKS BY 2.
THE BLUE PAVILIONS.
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
NOUGHTS AND CROSSES.
THE SPLENDID SPUR.
DEAD MAN'S ROCK.
THE ASTONISHING HISTORY OF TROY TOWN.
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, London, Paris & Melbourne.


CONTENTS.
TY
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
CHAPTER 1.
. . . .
PAGE
The First Ship
.
.
.
.
.
9
CHAPTER II.
. . . .
The Second Ship .
.
.
.
.
27.
CHAPTER III.
THE STRANGER
50
CHAPTER IV.
Young ZEB FETCHES A Chest OF DRAWERS .
.
.
.
66
CHAPTER V.
THE STRANGER DANCES IN Young Zeb's SHOES
.
.
.
85
CHAPTER VI.
Siege 18 Laid to Ruby . . . .
.
.
.
.
103
CHAPTER VII.
The “JOLLY PILCHARDS” . . .
.
.
.
. 116
CHAPTER VIII.
Young Zeb SELLS His Soul
.
.
.
.
.
133


viii
CONTENTS
CHAPTER IX.
Young ZEB Wins his Soul Back . .
PAGE
.
.
.
.
146
CHAPTER X.
. . . . .
The Third Ship
.
.
.
. 162
THE HAUNTED DRAGOON-
175–202
A BLUE PANTOMIME.
I.
How I Dined at the “Indian Queens”
.
.
.
. 2016
II.
WHAT I SAW IN THE MIRROR
221
III.
WHAT I SAW IN THE TARN. .
.
.
.
.
. 231
IV.
What I have Since Learnt .
.
.
.
.
.
. 237
THE TWO HOUSEHOLDERS-
241--267
THE
DISENCIIANTMENT OF 'LIZABETH-
269_304


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
CHAPTER I.
THE FIRST SHIP.
In those west-country parishes where but a few
years back the feast of Christmas Eve was
usually prolonged with cake and cider, “crowd-
ing,” and “geese dancing," till the ancient carols
ushered in the day, a certain languor not
seldom pervaded the services of the Church a
few hours later. Red eyes and heavy, young
limbs hardly rested from the Dashing White
Sergeant and Sir Roger, throats husky from
a plurality of causes — all these were recog-
nised as proper to the season, and, in fact,
of a piece with the holly on the communion
rails.
On a dark and stormy Christmas morning
as far back as the first decade of the century,
this languor was neither more nor less apparent


10
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
than usual inside the small parish church of
Ruan Lanihale, although Christmas fell that
year on a Sunday, and dancing should, by
rights, have ceased at midnight. The building
stands high above a bleak peninsula on the
South Coast, and the congregation had struggled
up with heads slanted sou’-west against the
weather that drove up the Channel in a black
fog. Now, having gained shelter, they quickly
lost the glow of endeavour, and mixed in
pleasing stupor the humming of the storm in
the tower above, its intermittent onslaughts on
the leadwork of the southern windows, and the
voice of Parson Babbage lifted now and again
from the chancel as if to correct the shambling
pace of the choir in the west gallery.
“Mark me,” whispered Old Zeb Minards,
crowder and leader of the musicians, sitting back
at the end of the Psalms, and eyeing his fiddle
dubiously; “If Sternhold be sober this morn-
ing, Hopkins be drunk as a fly, or 'tis t'other
way round.”
“'Twas middlin' wambly," assented Calvin
Oke, the second fiddle-a screw-faced man


THE FIRST SHIP.
tightly wound about the throat with a yellow
kerchief.
“An' 'tis a delicate matter to cuss the
singers when the musicianers be twice as bad.”
“I'd a very present sense of being a bar or
more behind the fair—that I can honestly vow,”
put in Elias Sweetland, bending across from the
left. Now Elias was a bachelor, and had blown
the serpent from his youth up. He was a bald,
thin man, with a high leathern stock, and
shoulders that sloped remarkably.
“Well, taint a suent engine at the best,
Elias—that o' yourn,” said his affable leader,
"nor to be lightly trusted among the proper
psa’ms, 'specially since Chris’mas three year,
when we sat in the forefront of the gallery, an'
you dropped all but the mouthpiece overboard
on to Aunt Belovely's bonnet at 'I was glad
when they said unto me.'"
“Aye, poor soul. It shook her. Never
the same woman from that hour, I do b’lieve.
Though I'd as lief you didn't mention it, friends,
if I may say so; for 'twas a bitter portion.”
Elias patted his instrument sadly, and the


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
three men looked up for a moment, as a scud
of rain splashed on the window, drowning a
sentence of the First Lesson.
“Well, well,” resumed Old Zeb, “we all
have our random intervals, and a drop ocider
in the mouthpieces is no less than Pa’son looks
for, Chris’mas mornin's.”
“Trew, trew as proverbs.”
“Howsever, 'twas truel bad, that last psa'm,
I won't gainsay. As for that long-legged boy
o'mine, I keep silence, yea, even from hard
words, considerin' what's to come. But ’tis
given to flutes to make a noticeable sound,
whether tunable or false.”
“ Terrible shy he looks, poor chap!”
The three men turned and contemplated
Young Zeb Minards, who sat on their left and
fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing his legs.
“How be feelin', my son ? ”
“Very whitely, father ; very whitely, an’
yet very redly.”
Elias Sweetland, moved by sympathy, handed.
across a peppermint drop.
“Hee-hee!” now broke in an octogenarian


THE FIRST SHIP.
treble, that seemed to come from high up in the
head of Uncle Issy, the bass-viol player; “ But
cast your eyes, good friends, 'pon a little slip o’
heart's delight down in the nave, and mark the
flowers ’pon the bonnet nid-nodding like bees in
a bell, with unspeakable thoughts.”
“'Tis the world's way wi’ females.”
“I'll wager, though, she wouldn't miss the
importance of it-yea, not for much fine gold.”
“Well said, Uncle," commented the crowder,
a trifle more loudly as the wind rose to a howl
outside : “Lord, how this round world do spin!
Simmie 'twas last week I sat as may be in the
corner yonder (I sang bass then), an' Pa’son
Babbage by the desk statin' forth my own
banns, an' me with my clean shirt collar limp as
a flounder. As for your mother, Zeb, nuthin
’ud do but she must dream o'runnin’ water that
Saturday night, an’ want to cry off at the church
porch because 'twas unlucky. “Nothin' shall
injuce me, Zeb,” says she, and inside the half
hour there she was glintin' fifty ways under her
bonnet, to see how the rest o the maidens was
takin' it.”
O WIL
Swas


14
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
“Hey,” murmured Elias, the bachelor ; “but
it must daunt a man to hear his name loudly
coupled wi' a woman's before a congregation o'
folks.”
“ 'Tis very intimate," assented Old Zeb.
But here the First Lesson ended. There
was a scraping of feet, then a clearing of throats,
and the musicians plunged into “O, all ye works
of the Lord.”
Young Zeb, amid the moaning of the storm
outside the building and the scraping and zoom-
ing of the instruments, string and reed, around
him, felt his head spin ; but whether from the
lozenge (that had suffered from the companion-
ship of a twist of tobacco in Elias Sweetland's
pocket), or the dancing last night, or the tur-
bulence of his present emotions, he could not
determine. Year in and year out, grey morning
or white, a gloom rested always on the singers’
gallery, cast by the tower upon the south side,
that stood apart from the main building, con-
nected only by the porch roof, as by an isthmus.
And upon eyes used to this comparative obscurity
the nave produced the effect of a bright parterre


THE FIRST SHIP.
15
of flowers, especially in those days when all the
women wore scarlet cloaks, to scare the French
if they should invade. Zeb's gaze, amid the
turmoil of sound, hovered around one such cloak,
rested on a slim back resolutely turned to him,
and a jealous bonnet, wandered to the bald scalp
of Farmer Tresidder beside it, returned to Calvin
Oke's sawing elbow and the long neck of Elias
Sweetland bulging with the fortissimo of “ O ye
winds of God,” then fluttered back to the red
cloak.
These vagaries were arrested by three words
from the mouth of Old Zeb, screwed sideways
over his fiddle.
“ Time—ye sawny !”
Young Zeb started, puffed out his cheeks,
and blew a shriller note. During the rest of the
canticle his eyes were glued to the score, and
seemed on the point of leaving their sockets
with the vigour of the performance.
“Sooner thee'st married the better for us,
my son,” commented his father at the close ;
“else farewell to psa’mody!”
But Young Zeb did not reply. In fact, what
SO


16
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
remained of the peppermint lozenge had some-
how jolted into his windpipe, and kept him
occupied with the earlier symptoms of strangula-
tion.
His facial contortions, though of the liveliest,
were unaccompanied by sound, and, therefore,
unheeded. The crowder, with his eyes contem-
platively fastened on the capital of a distant
pillar, was pursuing a train of reflection upon
Church music; and the others regarded the
crowder.
“Now supposin', friends, as I'd a-fashioned
the wondrous words o' the ditty we've just
polished off; an' supposin' a friend o mine,
same as Uncle Issy might be, had a-dropped in,
in passin', an' heard me read the same. “Hullo!'
he'd 'a said, “You've a-put the same words
twice over.' 'How's that?' “How's that?
Why, here's O ye Whales (pointin' wi' his finger),
an’ lo! again, Oye Wells.' "'T'aint the same,'
I'd ha' said. "Well,' says Uncle Issy, “'tis spoke
so, anyways — ”
“Crowder, you puff me up,” murmured
Uncle Issy, charmed with this imaginative and


THE FIRST SHIP.
wholly flattering sketch. “No-really now!
Though, indeed, strange words have gone abroad
before now, touching my wisdom ; but I blow no
trumpet.”
"Such be your very words,” the crowder
insisted. “Now mark my answer. “Uncle
Issy,' says I, quick as thought, ‘you dunder-
headed old antic,—leave that to the musicianers.
At the word 'whales,' let the music go snorty ;
an' for wells, gliddery; an' likewise in a moving
dulcet manner for the holy an' humble Men o'
heart.' Why, 'od rabbet us !—what's wrong wi’
that boy?”
All turned to Young Zeb, from whose throat
uncomfortable sounds were issuing. His eyes
rolled piteously, and great tears ran down his
cheeks.
“Slap en 'pon the back, Calvin : he's
chuckin'.”
“Ay—an' the pa’son at'here endeth!””.
“Slap en, Calvin, quick! For ’tis clunk or
stuffle, an' no time to lose.”
Down in the nave a light rustle of expect-
ancy was already running from pew to pew as


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
Calvin Oke brought down his open palm with a
whack! knocking the sufferer out of his seat,
and driving his nose smartly against the back-
rail in front.
Then the voice of Parson Babbage was lifted :
“I publish the Banns of marriage between
Zebedee Minards, bachelor, and Ruby Tresidder,
spinster, both of this parish. If any of you
know cause, or just impediment, why these two
persons-
At this instant the church-door flew open,
as if driven in by the wind that tore up the
aisle in an icy current. All heads were turned.
Parson Babbage broke off his sentence and
looked also, keeping his forefinger on the flutter-
ing page. On the threshold stood an excited,
red-faced man, his long sandy beard blown
straight out like a pennon, and his arms moving
windmill fashion as he bawled-
"A wreck! a wreck! ”
The men in the congregation leaped up.
The women uttered muffled cries, groped for
their husbands' hats, and stood up also. The
choir in the gallery craned forward, for the


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
gaining the porch, saw Young Zeb tumble out
of the stairway leading from the gallery and run
by, stowing the pieces of his flute in his pocket ·
as he went, without a glance at her. Like all
the rest, he had clean forgotten the banns.
Now, Ruby was but nineteen, and had
seen plenty of wrecks, whereas these banns were
to her an event of singular interest, for weeks
anticipated with small thrills. Therefore, as the
people passed her by, she felt suddenly out of
tune with them, especially with Zeb, who, at
least, might have understood her better. Some
angry tears gathered in her eyes at the callous
indifference of her father, who just now was
revolving in the porch like a weathercock, and
shouting orders east, west, north, and south for
axes, hammers, ladders, cart-ropes, in case the
vessel struck within reach
“ You, Jim Lewarne, run to the mowhay,
hot-foot, an' lend a hand wi’ the datchin' ladder,
an'-hi! stop !—fetch along my second - best
glass, under the Dook o' Cumberland's picter i’
the parlour, 'longside o' last year's neck; an'—
hi! cuss the chap—he's gone like a Torpointer !


THE FIRST SHIP.
Ruby, my dear, step along an’ show en-Why,
hello !--
Ruby, with head down, and scarlet cloak
blown out horizontally, was already fighting her
way out along the headland to a point where
Zeb stood, a little apart from the rest, with
both palms shielding his eyes.
“ Zeb!”
She had to stand on tip-toe and bawl this
into his ear. He faced round with a start,
nodded as if pleased, and bent his gaze on the
Channel again.
Ruby looked too. Just below, under veils of
driving spray, the seas were thundering past the
headland into Ruan Cove. She could not see
them break, only their backs swelling and sink-
ing, and the puffs of foam that shot up like
white smoke at her feet and drenched her gown.
Beyond, the sea, the sky, and the irregular coast
with its fringe of surf melted into one uniform
grey, with just the summit of Bradden Point,
two miles away, standing out above the wrack.
Of the vessel there was, as yet, no sign.
In Ruby's present mood the bitter blast was


THE FIRST SHIP.
"No."
“Nor I nuther. 'Reckon 'tis all over
a'ready. I've a-heard afore now,” he went on,
turning his back to the wind the better to wink
at the company, “ that 'tis lucky for some folks
Gauger Hocken bain't extra spry ’pon his pins.
But 'tis a gift that cuts both ways. Be any
gone round by Cove Head to look out?”
“Iss, a dozen or more. I saw 'em 'pon the
road, a minute back, like emmets runnin'.”
“'Twas very nice feelin', I must own-very
nice indeed-of Gauger Hocken to warn the
church-folk first; and him a man of no faith,
as you may say. Hey? What's that? Dost
see her, Zeb? ”
For Zeb, with his right hand pressing down
his cap, now suddenly flung his left out in the
direction of Bradden Point. Men and women
craned forward.
Below the distant promontory, a darker
speck had started out of the medley of
grey tones. In a moment it had doubled its
size—had become a blur—then a shape. And
at length, out of the leaden wrack, there


24
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
emerged a small schooner, with tall, raking
masts, flying straight towards them.
“Dear God!” muttered some one, while
Ruby dug her finger-tips into Zeb's arm.
The schooner raced under bare poles, though
a strip or two of canvas streamed out from her
fore-yards. Yet she came with a rush like a
greyhound's, heeling over the whitened water,
close under the cliffs, and closer with every
instant. A man, standing on any one of the
points she cleared so narrowly, might have
tossed a pebble on to her deck.
“Hey, friends, but she'll not weather
Gaffer's Rock. By crum! if she does, they may
drive her in 'pon the beach, yet!”
“What's the use, i' this sea ? Besides, her
steerin'gear's broke," answered Zeb, without
moving his eyes.
This Gaffer's Rock was the extreme point
of the opposite arm of the cove—a sharp tooth
rising ten feet or more above high-water mark.
As the little schooner came tearing abreast of it,
a huge sea caught her broadside, and lifted as if
to fling her high and dry. The men and women


THE FIRST SHIP.
on the headland held their breath while she
hung on its apex. Then she toppled and
plunged across the mouth of the cove, quiver-
ing. She must have shaved the point by a
foot.
“ The Raney! the Raney !” shouted young
Zeb, shaking off Ruby's clutch. “The Raney,
or else "
He did not finish his sentence, for the stress
of the flying seconds choked down his words.
Two possibilities they held, and each big with
doom. Either the schooner must dash upon the
Raney—a reef, barely covered at high water,
barring entrance to the cove-or avoiding this,
must be shattered on the black wall of rock
under their very feet. The end of the little
vessel was written—all but one word : and that
must be added within a short half-minute.
Ruby saw this: it was plain for a child to
read. She saw the curded tide, now at half-
flood, boiling around the Raney ; she saw the
little craft swoop down on it, half buriec
seas through which she was being impelled; she
saw distinctly one form, and one only, on the


26
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
deck beside the helm-a form that flung up its
hands as it shot by the smooth edge of the reef,
a hand's-breadth off destruction. The hands
were still lifted as it passed under the ledge
where she stood.
It seemed, as she stood there shivering,
covering her eyes, an age before the crash came,
and the cry of those human souls in their
extremity.
When at length she took her hands from
her face the others were twenty yards away, and
running fast.


CHAPTER II.
THE SECOND SHIP.
Fate, which had freakishly hurled a ship's crew
out of the void upon this particular bit of coast,
as freakishly preserved them.
The very excess of its fury worked this
wonder. For the craft came in on a tall billow
that fung her, as a sling might, clean against
the cliff's face, crumpling the bowsprit like
paper, sending the foremast over with a crash,
and driving a jagged tooth of rock five feet into
her ribs beside the breastbone. So, for a
moment it left her, securely gripped and bump-
ing her sternpost on the ledge beneath. As the
next sea deluged her, and the next, the folk
above saw her crew fight their way forward up
the slippery deck, under sheets of foam. With
the fifth or six wave her mizen-mast went; she
split open amidships, pouring out her cargo.
The stern slipped off the ledge and plunged


28
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
,
twenty fathoms down out of sight. And now
the fore-part alone remained—a piece of deck,
the stump of the foremast, and five men cling-
ing in a tangle of cordage, struggling up and
toppling back as each successive sea soused over
them.
Three men had detached themselves from
the group above the cliff, and were sidling down
its face cautiously, for the hurricane now flat-
tened them back against the rock, now tried to
wrench them from it; and all the way it was a
tough battle for breath. The foremost was Jim
Lewarne, Farmer Tresidder's hind, with a coil
of the farmer's rope slung round him. Young
Zeb followed, and Elias Sweetland, both simi-
larly laden.
Less than half-way down the rock plunged
abruptly, cutting off farther descent.
Jim Lewarne, in a cloud of foam, stood up,
slipped the coil over his head, and unwound it,
glancing to right and left. Now Jim amid
ordinary events was an acknowledged fool, and
had a wife to remind him of it; but perch him
out of female criticism, on a dizzy foothold such


THE SECOND SHIP.
29
men
as this, and set him a desperate job, and you
clarified his wits at once. This eccentricity was
so notorious that the two men above halted in
silence, and waited.
Jim glanced to right and left, spied a small
pinnacle of rock about three yards away, fit for
his purpose, sidled towards it, and, grasping,
made sure that it was firm. Next, reeving one
end of the rope into a running noose, he flung it
over the pinnacle, and with a tug had it taut.
This done, he tilted his body out, his toes on the
ledge, his weight on the rope, and his body
inclined forward over the sea at an angle of
some twenty degrees from the cliff.
Having by this device found the position of
the wreck, and judging that his single rope
would reach, he swung back, gained hold of the
cliff with his left hand, and with his right
caught and fung the leaded end far out.
It fell true as a bullet, across the wreck.
As it dropped, a sea almost swept it clear ; but
the lead hitched in a tangle of cordage by the
port cathead; within twenty seconds the rope
was caught and made fast below.


30
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
All was now easy. At a nod from Jim
young Zeb passed down a second line, which
was lowered along the first by a noose. One by
one the whole crew-four men and a cabin-boy
-were hauled up out of death, borne off to the
vicarage, and so pass out of our story.
Their fate does not concern us, for this
reason—men with a narrow horizon and no
wings must accept all apparent disproportions
between cause and effect. A railway collision
has other results besides wrecking an ant-hill,
but the wise ants do not pursue these in the
Insurance Reports. So it only concerns us that
the destruction of the schooner led in time to
a lovers' difference between Ruby and young
Zeb—two young people of no eminence outside
of these pages. And, as a matter of fact, her
crew had less to do with this than her cargo.
She had been expressly built by Messrs.
Taggs & Co., a London firm, in reality as a
privateer (which explains her raking masts), but
ostensibly for the Portugal trade ; and was
homeward bound from Lisbon to the Thames,
with a cargo of red wine and chestnuts. At


THE SECOND SHIP.
Falmouth, where she had run in for a couple
of days, on account of a damaged rudder, the
captain paid off his extra hands, foreseeing no
difficulty in the voyage up Channel. She had
not, however, left Falmouth harbour three hours
before she met with a gale that started her
steering-gear afresh. To put back in the teeth
of such weather was hopeless; and the attempt
to run before it ended as we know.
When Ruby looked up, after the crash, and
saw her friends running along the headland to
catch a glimpse of the wreck, her anger re-
turned. She stood for twenty minutes at least,
watching them; then, pulling her cloak closely
round her, walked hornewards at a snail's pace.
By the church gate she met the belated
Methodists hurrying up, and passed a word
or two of information that sent them panting
on. A little beyond, at the point where the
peninsula joins the mainland, she faced round to
the wind again for a last glance. Three men
were following her slowly down the ridge with a
burden between them. It was the first of the


32
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
rescued crew—a lifeless figure wrapped in oil-
skins, with one arm hanging limply down, as if
broken. Ruby halted, and gave time to come
up.
“Hey, lads," shouted Old Zeb, who walked
first, with a hand round each of the figure's sea-
boots ; “now that's what I'd call a proper
womanly masterpiece, to run home to Sheba an'
change her stockings in time for the randi-
voose.”
“I don't understand,” said his prospective
daughter-in-law, haughtily..
“O boundless depth! Rest the poor mortal
down, mates, while I take breath to humour
her. Why, my dear, you must know from my
tellin' that there hev a-been such a misfortunate
goin's on as a wreck, hereabouts.”
He paused to shake the rain out of his hat
and whiskers. Ruby stole a look at the oil-
skin. The sailor's upturned face was of a sickly
yellow, smeared with blood and crusted with
salt. The same white crust filled the hollows of
his closed eyes, and streaked his beard and hair.
It turned her faint for the moment.
In


THE SECOND SHIP.
“ An' the wreck's scat abroad,” continued
Old Zeb; an' the interpretation thereof is barrels
an' nuts. What's more, tide'll be runnin' for
two hour yet; an' it hasn' reached my ears that
the fashion of thankin' the Lord for His bounty
have a-perished out o this old-fangled race of
men an’ women; though no doubt, my dear,
you'd get first news o' the change, with a bed-
room window facin' on Ruan Cove."
“ Thank you, Old Zeb; I'll be careful to
draw my curtains," said she, answering sarcasm
with scorn, and turning on her heel.
The old man stooped to lift the sailor again.
“Better clog your pretty ears wi' wax," he
called after her, “when the kiss-i'-the-ring
begins! Well-a-fine! What a teasin' armful
is woman, afore the first-born comes ! Hey,
Sim Udy ? Speak up, you that have fifteen to
feed.”
“Ay, I was a low feller, first along,"
answered Sim Udy, grinning. ““Sich common
notions, Sim, as you do entertain !' was my
wife's word.”
“Well, souls, we was a bit tiddlywinky last


I SAJ THREE SHIPS.
Michaelmas, when the Young Susannah came
ashore, that I must own. Folks blamed the
Pa’son for preachin' agen it the Sunday after.
'A disreppitable scene,' says he, ''specially
seein' you had nowt to be thankful for but a
cargo o sugar that the sea melted afore you
could get it. (Lift the pore chap aisy, Sim.)
By crum! Sim, I mind your huggin' a staved
rum cask, and kissin' it, an' cryin', 'Aw, Ben-
dear Ben !' an'. After all these years !' fancyin'
'twas your twin brother come back, that was
killed aboard the Agamemnym ”.
“Well, well-prettily overtook I must ha'
been. (Stiddy, there, Crowder, wi' the legs of
en.) But to-day I'll be mild, as 'tis Chris’mas.”
“Iss, iss; be very mild, my sons, as ’tis so
holy a day.”
They tramped on, bending their heads at
queer angles against the weather, that erased
their outlines in a bluish mist, through which
they loomed for a while at intervals, until they
passed out of sight.
Ruby, meanwhile, had hurriel on, her cloak
flapping loudly as it grew heavier with moisture,


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
mas
to the window, and tossing them one by one
into a bucket of water, gave a jump, and cut her
finger, dropping forthwith a half-peeled magnum
bonum, which struck the bucket's edge and slid
away across the slate flooring under the table.
“ Awgh-awgh !” she burst out, catching
up her apron and clutching it round the cut.
“ Look what you've done, Miss Ruby! an' me
miles away, thinkin' o' shipwrecks an’dead
swollen men.”
“Look at the Chris'mas dinner, you mazed
creature ! ”
In truth, the goose was fast spoiling. The
roasting apparatus in this kitchen was a simple
matter, consisting of a nail driven into the
centre of the chimney-piece, a number of
worsted threads depending therefrom, and a
steel hook attached to these threads. Fix the
joint or fowl firmly on the hook, give it a spin
with the hand, and the worsted threads wound,
unwound, and wound again, turning it before
the blaze—an admirable jack, if only looked
after. At present it hung motionless over the
dripping-pan, and the goose wore a suit of


THE SECOND SHIP.
1
.
1
.
motley, exhibiting a rich Vandyke brown to the
fire, an unhealthy yellow to the window.
“There now!” Mary Jane rushed to the
jack and gave it a spin, while Ruby walked
round by the back door, and appeared dripping
on the threshold. “I declare 'tis like Troy
Town this morning: wrecks and rumours o'
wrecks. Now 'tis · Ropes ! ropes !' an’ nex’’tis
'Where be the stable key, Mary Jane, my dear?'
an' then agen, Will’ee be so good as to fetch
master's second-best spy-glass, Mary Jane, an'
look slippy ??-an' me wi' a goose to stuff,
singe, an' roast, an' 'tatties to peel, an' greens to
cleanse, an'apples to chop for sauce, an' the
hoarders no nearer away than the granary loft,
with a gatherin' 'pon your second toe an’ the
half o' 'em rotten when you get there. The
pore I be in! Why, Miss Ruby, you'm
streamin'-leakin'!”
“I'm wet through, Mary Jane ; an' I don't
care if I die.” Ruby sank on the settle, and
fairly broke down.
“ Hush 'ee now, co !”
“I don't, I don't, an' I don't! I'm tired o'
n.


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
the world, an' my heart's broke. Mary Jane,
you selfish thing, you've never asked about my
banns, no more'n the rest; an' after that cast-off
frock, too, that I gave you last week so good as
new !”
“ Was it very grand, Miss Ruby? Was it
shuddery an' yet joyful-lily-white an' yet rosy-
red-hot an' yet cold—don't lift me so high,
an' yet 'praise God, I'm exalted above
women'?”
“'Twas all and yet none. 'Twas a voice
speakin' my name, sweet an' terrible, an' I
longed for it to go on an' on; and then came
the Gauger stunnin' and shoutin' 'Wreck!
wreck !' like a trumpet; an' the church was full
o'wind, an' the folk ran this way an' that, like
sheep, an' left me sittin' there. I'll—I'll die an
old maid, I will, if only to s-spite such ma-
ma—manners ! ”
“Aw, pore dear! But there's better tricks
than dyin' unwed. Bind up my finger, Miss
Ruby, an' listen. You shall play Don't Care,
an' change your frock, an' we'll step down to th'
cove after dinner an' there be heartless and


THE SECOND SHIP
fancy-free. Lord! when the dance strikes up,
to see you carryin' off the other maids' danglers
an' treating your own man like dirt !”.
Ruby stood up, the water still running off
her frock upon the slates, her moist eyes resting
beyond the window on the midden-heap across
the yard, as if she saw there the picture Mary
Jane conjured up.
“No. I won't join their low frolic; an' you
ought to be above it. I'll pull my curtains an’
sit up-stairs all day, an' you shall read to me.”
The other pulled a wry face. This was not
· her idea of enjoyment. She went back to the
goose sad at heart, for Miss Ruby had a knack
of enforcing her wishes.
Sure enough, soon after dinner was cleared
away (a meal through which Ruby had sulked
and Farmer Tresidder eaten heartily, talking
with a full mouth about the rescue, and
coarsely ignoring what he called his daughter's
“ faddles "), the two girls retired to the chamber
up-stairs ; where the mistress was as good as
her word, and pulled the dimity curtains before
settling herself down in an easy-chair to listen
me


40
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
to extracts from a polite novel as rendered
aloud, under dire, compulsion, by Mary Jane.
The rain had ceased by this, and the wind
abated, though it still howled around the angle
of the house and whipped a spray of the
monthly-rose bush on the quarrels of the
window, filling the pauses during which Mary
Jane wrestled with a hard word. Ruby herself
had taught the girl this accomplishment-rare
enough at the time—and Mary Jane handled it
gingerly, beginning each sentence in a whisper,
as if awed by her own intrepidity, and ending
each in a kind of gratulatory cheer. The work
was of that class of epistolary fiction then in
vogue, and the extract singularly well fitted to
Ruby's mood.
“My dearest Wil-hel-mina," began Mary
Jane, “racked with a hun-dred conflicting
em-otions, I resume the nar-rative of those
fa-tal moments which rapt me from your affec-
tion-ate em-brace. Suffer me to re-to re-
cap-
”
“Better spell it, Mary Jane.”
“To r.e., re- c.a.p., cap, recap— i.t, it, re-


THE SECOND SHIP.
· 41
capit- Lor'! what a twister!-u, recapitu-1.a.t.e,
late, re-cap-it-u-late the events de-tailed in my
last letter, full stop—there! if I han't read that
full stop out loud! Lord Bel-field, though an
ad-ept in all the arts of dis-sim-u-la-tion (and
how of-ten do we not see these arts al-lied with
un-scru-pu-lous pas-sions ?), was un-able to
sus-tain the gaze of my in-fu-ri-a-ted pa-pa,
though he com-port-ed himself with suf-fic-ient
p.h.l.e.g.m-Lor'! what a funny word ! ”
Ruby yawned. It is true she had drawn the
dimity curtains—all but a couple of inches.
Through this space she could see the folk busy
on the beach below like a swarm of small black
insects, and continually augmented by those
who, having run off to snatch their Christmas
dinner, were returning to the spoil. Some
lined the edge of the breakers, waiting the
moment to rush in for a cask or spar that the
tide brought within reach ; others (among
whom she seemed to descry Young Zeb) were
clambering out with grappels along the western
rocks; a third large group was gathered in the
very centre of the beach, and from the midst of


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
these a blue wreath of smoke began to curl up.
At the same instant she heard the gate click
outside, and pulling the curtain wider, saw her
father trudging away down the lane.
Mary Jane, glancing up, and seeing her
mistress crane forward with curiosity, stole
behind and peeped over her shoulder.
“I declare they’m teening a fire!”
“Who gave you leave to bawl in my ear so
rudely? Go back to your reading, this instant."
(A pause.) “Mary Jane, I do believe they'm
roastin' chestnuts.”
“What a clever game!”
“Father said at dinner the tide was bringin'
’em in by bushels. Quick! put on your worst
bonnet an' clogs, an' run down to look. I must
know. No, I'm not goin'—the idea! I wonder
at your low notions. You shall bring me word
o what's doin'-an’ mind you're back before
dark.”
Mary Jane fled precipitately, lest the order
should be revoked. Five minutes later, Ruby
heard the small gate click again, and with a sigh
saw the girl's rotund figure waddling down the
sa


THE SECOND SHIP.
43
news
was
lane. Then she picked up the book and strove
to bury herself in the woes of Wilhelmina, but
still with frequent glances out of window.
Twice the book dropped off her lap; twice she
picked it up and laboriously found the page
again. Then she gave it up, and descended to
the back door, to see if anyone were about who
might give her news. But the town-place was
deserted by all save the ducks, the old white sow,
and a melancholy crew of cocks and hens huddled
under the dripping eaves of the cow-house.
Returning to her room, she settled down on the
window-seat, and watched the blaze of the
bonfire increase as the short day faded.
The grey became black. It was six o'clock,
and neither her father nor Mary Jane had
returned. Seven o'clock struck from the tall
clock in the kitchen, and was echoed ten minutes
after by the Dutch clock in the parlour below.
The sound whirred up through the planching
twice as loud as usual. It was shameful to be
left alone like this, to be robbed, murdered, good-
ness knew what. The bonfire began to die out,
but every now and then a circle of small black


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
figures would join hands and dance round it,
scattering wildly after a moment or two. In a
lull of the wind she caught the faint sound of
shouts and singing, and this determined her. .
She turned back from the window and groped
for her tinder-box. The glow, as she blew the
spark upon the dry rag, lit up a very pretty but
tear-stained pair of cheeks ; and when she touched
off the brimstone match, and, looking up, saw
her face confronting her, blue and tragical, from
the dark-framed mirror, it reminded her of Lady
Macbeth. Hastily lighting the candle, she
caught up a shawl and crept down-stairs. Her
clogs were in the hall; and four horn lanterns
dangled from a row of peys above them. She
caught down one, lit it, and throwing the shawl
over her head, stepped out into the night.
The wind was dying down and seemed
almost warm upon her face. A young moon
fought gallantly, giving the massed clouds just
enough light to sail by; but in the lane it was
dark as pitch. This did not so much matter, as
the rain had poured down it like a sluice, wash-
ing the flints clean. Ruby's lantern swung to


THE SECOND SHIP.
45
4.5
and fro, casting a yellow glare on the tall
hedges, drawing queer gleams from the holly-
bushes, and flinging an ugly, amorphous shadow
behind, that dogged her like an enemy.
At the foot of the lane she could clearly
distinguish the songs, shouts, and shrill laugh-
ter, above the hollow roar of the breakers. .
“They're playin' kiss-i’-the-ring. That's
Modesty Prowse's laugh. I wonder how any
man can kiss a mouth like Modesty Prowse’s !”
She turned down the sands towards the bon-
fire, grasping as she went all the details of the
scene.
In the glow of the dying fire sat a semicircle
of men-Jim Lewarne, sunk in a drunken slum-
ber, Calvin Oke bawling in his ear, Old Zeb on
hands and knees, scraping the embers together,
Toby Lewarne (Jim's elder brother) thumping a
pannikin on his knee and bellowing a carol, and
a dozen others—in stages varying from qualified
sobriety to stark and shameless intoxication-
peering across the fire at the game in progress
between them and the faint line that marked
where sand ended and sea began.


46
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
“ Zeb's turn!” roared out Toby Lewarne,
breaking off The Third Good Joy midway, in his
excitement.
“Have a care-have a care, my son!” Old
Zeb looked up to shout. “Thee’rt so good as
wed already; so do thy wedded man's duty, an'
kiss th' hugliest !”
It was true. Ruby, halting with her lantern
a pace or two behind the dark semicircle of
backs, saw her perfidious Zeb moving from right
to left slowly round the circle of men and maids
that, with joined hands and screams of laughter,
danced as slowly in the other direction. She
saw him pause once—twice, feign to throw the
kerchief over one, then still pass on, calling out
over the racket :--
“I sent a letter to my love,
I carried water in my glove,
An' on the way I dropped it—dropped it-
dropped it—"
He dropped the kerchief over Modesty
Prowse.
- ZEB !”


THE SECOND SHIP.
47
Young Zeb whipped the kerchief off
Modesty's neck, and spun round as if shot.
T'he dancers looked; the few sober men by
the fire turned and looked also.
“ 'Tis Ruby Tresidder!” cried one of the
girls ; “'Wudn’ be i' thy shoon, Young Zeb, for
summat.”
Zeb shook his wits together and dashed off
towards the spot, twenty yards away, where
Ruby stood holding the lantern high, its ray
full on her face. As she started she kicked off
her clogs, turned, and ran for her life.
Then, in an instant, a new game began upon
the sands. Young Zeb, waving his kerchief
and pursuing the flying lantern, was turned,
baffled, intercepted-here, there, and everywhere
-by the dancers, who scattered over the beach
with shouts and peals of laughter, slipping in
between him and his quarry. The elders by the
fire held their sides and cheered the sport.
Twice Zeb was tripped up by a mischievous
boot, floundered and went sprawling ; and the
roar was loud and long. Twice he picked him-
self up and started again after the lantern, that


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
zig-zagged now along the fringe of the waves,
now up towards the bonfire, now off along the
dark shadow of the cliffs.
Ruby could hardly sift her emotions when
she found herself panting and doubling in
flight. The chase had started without her
will or dissent; had suddenly sprung, as it
were, out of the ground. She only knew that
she was very angry with Zeb; that she longed
desperately to elude him; and that he must
catch her soon, for her breath and strength were
ebbing.
What happened in the end she kept in her
dreams till she died. Somehow she had dropped
the lantern and was running up from the sea
towards the fire, with Zeb's feet pounding
behind her, and her soul possessed with the
dread to feel his grasp upon her shoulders. As
it fell, Old Zeb leapt up to his feet with excite-
ment, and opened his mouth wide to cheer.
But no voice came for three seconds : and
· when he spoke this was what he said-
“Good Lord, deliver us!”
She saw his gaze pass over her shoulder;


THE SECOND SHIP.
and then heard these words come slowly, one by
one, like dropping stones. His face was like a
ghost's in the bonfire's light, and he muttered
again—“ From battle and murder, and from
sudden death—Good Lord, deliver us!”
She could not understand at first; thought
it must have something to do with Young
Zeb, whose arms were binding hers, and whose
breath was hot on her neck. She felt his grasp
relax, and faced about.
Full in front, standing out as the faint moon
showed them, motionless, as if suspended against
the black sky, rose the masts, yards, and square-
sails of a full-rigged ship.
The men and women must have stood a
whole minute-dumb as stones-before there
came that long curdling shriek for which they
waited. The great masts quivered for a second
against the darkness; then heaved, lurched,
and reeled down, crashing on the Raney.


CHAPTER III.
THE STRANGER.
As the ship struck, night closed down again, and
her agony, sharp or lingering, was blotted out.
There was no help possible ; no arm that could
throw across the three hundred yards that
separated her from the cliffs; no swimmer that
could carry a rope across those breakers; nor
any boat that could, with a chance of life, put
out among them. Now and then a dull crash
divided the dark hours, but no human cry again
reached the shore.
Day broke on a grey sea still running
angrily, a tired and shivering group upon the
beach, and on the near side of the Raney a
shapeless fragment, pounded and washed to and
fro—a relic on which the watchers could in their
minds re-build the tragedy.
The Raney presents a sheer edge to sea-
ward-an edge under which the first vessel,


THE STRANGER..
though almost grazing her side, had driven in
plenty of water. Shorewards, however, it de-
scends by gradual ledges. Beguiled by the
bonfire, or mistaking Ruby's lantern for the
tossing stern-light of a comrade, the second
ship had charged full-tilt on the reef and hung
herself upon it, as a hunter across a fence.
Before she could swing round, her back was
broken ; her stern parted, slipped back and
settled in many fathoms; while the fore-part
heaved forwards, toppled down the reef till it
stuck, and there was slowly brayed into pieces
by the seas. The tide had swept up and ebbed
without dislodging it, and now was almost at
low-water mark.
“! May so well go home to breakfast,” said
Elias Sweetland, grimly, as he took in what the
uncertain light could show.
“Here, Young Zeb, look through my glass,”
sang out Farmer Tresidder, handing the tele-
scope. He had been up at the vicarage drinking
hot grog with the parson and the rescued men,
when Sim Udy ran up with news of the fresh
disaster; and his first business on descending to
D 2


THE STRANGER.
53
terrible!” he said, very slowly, and passed
it on to Farmer Tresidder.
“What is it? Where be I to look ? Aw,
pore chaps—pore chaps! Man alive-but
there's one movin'!”
Zeb snatched the glass.
“ 'Pon the riggin', Zeb, just under her lee!
I saw en move-a black-headed chap, in a red
shirt- "
“Right, Farmer-he’s clingin', too, not
lashed.” Zeb gave a long look. “Darned if
I won't!” he said. “Cast over them corks,
Sim Udy! How much rope have 'ee got,
Jim?" He began to strip as he spoke.
“Lashins,” answered Jim Lewarne.
“Splice it up, then, an' hitch a dozen corks
along it.”
“ Zeb, Zeb!” cried his father, “What be
'bout? ”
“Swimmin”,” answered Zeb, who by this
time had unlaced his boots.
“The notion! Look here, friends—take a
look at the bufflehead! Not three months
back his mother's brother goes dead an' leaves


54
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
en a legacy, 'pon which he sets up as jowter-
han'some painted cart, tidy little mare, an' all
complete, besides a bravish sum laid by. A
man of substance, sirs—a life o' much price, as
you may say. Aw, Zeb, my son, 'tis hard to
lose 'ee, but ’tis harder still now you're in such
a very fair way o’ business !”
“Hold thy clack, father, an' tie thicky knot,
so's it won't slip."
“Shan't. I've a-took boundless pains wi’
thee, my son, from thy birth up: hours I've
a-spent curin' thy prepensities wi’ the strap-
ay, hours. D'ee think I raised ’ee up so care-
fully to chuck thyself away ’pon a come-by-
chance furriner? No, I didn'; an' I'll see
thee jiggered afore I ties 'ee up. Pa’son
Babbage- "
“ Ye dundering old shammick !” broke in
the parson, driving the ferule of his cane deep in
the sand, “ be content to have begotten a fool,
and thank heaven and his mother he's a gamey
ven
fool.”
“ Thank’ee, Pa’son,” said Young Zeb, turn-
ing his head as Jim Lewarne fastened the belt of


THE STRANGER.
55
corks under his armpits. “Now the line-not
too tight round the waist, an' pay out steady.
You, Jim, look to this. R-r-r-mortal cold
water, friends !” He stood for a moment,
clenching his teeth—a fine figure of a youth for
all to see. Then, shouting for plenty of line, he
ran twenty yards down the beach and leapt in
on the top of a tumbling breaker.
“ When a man's old,” muttered the parson,
half to himself,“ he may yet thank God for what
he sees, sometimes. Hey, Farmer! I wish I
was a married man and had a girl good enough
for that naked young hero.”
“Ruby an’ he'll make a han’some pair.”
“Ay, I dare say: only I wasn't thinking o'
her. How's the fellow out yonder ? ”.
The man on the wreck was still clinging,
drenched twice or thrice in the half-minute and
hidden from sight, but always emerging. He
sat astride of the dangling foremast, and had
wound tightly round his wrist the end of a rope
that hung over the bows. If the rope gave, or
the mast worked clear of the tangle that held it
and floated off, he was a dead man. He hardly


56
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
fought at all, and though they shouted at the
top of their lungs, seemed to take no notice-
only moved feebly, once or twice, to get a firmer
seat.
Zeb also could only be descried at intervals,
his head appearing, now and again, like a cork
on the top of a billow. But the last of the ebb
was helping him, and Jim Lewarne, himself at
times neck-high in the surf, continued to pay
out the line slowly. In fact, the feat was less
dangerous than it seemed to the spectators. A
few hours before, it was impossible ; but by this
there was little more than a heavy swell after the
first twenty yards of surf. Zeb's chief difficulty
would be to catch a grip or footing on the reef
where the sea again grew broken, and his fore-
most dread lest cramp should seize him in the
bitterly cold water. Rising on the swell, he
could spy the seaman tossing and sinking on the
mast just ahead.
As it happened, he was spared the main peril
of the reef, for in fifty more strokes he found
himself plunging down into a smooth trough of
water with the mast directly beneath. As he


THE STRANGER.
57
shot down, the mast rose to him, he flung his
arms out over it, and was swept up, clutching it,
to the summit of the next swell.
Oddly enough, his first thought, as he hung
there, was not for the man he had come to save,
but for that which had turned him pale when
first he glanced through the telescope. The fore-
mast across which he lay was complete almost to
the royal-mast, though the yards were gone;
and to his left, just above the battered fore-top,
five men were lashed, dead and drowned. Most
of them had their eyes wide open, and seemed to
stare at Zeb and wriggle about in the stir of the
sea as if they lived. Spent and wretched as he
was, it lifted his hair. He almost called out to
them at first, and then he dragged his gaze off
them, and turned it to the right. The survivor
still clung here, and Zeb_who had been vaguely
wondering how on earth he contrived to keep his
seat and yet hold on by the rope without being
torn limb from limb—now discovered this end of
the mast to be so tightly jammed and tangled
against the wreck as practically to be immovable.
The man's face was about as scaring as the
se
OV


THE STRANGER.
59
thrust him off; and a struggle followed, which
ended in Zeb's getting by and gripping the mast
again between him and the wreck.
“Now list to me,” he shouted, pulling him-
self up and flinging a leg over the mast: “in-
gratitood's worse than witchcraft. Sit ye there
an' inwardly digest that sayin', while I saves
your life.”
He untied the line about his waist, then,
watching his chance, snatched the rope out of
the other's hand, threw his weight upon it, and
swung in towards the vessel's ribs till he touched
one, caught, and passed the line around it, high
up, with a quick double half-hitch. Running a
hand down the line, he dropped back upon the
mast. The stranger regarded him with a curious
stare, and at last found his voice.
“You seem powerfully set on saving me.”
His teeth chattered as he spoke, and his face
was pinched and hollow-eyed from cold and
exposure. But he was handsome, for all that,
a fellow not much older than Zeb, lean and
strongly made. His voice had a cultivated ring.
“Yes," answered Zeb, as, with one hand on


60
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
the line that now connected the wreck with the
shore, he sat down astride the mast facing him ;
“I reckon I'll do't.”
“ Unlucky, isn't it?”
" What?"
“To save a man from drowning.”
“Maybe. Untie these corks from my chest,
and let me slip 'em round yourn. How your
fingers do shake, to be sure ! ”
"I call you to witness,” said the other, with
a shiver, “ you are saving me on your own
responsibility.”
“ Can 'ee swim?"
“I could yesterday.”
“ Then you can now, wi' a belt o'corks an'
me to help. Keep a hand on the line an' pull
yoursel' along. Tide's runnin' again by now.
When you'm tired, hold fast by the rope an’
sing out to me. Stop; let me chafe your legs a
bit, for how you've lasted out as you have is
more than I know.”
“I was on the foretop most of the night.
Those fools- ” he broke off to nod at the
corpses.


THE STRANGER.
61
“ They’m dead,” put in Zeb, curtly.
“ They lashed themselves, thinking the fore-
mast would stand till daylight. I climbed down
half an hour before it went. I tell you what,
though ; my legs are too cramped to move. If
you want to save me you must carry me.”
“I was thinkin' the same. Well, come
along; for tho’ I don't like the cut o' your jib,
you'm a terrible handsome chap, and as clean-
built as ever I see. Now then, one arm round
my neck and tother on the line, but don't bear
too hard on it, for I doubt 'tis weakish. Bless
the Lord, the tide's running."
So they began their journey. Zeb had taken
barely a dozen strokes when the other groaned
and began to hang more heavily on his neck.
But he fought on, though very soon the struggle
became a blind and horrible nightmare to him.
The arm seemed to creep round his throat and
strangle him, and the blackness of a great night
came down over his eyes. Still he struck out,
and, oddly enough, found himself calling to his
comrade to hold tight.
When Sim Udy and Elias Sweetland dashed


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
in from the shore and swam to the rescue, they
found the pair clinging to the line, and at a
standstill. And when the four were helped
through the breakers to firm earth, Zeb tottered
two steps forward and dropped in a swoon,
burying his face in the sand. -
“He's not as strong as I," muttered the
stranger, staring at Parson Babbage in a dazed,
uncertain fashion, and uttering the words as if
they had no connection with his thoughts.
“ I'm afraid—sir-I've broken-his heart."
And with that he, too, fainted, into the
Parson's arms.
“ Better carry the both up to Sheba,” said
Farmer Tresidder.
Ruby lay still abed when Mary Jane, who
had been moving about the kitchen, sleepy-eyed,
getting ready the breakfast, dashed up-stairs
with the news that two dead men had been
taken off the wreck and were even now being
brought into the yard.
“You coarse girl,” she exclaimed, “to
frighten me with such horrors !”


THE STRANGER.
“Oh, very well,” answered Mary Jane, who
was in a rebellious mood, “ then I'm goin' down
to peep; for there's a kind o'what-I-can't-tell-'ee
about dead men that's very enticin', tho' it do
make you feel all-overish.”
By and by she came back panting, to find
Ruby already dressed.
“Aw, Miss Ruby, dreadful news I ha' to tell,
tho' joyous in a way. Would ’ee mind catchin'
hold o' the bed-post to give yoursel fortitude ?
Now let me cast about how to break it softly.
First, then, you must know he's not dead at
all-_ "
“ Who is not?"
“Your allotted husband, miss — Mister
Zeb."
“Why, who in the world said he was ?”
“But they took en up for dead, miss—for he'd
a-swum out to the wreck, an' then he'd a-swum
back with a man 'pon his back—an' touchin'
shore, he fell downward in a swound, marvellous
like to death for all to behold. So they brought
en up here, 'long wi' the chap he'd a-saved, an'
dressed en i' the spare room blankets, an' gave en


64
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
clane sperrits to drink, an' lo! he came to ; an'in
a minnit, lo! agen he went off ; an'— " .
Ruby, by this time, was half-way down the
stairs. Running to the kitchen door she flung it
open, calling “ Zeb! Zeb!”
But Young Zeb had fainted for the third time,
and while others of the group merely lifted their
heads at her entrance, the old crowder strode
towards her with some amount of sternness on
his face.
“Kape off my son!” he shouted. “Kape
off my son Zebedee, and go up-stairs agen to
your prayers ; for this be all your work, in a
way--you gay good-for-nuthin'!"
“Indeed, Mr. Minards,” retorted Ruby, firing
up under this extravagant charge and bridling,
“pray remember whose roof you’re under, with
your low language.”
“Begad,” interposed a strange voice, “but
that's the spirit for me, and the mouth to utter
it!”
Ruby, turning, met a pair of luminous eyes
gazing on her with bold admiration. The eyes
were set in a cadaverous, but handsome, face ;
W


CHAPTER IV.
YOUNG ZEB FETCHES A CHEST OF DRAWERS.
The parish of Ruan Lanihale is bounded on the
west by Porthlooe, a fishing town of fifteen
hundred inhabitants or less, that blocks the sea-
ward exit of a narrow coombe. A little stream
tumbles down this coombe towards the “ Hauen,"
divides the folk into parishioners of Lanihale and
Landaviddy, and receives impartially the fish
offal of both. There is a good deal of this offal,
especially during pilchard time, and the towns-
folk live on their first storeys, using the lower
floors as fish cellars, or “pallaces.” But even
while the nose most abhors, the eye is delighted
by jumbled houses, crazy stairways leading to
green doors, a group of children dabbling in the
mud at low tide, a congregation of white gulls, a
line of fishing boats below the quay where the
men lounge and whistle and the barked nets
hang to dry, and, beyond all, the shorn outline


YOUNG ZEB FETCHES A CHEST OF DRAWERS. 67
of two cliffs with a wedge of sea and sky
between.
Mr. Zebedee Minards the elder dwelt on the
eastern or Lanihale side of the stream, and a
good way back from the Hauen, beside the road
that winds inland up the coombe. Twenty yards
of garden divided his cottage door from the
road, and prevented the inmates from breaking
their necks as they stepped over its threshold.
Even as it was, Old Zeb had acquired a habit of
singing out “ Ware heads !” to the wayfarers
whenever he chanced to drop a rotund object on
his estate ; and if any small article were missing
indoors, would descend at once to the highway
with the cheerful assurance, based on repeated
success, of finding it somewhere below.
Over and above its recurrent crop of potatoes
and flatpoll cabbages, this precipitous garden
depended for permanent interest on a collection
of marine curiosities, all eloquent of disaster to
shipping. To begin with, a colossal and highly
varnished Cherokee, once the figure-head of a
West Indiaman, stood sentry by the gate and
hung forward over the road, to the discomfiture
E 2


I SAJ THREE SHIPS.
of unwarned and absent-minded bagmen. The
path to the door was guarded by a low fence of
split-bamboo baskets that had once contained
sugar from Batavia ; a coffee bag from the wreck
of a Dutch barque served for door-mat; a rum-
cask with a history caught rain-water from the
eaves ; and a lapdog's pagoda—a dainty affair,
striped in scarlet and yellow, the jetsom of some
passenger ship-had been deftly adapted by Old
Zeb, and stood in line with three straw bee-
skips under the eastern wall.
The next day but one after Christmas
dawned deliciously in Porthlooe, bright with
virginal sunshine, and made tender by the breath
of the Gulf Stream. Uncle Issy, passing up the
road at nine o'clock, halted by the Cherokee to
pass a word with its proprietor, who presented
the very antipodes of a bird's-eye view, as he
knocked about the crumbling clods with his visgy
at the top of the slope.
“Mornin', Old Zeb; how be 'ee, this dellicate
day?”
“ Brave, thankee, Uncle.”
“An’how's Coden Rachel ? "


YOUNG ZEB FETCHES A CHEST OF DRAWERS. 69
“She's charmin', thankee.”
“Comely weather, comely weather; the
gulls be comin' back down the coombe, I see."
“I be jealous about its lastin'; for 'tis over-
rathe for the time o’year. Terrible topsy-turvy
the seasons begin to run, in my old age. Here's
May in Janewarry; an' 'gainst May, comes th’
east wind breakin' the ships o' Tarshish.”
“Now, what an instructive chap you be to
convarse with, I do declare! Darned if I
didn’ stand here two minnits, gazin' up at the
seat o' your small-clothes, tryin' to think ’pon
what I wanted to say; for I'd a notion that I
wanted to speak, cruel bad, but cudn’ lay hand
on't. So at last I takes heart an' says “Mornin',
I says, beginnin' i' that very common way an'
hopin' 'twould come. An' round you whips wi'
‘ships o' Tarshish' pon your tongue; an' hence-
forth 'tis all Q's an' A's, like a cattykism."
“ Well, now you say so, I did notice, when I
turned round, that you was lookin' no better than
a fool, so to speak. But what's the notion ? ”
“ 'Tis a question I've a-been daggin' to ax’ee
ever since it woke me up in the night to spekilate


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
thereon. For I felt it very curious there shud
be three Zebedee Minardses i’this parish a-drawin'
separate breath at the same time.”
" Iss, 'tis an out-o'-the-way fact."
“A stirrin' age, when such things befall! If
you'd a-told me, a week agone, that I should live-
to see the like, I'd ha' called 'ee a liar; an' yet
here I be a-talkin' away, an' there you be a-
listenin', an' here be the old world a-spinnin' us
round as in bygone times— ”
“Iss, iss—but what's the question ?”
“_All the same when that furriner chap looks
up in Tresidder's kitchen an' says “My name is
Zebedee Minards,' you might ha'blown me down
wi' a puff; an' says I to mysel, wakin' up last
night an' thinkin'—I'll ax a question of Old
Zeb when I sees en, blest if I don't.'”.
“ Then why in thunder don't 'ee make haste
an' do it ? ”
Uncle Issy, after revolving the question for
another fifteen seconds, produced it in this
attractive form-
"Old Zeb, bein' called Zeb, why did 'ee call
Young Zeb, Zeb ? ”


YOUNG ZEB FETCHES A CHEST OF DRAWERS. 71
Old Zeb ceased to knock the clods about,
descended the path, and leaning on his visgy
began to contemplate the opposite slope of the
coombe, as if the answer were written, in letters
hard to decipher, along the hill-side.
“Well, now,” he began, after opening his
mouth twice and shutting it without sound,
“ folks may say what they like o' your wits,
Uncle, an' talk o' your looks bein' against 'ee, as
they do ; but you've a-put a twister, this time,
an' no mistake.”
“I reckoned it a banger," said the old man,
complacently.
“Iss. But I had my reasons all the same.”
“ To be sure you had. But rabbet me if I
can guess what they were.”
“I'll tell 'ee. You see when Zeb was born, an'
the time runnin' on for his christ'nin', Rachel an'
me puzzled for days what to call en. At last I
said, “ Look 'ere, I tell 'ee what: you shut your
eyes an’ open the Bible, anyhow, an' I'll shut
mine an' take a dive wi' my finger, an’ we'll call
en by the nearest name I hits on.' So we did.
When we tuk en to church, tho', there was a


72
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
pretty shape. “Name this cheeld,' says Pa’son
Babbage. “Selah,' says I, that bein' the word
we'd settled. “Selah?' says he: “pack o'stuff !
that ain't no manner o' name. You might so
well call en Amen.' So bein' hurried in mind,
what wi' the cheeld kickin', an' the water
tricklin' off the pa'son's forefinger, an' the sacred
natur' of the deed, I cudn’think ’pon no name
but my own; an' Zeb he was christened.”
“Deary me,” commented Uncle Issy, “ that's
a very life-like history. The wonder is, the
self-same fix don't happen at more christ'nin's,
'tis so very life-like.”
A silence followed, full of thought. It was
cut short by the rattle of wheels coming down
the road, and Young Zeb's grey mare hove in
sight, with Young Zeb’s green cart, and Young
Zeb himself standing up in it, wide-legged. He
wore a colour as fresh as on Christmas morning,
and seemed none the worse for his adventure.
“Hello !” he called, pulling up the mare ;
“ 'mornin', Uncle Issy-—'mornin', father.”
“Same to you, my son. Whither away ?
as the man said once.”


YOUNG ZEB FETCHES A CHEST OF DRAWERS. 73
“Aye, whither away?” chimed Uncle Issy ;
“ for the pilchards be all gone up Channel these
two months.”
“To Liskeard, for a chest-o'-drawers.”
Young Zeb, to be ready for married life,
bad taken a house for himself—a neat cottage
with a yard and stable, farther up the coombe.
But stress of business had interfered with the
furnishing until quite lately.
“Rale meogginy, I suppose, as befits a proud
tradesman.”
“No: painted, but wi’ the twiddles put in so
artfully you'd think 'twas rale. So, as 'tis a fine
day, I'm drivin' in to Mister Pennyway's shop
o'purpose to fetch it afore it be snapped up, for
'tis a captivatin' article. I'll be back by six,
tho', i time to get into my clothes an' grease
my hair for the courant, up to Sheba.”
“ Zeb,” said his father, abruptly, “’tis a
grand match you'm makin', an' you may call me
a nincom, but I wish ye wasn'."
“ 'Tis lookin' high,” put in Uncle Issy.
“A cat may look at a king, if he's got his
eyes about en,” Old Zeb went on," let alone a


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
legacy an' a green cart. "Tain't that: 'tis the
maid.”
“How's mother ? ” asked the young man,
to shift the conversation.
“Hugly, my son. Hi! Rachel !” he shouted,
turning his head towards the cottage ; and then
went on, dropping his voice, “ As between nay-
bours, I'm fain to say she don't shine this
mornin'. Hi, mother! here's Zebedee waitin' to
pay his respects.”
Mrs. Minards appeared on the cottage thres-
hold, with a blue check duster round her head-
a tall, angular woman, of severe deportment.
Her husband's bulletin, it is fair to say, had
reference rather to her temper than to her
personal attractions.
"Be the Frenchmen landed ?” she inquired,
sharply.
“Why, no; nor yet likely to."
“Then why be I called out i' the midst o'
my clanin'? What came I out for to see ?
Was it to pass the time o' day wi' an aged
shaken-by-the-wind kind o' loiterer they name
Uncle Issy?"


76
. I SAW THREE SHIPS.
,
une
the effort hard to sustain. Moreover, he felt
uneasy about the stranger. Fate must be in-
tending mischief, he fancied, when it led him
to rescue a man who so strangely happened to
bear his own name. The fellow, too, was still
at Sheba, being nursed back to strength; and
Zeb didn't like it. In spite of the day, and the
merry breath of it that blew from the sea upon
his right cheek, black care dogged him all the
way up the long hill that led out of Porthlooe,
and clung to the tail-board of his green cart as
he jolted down again towards Ruan Cove.
After passing the Cove-head, Young Zeb
pulled up the mare, and was taken with a fit
of thoughtfulness, glancing up towards Sheba
farm, and then along the high-road, as if un-
certain. The mare settled the question after a
minute, by turning into the lane, and Zeb let
her have her way.
“Where's Miss Ruby ?” he asked, driving
into the town-place, and coming on Mary Jane,
who was filling a pig’s-bucket by the back
door.
“Gone up to Parc Dew 'long wi' maister an'


YOUNG ZEB FETCHES A CHEST 10
TTD
OF DRAWERS. 77
Nor
e
the very man I seed i' my tay-cup, a week come
Friday.”
“ H'm.”
“ Iss, fay; an’ a great long-legged stranger
he was. So I stuck en 'pon my fist an' gave en
a scat. To-day,' says I, but he didn'budge.
To-morrow,' I says, an' gave en another; and
then “Nex' day ;' and t'third time he flew
'Shall have a sweet’eart, Sunday, praise the Lord,'
thinks I; 'wonder who 'tis ? Anyway, 'tis a
comfort he'll be high 'pon his pins, like Nanny
Painter's hens, for mine be all the purgy-bustious
shape just now. Well, Sunday night he came
to Raney Rock, an' Monday mornin' to Sheba
farm; and no thanks to you that brought en,
for not a single dare-to-deny-me glance has he
cast this way.” .
“Which way, then?”
“ 'Can't stay to causey, Master Zeb, wi' all
the best horn-handled knives to be took out o'
blue-butter 'gainst this evenin's courant. Be-
sides, you called me a liar last week.” .
“So you be. But I'll believe 'ee this time.”
" Well, I'll tell 'ee this much--for you look
U


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
a very handsome jowter i that new cart. If I
were you, I'd be careful that gay furriner didn'
steal more'n my name.”
Meantime, a group of four was standing in
the middle of Parc Dew, the twenty-acred field
behind the farmstead. The stranger, dressed in
a blue jersey and outfit of Farmer Tresidder's,
that made up in boots for its shortcomings
elsewhere, was addressing the farmer, Ruby,
and Jim Lewarne, who heard him with lively
attention. In his right hand he held a walking-
stick armed with a spud, for uprooting thistles ;
and in his left a cake of dark soil, half stone,
half mud. His manner was earnest.
".... I see,” he was saying, “ that I don't
convince you ; and it's only for your own sakes
I insist on convincing you. You'll grant me
that, I suppose. To-morrow, or the next day, I
go; and the chances are that we never meet
again in this world. But ’twould be a pleasant
thought to carry off to the ends of the earth
that you, my benefactors, were living in wealth,
enriched (if I may say it without presumption)


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
Chemistry? No? I thought not. Do you
know of any manure better than the ore-weed
you gather down at the Cove? Or the plan of
malting grain to feed your cattle on through
the winter? Or the respective merits of oxen
and horses as beasts of draught ? But these
matters, though the life and soul of modern
husbandry, are as nothing to this lump in my
hand. What do you call the field we're now
standing in ?”
“ Parc Dew.”
“ Exactly—the 'black field,' or the field of
black soil': the very name should have told
you. But you lay it down in grass, and but for
the chance of this spud and a lucky thistle, I
might have walked over it a score of times with-
out guessing its secret. Man alive, it's red gold
I have here---red, wicked, damnable, delicious
gold—the root of all evil and of most joys.”
“If you lie, you lie enticingly, young man.”
“ By gold, I mean stuff that shall make
gold for you. There is ore here, but what ore
exactly I can't tell till I've streamed it: lead, I
fancy, with a trace of silver-wealth for you,
n


YOUNG ZEB FETCHES A CHEST OF DRAWERS. 81
certainly; and in what quantity you shall find
out- "
At this juncture a voice was heard calling
over the hedge, at the bottom of the field. It
came from Young Zeb, the upper part of whose
person, as he stood up in his cart, was just
visible between two tamarisk bushes.
“Ru-b-y-y-y!”
“Drat the chap!” exclaimed Ruby's
father, wheeling round sharply. “What d'ye
wa-a-a-nt ?” he yelled back.
" Come to know 'bout that chest o'
dra-w-W-ers ! ”
“Then come ’long round by th’ ga-a-ate!”
“Can't sta-a-ay! Want to know, as I'm
drivin' to Liskeard, if Ruby thinks nine-an'-six
too mu-u-ch, as the twiddles be so very cle-v-
ver!”
“How ridiculous!” muttered the stranger,
just loud enough for Ruby to hear. “Who is
this absurd person ? ”
Jim Lewarne answered—“A low-lived chap,
mister, as saved your skin awhile back.”
“Dear, dear-how unpardonable of me! I


82
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
.
hadn't the least idea at this distance. Excuse
me, I must go and thank him at once.”
He moved towards the hedge with a brisk
step that seemed to cost him some pain. The
others followed, a pace or two behind.
“You'll not mind my interruptin', Farmer,"
continued Young Zeb, “but 'tis time Ruby
made her mind up, for Mister Pennyway
won't take a stiver less. 'Mornin', Ruby, my
dear.”
“And you'll forgive me if I also interrupt,”
put in the stranger, with the pleasantest smile,
“ but it is time I thanked the friend who saved
my life on Monday morning. I would come
round and shake hands if only I could see the
gate.”
“Don't 'ee mention it,” replied Zeb, blush-
ing hotly. “I'm glad to mark ye lookin' so
brave a’ready. Well, what d'ye say, Ruby?”
“I say . please yoursel.'”
For of the two men standing before Ruby
(she did not count her father and Jim Lewarne),
the stranger, with his bold features and easy
conciliating carriage, had the advantage. It is


YOUNG ZEB FETCHES A CHEST OF DRAWERS. 83
probable that he knew it, and threw a touch of
acting into his silence as Zeb cut him short.
“ That's a fair speech,” replied Zeb. “Iss,
turn it how you will, the words be winnin'
enow. But be danged, my dear, if I wudn’as
lief you said, 'Go to blazes !""
“Fact is, my son,” said Farmer Tresidder,
candidly, "you'm good but untimely, like
kissin' the wrong maid. This here surpassin'
young friend o' mine was speech-makin' after
a pleasant fashion in our ears when you began
to bawl- "
“Then you don't want to hear about the
chest o' drawers ? ” interrupted Zeb in dudgeon,
with a glance at Ruby, who pretended not to
see it.
“Well, no. To tell 'ee the slap-bang truth,
I don't care if I see no trace of 'ee till the
dancin' begins to commence to-night.”
" Then good-day ť ye, friends,” answered
Young Zeb, and turned the mare. “Cl’k,
Jessamy!” He rattled away down the lane.
“What an admirable youth !” murmured
the stranger, falling back a pace and gazing
F 2


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
after the back of Zeb's head as it passed down
the line of the hedge. “ What a messenger!
He seems eaten up with desire to get you a
chest of drawers that shall be wholly satisfying.
But why do you allow him to call you ‘my
dear '?”
“Because, I suppose, that's what I am,”
answered Ruby ; “ because I'm goin' to marry
him within the month."
“ Wh-e-e-w!"
But, as a matter of fact, the stranger had
known before asking.


86
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
in the stage of artificial ease, and wearing a lace
cap, which was none the less dignified for
having been smuggled, was perpending what
to say when she should get him home. The
dancers, pale and dusty, leant back in rows
against the wall, and with their handkerchiefs
went through the motions of fanning or polish-
ing, according to sex. In their midst circulated
Farmer Tresidder, with a three-handled mug of
shenachrum, hot from the embers, and, furred
with wood-ash.
“ Take an' drink, thirsty souls. Niver do I
mind the Letterpooch so footed i'my born
days."
“ 'Twas conspirator — very conspirator,” as-
sented Old Zeb, screwing up his A string a
trifle, and turning con spirito into a dark
saying.
“ What's that?" .
“Greek for elbow-grease. Phew!" He
rubbed his fore-finger round between neck and
shirt-collar. “I be vady as the inside of a
winder.”
“Such a man as you be to sweat, crowder!”


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
with elaborate slyness. “I don't like that
strange chap,” he announced, irrelevantly.
"Nor I nuther,” agreed Elias Sweetland,
“tho' to be sure, I've a-kept my eye 'pon en,
an’ the wonders he accomplishes in an old pair
o' Tresidder's high-lows must be seen to be
believed. But that's no call for Ruby's dancin'
wi' he aʼmost so much as wi' her proper man.”
“The gel's takin' her fling afore wedlock.. I
heard Sarah Ann Nanjulian, just now, sayin'
she ought to be clawed.”
“A jealous woman is a scourge shaken to
an’ fro," said Old Zeb; “but I've a mind,
friends, to strike up ^ Randy my dandy,' for that
son o' mine is lookin' blacker than the horned
man, an'may be 'twill comfort 'en to dance
afore the public eye; for there's none can take
his wind in a hornpipe.”
In fact, it was high time that somebody
comforted Young Zeb, for his heart was hot.
He had brought home the chest of drawers in
his cart, and spent an hour fixing on the best
position for it in the bedroom, before dressing
for the dance. Also he had purchased, in Mr.


THE STRANGER DANCES IN ZEB'S SHOES. 89
Pennyway's shop, an armchair, in the worst
taste, to be a pleasant surprise for Ruby when
the happy day came for installing her. Finding
he had still twenty minutes to spare after giving
the last twitch to his neckerchief, and the last
brush to his anointed locks, he had sat down
facing this chair, and had striven to imagine her
in it, darning his stockings. Zeb was not, as
a rule, imaginative, but love drew this delicious
picture for him. He picked up his hat, and set
out for Sheba in the best of tempers.
But at Sheba all had gone badly. Ruby's
frock of white muslin and Ruby's small sandal
shoes were bewitching, but Ruby's mood passed
his intelligence. It was true she gave him half
the dances, but then she gave the other half to
that accursed stranger, and the stranger had all
her smiles, which was carrying hospitality too
far. Not a word had she uttered to Zeb beyond
the merest commonplaces; on the purchase of
the chest of drawers she had breathed no ques-
tion ; she hung listlessly on his arm, and spoke
only of the music, the other girls frocks, the
arrangement of the supper-table. And at supper


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
the stranger had not only sat on the other side
of her, but had talked all the time, and on
books, a subject entirely uninteresting to Zeb.
Worst of all, Ruby had listened. No; the
worst of all was a remark of Modesty Prowse's
that he chanced to overhear afterwards.
So when the fiddles struck up the air of
“Randy my dandy," Zeb, knowing that the
company would call upon him, at first felt his
heart turn sick with loathing. He glanced
across the room at Ruby, who, with heightened
colour, was listening to the stranger, and look-
ing up at his handsome face. Already one or
two voices were calling “ Zeb!” “Young Zeb
for a hornpipe !” “Now then, Young Zeb!”
He had a mind to refuse. For years after
he remembered every small detail of the room as
he looked down it and then across to Ruby
again: the motion of the fiddle-bows; the varie-
gated dresses of the women ; the kissing-bush
that some tall dancer's head had set swaying
from the low rafter; the light of a sconce
gleaming on Tresidder's bald scalp. Years
after, he could recall the exact poise of Ruby's


THE STRANGER DANCES IN ZEB'S SHOES. 91
head as she answered some question of her com-
panion. The stranger left her, and strolled
slowly down the room to the fireplace, when he
faced round, throwing an arm negligently along
the mantel-shelf, and leant with legs crossed,
waiting.
Then Young Zeb made up his mind, and
stepped out into the middle of the floor. The
musicians were sawing with might and main at
high speed. He crossed his arms, and, fixing
his eyes on the stranger's, began the hornpipe.
When it ceased, he had danced his best. It
was only when the applause broke out that he
knew he had fastened, from start to finish, on
the man by the fireplace a pair of eyes blazing
with hate. The other had stared back quietly,
as if he noted only the performance. As the
music ended sharply with the click of Young
Zeb's two heels, the stranger bent, took up a
pair of tongs, and rearranged the fire before
lifting his head.
“ Yes,” he said, slowly, but in tones that
were extremely distinct as the clapping died
away, “ that was wonderfully danced. In some


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
ways I should almost say you were inspired.
A slight want of airiness in the double-shuffle,
perhaps ——”
“Could you do’t better? ” asked Zeb, sulkily.
“ That isn't the fair way to treat criticism,
my friend; but yes-oh, yes, certainly I could
do it better-in your shoes."
“Then try, i' my shoes.” And Zeb kicked
them off.
“I've a notion they'll fit me," was all the
stranger answered, dropping on one knee and
beginning to unfasten the cumbrous boots he
bad borrowed of Farmer Tresidder.
Indeed, the curious likeness in build of these
two men—a likeness accentuated, rather than
slurred, by their contrast in colour and face, was
now seen to extend even to their feet. When
the stranger stood up at length in Zeb's shoes,
they fitted him to a nicety, the broad steel
buckles lying comfortably over the instep, the
back of the uppers closing round the hollow
of his ankle like a skin
Young Zeb, by this, had crossed shoeless to
the fireplace, and now stood in the position


94
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
he was going to be mastered. So far, the per-
formance was academic only. Zeb, unacquainted
with the word, recognised the fact, and was
quite aware of the inspiration—the personal gift
-held in reserve to transfigure this precise art in
a minute or so, and give it life. He saw the
force gathering in the steady rhythmical twinkle
of the steel buckles, and heard it speak in the
light recurrent tap with which the stranger's
heels kissed the floor. It was doubly bitter that
he and his enemy alone should know what was
coming; trebly bitter that his enemy should be
aware that he knew.
The crowder slackened speed for a second, to
give warning, and dashed into the heel-and-toe.
Zeb caught the light in the dancer's eyes, and
still frowning, drew a long breath.
“Faster,” nodded the stranger to the
musicians' corner.
Then came the moment for which, by this
time, Zeb was longing. The stranger rested
with heels together while a man might count
eight rapidly, and suddenly began a step the
like of which none present had ever witnessed.


THE STRANGER DANCES IN ZEB'S SHOES. 95
Above the hips his body swayed steadily, softly,
to the measure ; his eyes never took their
pleasant smile off Zeb's face, but his feet-
The steel buckles had become two sparkling
moths, spinning, poising, darting. They no
longer belonged to the man, but had taken
separate life: and merely the absolute symmetry
of their loops and circles, and the click-click-click
on boards, regular as ever, told of the art that
informed them.
“ Faster!”
They crossed and re-crossed now like small
flashes of lightning, or as if the boards were
flints giving out a score of sparks at every touch
of the man's heel.
“ Faster!”
They seemed suddenly to catch the light out
of every sconce, and knead it into a ball of
fire, that spun and yet was motionless, in the
very middle of the floor, while all the rest of the
room grew suddenly dimmed.
Zeb with a gasp drew his eyes away for
a second and glanced around. Fiddlers and
guests seemed ghostly after the fierce light he
rod
W


96
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
had been gazing on. He looked along the pale
faces to the place where Ruby stood. She, too,
glanced up, and their eyes met. .
What he saw fetched a sob from his throat.
Then something on the floor caught his atten-
tión: something bright, close by his feet.
Between his out-spread legs, as it seemed, a
thin streak of silver was creeping along the
flooring. He rubbed his eyes, and looked again.
He was straddling across a stream of molten
metal.
As Zeb caught sight of this, the stranger
twirled, leapt a foot in the air, and came down
smartly on the final note, with a click of his
heels. The music ceased abruptly.
A storm of clapping broke out, but stopped
almost on the instant: for the stranger had
flung an arm out towards the hearth-stone.
“A mine—a mine!”
The white streak ran hissing from the heart
of the fire, where a clod of earth rested among
the ashen sticks.
“Witchcraft !” muttered one or two of the
guests, peering forward with round eyes.


THE STRANGER DANCES IN ZEB'S SHOES. 97
“ Fiddlestick-end ! I put the clod there
myself. 'Tis lead !”
“ Lead?”
“Ay, naybours all,” broke in Farmer
Tresidder, his bald head bedewed with sweat,
“I don't want to abash 'ee, Lord knows; but
'tis trew as doom that I be a passing well-
to-do chap. I shudn’ wonder now" - and
here he embraced the company with a•
smile, half pompous and half timid—“I shudn'
wonder if ye was to see me trottin' to Parly-
ment House in a gilded coach afore Michael-
mas—I be so tremenjous rich, by all ac-
counts.”
“You'll excoose my sayin' it, Farmer,”
spoke up Old Zeb out of the awed silence that
followed, “for doubtless I may be thick o'
hearin', but did I, or did I not, catch 'ee
alludin' to a windfall o' wealth ?”.
“ You did.”
“You'll excoose me sayin' it, Farmer ; but
was it soberly or pleasantly, honest creed or
light lips, down-right or random, 'out o' the
heart the mouth speaketh' or wantonly and in


I SAW THREE SHIPS.
round figgers, as it might happen to a man
filled with meat and wine?”
“ 'Twas the cold trewth.”
“By what slice o' fortune ?"
"By a mine, as you might put it: or,
as between man an'man, by a mine o'
lead.”
“Farmer, you're either a born liar or the
• darlin' o' luck."
“Aye : I feel it. I feel that overpowerin'ly.”
“For my part,” put in Mrs. Jim Lewarne,
“I've given over follerin' the freaks o’ Fortune.
They be so very undiscernin”.”
And this sentence probably summed up the
opinion of the majority.
In the midst of the excitement Young Zeb
strode up to the stranger, who stood a little
behind the throng.
“Give me back my shoes,” he said.
The other kicked them off and looked at him
oddly.
“ With pleasure. You'll find them a bit
worn, I'm afraid.”


THE STRANGER DANCES IN ZEB'S SHOES. 99
“I'll chance that. Man, I'm not all sorry,
either.”
“Hey, why?”
“ 'Cause they'll not be worn agen, arter
this night. Gentleman or devil, whichever
you may be, I bain't fit to dance i’ the same
parish with 'ee—no, nor to tread the shoeleather
you've worn.”
“ By the powers !” cried the stranger
suddenly, “two minutes ago I'd have agreed
with you. But, looking in your eyes, I'm not
so sure of it.”
“ Of what?"
“That you won't wear the shoes again."
Then Zeb went after Ruby.
“I want to speak a word with 'ee,” he said
quietly, stepping up to her.
" Where?”
“I' the hall.”
“But I can't come, just now.”
“But you must.”
She followed him out.
“ Zeb, what's the matter with you ? "
G 2


100
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
1
“Look here”—and he faced round sharply
—“I loved you passing well.”
“ Well? ” she asked, like a faint echo.
“I saw your eyes, just now. Don't lie.”
“I won't.”
“That's right. And now listen : if you
marry me, I'll treat 'ee like a span'el dog.
Fetch you shall, an' carry, for my pleasure.
You shall be slave, an' I your taskmaster; an'
the sweetness o' your love shall come by
crushin', like trodden thyme. Shall I suit
you ? "
“I don't think you will."
“ Then good-night to you."
“Good-night, Zeb. I don't fancy you'll
suit me; but I'm not so sure as before you
began to speak.”
There was no answer to this but the
slamming of the front door.
At half-past seven that morning, Parson
Babbage, who had risen early, after his wont,
was standing on the Vicarage doorstep to re-
spire the first breath of the pale day, when he


THE STRANGER DANCES IN ZEB'S SHOES. 101
was
T
heard the garden gate unlatched and saw Young
Zeb coming up the path.
The young man still wore his festival dress;
but his best stockings and buckled shoes were
stained and splashed, as from much walking in
miry ways. Also he came unsteadily, and his
face was white as ashes. The parson stared
and asked-
“ Young Zeb, have you been drinking ?”
“No."
“ Then 'tis trouble, my son, an’ I ask your
pardon.”
“A man might call it so. I'm come to
forbid my banns.”
The elder man cocked his head on one side,
much as a thrush contemplates a worm.
“I smell a wise wit, somewhere. Young
man, who taught you so capital a notion ? ”
“Ruby did.”
“Pack o'stuff! Ruby hadn't the-stop a
minute ! 'twas that clever fellow you fetched
ashore, on Monday. Of course—of course !
How came it to slip my mind ? ”
Young Zeb turned away ; but the old man


102
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
was after him, quick as thought, and had laid a
hand on his shoulder.
“ Is it bitter, my son ?”
“It is bitter as death, Pa’son."
“My poor lad. Step in an' break your fast
with me-poor lad, poor lad! Nay, but you
shall. There's a bitch pup i' the stables that I
want your judgment on. Bitter, eh? I dessay.
I dessay. I'm thinking of walking her-lemon
spot on the left ear-Rattler strain, of course.
Dear me, this makes six generations I can count
back that spot-an' game every one. Step in,
poor lad, step in: she's a picture."


103
CHAPTER VI.
SIEGE IS LAID TO RUBY.
The sun was higher by some hours-high
enough to be streaming brightly over the wall
into the courtlage at Sheba—when Ruby awoke
from a dreamless sleep. As she lifted her head
from the pillow and felt the fatigue of last night
yet in her limbs, she was aware also of a rich
tenor voice uplifted beneath her window. Air
and words were strange to her, and the voice
had little in common with the world as she
knew it. Its exile on that coast was almost
pathetic, and it dwelt on the notes with a feeling
of a warmer land.
“O south be north-
O sun be shady-
Until my lady
Shall issue forth :
Till her own mouth
Bid sun uncertain
n un


104
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
To draw his curtain,
Bid south be south.”.
She stole out of bed and went on tiptoe to
the window, where she drew the blind an inch
aside. The stranger's footstep had ceased to
crunch the gravel, and he stood now just beneath
her, before the monthly-rose bush. Throughout
the winter a blossom or two lingered in that
sheltered corner; and he had drawn the nearest
down to smell at it.
"O heart, her rose,
I cannot ease thee
Till she release thee
And bid unclose.
So, till day come
And she be risen,'
Rest, rose, in prison
And heart be dumb !”
He snapped the stem and passed on, whistling
the air of his ditty, and twirling the rose between
finger and thumb.
“Men are all ninnies,” Ruby decided as she
dropped the blind; "and I thank the fates that


SIEGE IS LAID TO RUBY.
105
framed me female and priced me high. Heigho!
but it's a difficult world for women. Either a
man thinks you an angel, and then you know
him for a fool, or he sees through you and won't
marry you for worlds. If we behaved like that,
men would fare badly, I reckon. Zeb loved me
till the very moment I began to respect him :
then he left off. If this one . . . I like his
cool way of plucking my roses, though. Zeb
would have waited and wanted, till the flower
dropped.”
She spent longer than usual over her dress-
ing: so that when she appeared in the parlour
the two men were already seated at breakfast.
The room still bore traces of last night's frolic.
The uncarpeted boards gleamed as the guests'
feet had polished them ; and upon the very spot
where the stranger had danced now stood the
breakfast-table, piled with broken meats. This
alone of all the heavier pieces of furniture had
been restored to its place. As Ruby entered,
the stranger broke off an earnest conversation
he was holding with the farmer, and stood up
to greet her. The rose lay on her plate.


106
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
“Who has robbed my rose-bush ? " she
asked.
“I am guilty," he answered: “I stole it to
give it back; and, not being mine, 'twas the
harder to part with.”
“To my mind,” broke in Farmer Tresidder,
with his mouth full of ham, “ the best part o’
the feast be the over-plush. Squab pie, muggetty
pie, conger pie, sweet giblet pie-such a whack
of pies do try a man, to be sure. Likewise
junkets an’ heavy cake be a responsibility, for if
not eaten quick, they perish. But let it be mine
to pass my days with a cheek o' pork like the
present instance. Ruby, my dear, the young man
here wants to lave us.”
“Leave us ? " echoed Ruby, pricking her
finger deep in the act of pinning the stranger's
rose in her bosom.
"You hear, young man. That's the tone o'
speech signifyin' ' damn it all!' among women.
And so say I, wi' all these vittles cryin' out to be
ate.”
“ These brisk days,” began the stranger
quietly, “ are not to be let slip. I have no wife,


108
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
“Briefly,” he went on, “I can stay on one
condition only—that I marry you.”
She rose from her seat and stood, grasping
the back rail of the chair.
“Don't be alarmed. I merely state the con-
dition, but of course it's awkward : you're already
bound. Your father (who, I must say, honours
me with considerable trust, seeing that he knows
nothing about me) was good enough to suggest
that your affection for this young fish-jowter was
a transient fancy- ”
“Father— ” began the girl, rather for
the sake of hearing her own voice than because
she knew what to say.
Farmer Tresidder groaned. “Young man,
where's your gumption? You'm makin' a mess
o'tman' I thought 'ee so very clever.”
“Really,” pursued the stranger imper-
turbably, without lifting his eyes from Ruby,
“I don't know which to admire most, your
father's head or his heart; his head, I think, on
the whole. So much hospitality, paternal solici.
tude, and commercial prudence was surely never
packed into one scheme.”


SIEGE IS LAID TO RUBY.
109
He broke off for a minute and, still looking
at her, began to drum with his finger-tips on the
cloth. His mouth was pursed up as if silently
whistling an air. Ruby could neither move
nor speak. The spell upon her was much like
that which had lain on Young Zeb, the night
before, during the hornpipe. She felt weak as a
child in the presence of this man, or rather as
one recovering from a long illness. He seemed
to fill the room, speaking words as if they were
living things, as if he were taking the world to
bits and re-arranging it before her eyes. She
divined the passion behind these words, and she
longed to get a sight of it, to catch an echo of
the voice that had sung beneath her window, an
hour before. But when he resumed, it was in
the same bloodless and contemptuous tone.
“ Your father was very anxious that I should
supplant this young jowter-—”.
"O Lord ! I never said it.”
“Allow me,” said the stranger, without deign-
ing to look round,“ to carry on this courtship in
my own way. Your father, young woman, desired
-it was none of my suggestion—that I should


110
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
insinuate myself into your good graces. I will
not conceal from you my plain opinion of your
father's judgment in these matters. I think him
a fool.”
“Name o' thunder ! ”
“Farmer, if you interrupt again I must ask
you to get out. Young woman, kindly listen
while I make you a formal proposition of
marriage. My name, I have told you, is Zebedee
Minards. I was born by London Docks, but
have neither home nor people. I have travelled
by land and sea ; slept on silk and straw ; drunk
wine and the salt water; fought, gambled, made
love, begged my bread ; in all, lost much and
found much, in many countries. I am tossed on
this coast, where I find you, and find also a man
in my name having hold over you. I think I
want to marry you. Will you give up this other
man ? "
He pursed up his lips again. With that
sense of trifles which is sharpest when the
world suddenly becomes too big for a human
being, Ruby had a curiosity to know what
he was whistling. And this worried her even


SIEGE IS LAID TO RUBY.
111
while, after a minute's silence, she stammered
out-
“I–I gave him up-last night.”
“ Very good. Now listen again. In an
hour's time I walk to Porthlooe. There I shall
take the van to catch the Plymouth coach. In
any case, I must spend till Saturday in Plymouth.
It depends on you whether I come back at the
end of that time. You are going to cry : keep
the tears back till you have answered me. Will
you marry me?”
She put out a hand to steady herself, and
opened her lips. She felt the room spinning,
and wanted to cry out for mercy. But her
mouth made no sound.
“Will you marry me?”
“Yee-yes!”
As the word came, she sank down in a chair,
bent her head on the table, and burst into a
storm of tears.
“ The devil's in it !” shouted her father, and
bounced out of the room.
No sooner had the door slammed behind him
than the stranger's face became transfigured.


112
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
He stood up and laid a hand softly on the girl's
head.
“Ruby!”
She did not look up. Her shoulders were
shaken by one great sob after another.
“Ruby!”
He took the two hands gently from her face,
and forced her to look at him. His eyes were
alight with the most beautiful smile.
“For pity's sake,” she cried out, “ don't look
at me like that. You've looked me through
and through—you understand me. Don't lie
with your eyes, as you're lying now.”
“My dear girl, yes I understand you.
But you're wrong. I lied to get you: I'm
not lying now.”
“I think you must be Satan himself.”
The stranger laughed. “Surely he needn't
to have taken so much trouble. Smile back at
me, Ruby, for I played a risky stroke to get
you, and shall play a risky game for many days
yet."
He balanced himself on the arm of her chair
and drew her head towards him.


114
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
"I am waiting for you to go and tell your
father,” said the stranger at length.
Ruby shivered.
“I seem to have grown very old and wise,"
she murmured.
He kissed her lightly.
“That's the natural result of being found
out. I've felt it myself. Are you going ? ”
“You know that I cannot.”
“ You shall have twenty minutes to choose.
At the end of that time I shall pass out at the
gate and look up at your window. If the blind
remain up, I go to the vicarage to put up our
banns before I set off for Plymouth. If it be
drawn down, I leave this house for ever, taking
nothing from it but a suit of old clothes, a
few worthless specimens (that I shall turn out
of my pockets by the first hedge), and the
memory of your face.”
It happened, as he unlatched the gate,
twenty minutes later, that the blind remained
up. Ruby's face was not at the window, but
he kissed his hand for all that, and smiled, and


SIEGE IS LAID TO RUBY.
115
went his way singing. The air was the very
same he had whistled dumbly that morning, the
air that Ruby had speculated upon. And the
words were—
“Soldier, soldier, will you marry me,
With the bagginet, fife and drum ?'
Oh, no, pretty miss, I cannot marry you,
For I've got no coat to put on.'
“So away she ran to the tailor's shop,
As fast as she could run,
And she bought him a coat of the very very
best,
. And the soldier clapped it on.
“«Soldier, soldier, will you marry me—""
His voice died away down the lane.
12


116
CHAPTER VII.
THE “JOLLY PILCHARDS."
On the following Saturday night (New Year's
Eve) an incident worth record occurred in the
bar-parlour of the “ Jolly Pilchards” at Porth-
looe.
You may find the inn to this day on the
western side of the Hauen as you go to the
Old Quay. A pair of fish-scales faces the
entrance, and the jolly pilchards themselves
hang over your head, on a signboard that creaks
mightily when the wind blows from the south.
The signboard was creaking that night, and
a thick drizzle drove in gusts past the door.
Behind the red blinds within, the landlady, Prudy
Polwarne, stood with her back to the open hearth.
Her hands rested on her hips, and the firelight,
that covered all the opposite wall and most of the
ceiling with her shadow, beat out between her
thick ankles in the shape of a fan. She was


THE “JOLLY PILCHARDS."
117
as n
wa
a widow, with a huge, pale face and a figure
nearly as broad as it was long; and no man
thwarted her. Weaknesses she had none,
except an inability to darn her stockings. That
the holes at her heels might not be seen, she
had a trick of pulling her stockings down under
her feet, an inch or two at a time, as they wore
out; and when the tops no longer reached to
her knee, she gartered—so gossip said-half-
way down the leg."
. Around her, in as much of the warmth
as she spared, sat Old Zeb, Uncle Issy, Jim
Lewarne, his brother, and six or seven other
notables of the two parishes. They were listen-
ing just now, and though the mug of eggy-hot
passed from hand to hand as steadily as usual,
a certain restrained excitement might have been
guessed from the volumes of smoke ascending
from their clay pipes.
“A man must feel it, boys,” the hostess said,
" wi’ a rale four-poster hung wi' yaller on pur-
pose to suit his wife's complexion, an' then to
have no wife arter all.”
“Ay,” assented Old Zeb, who puffed in the


118
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
corner of a settle on her left, with one side of
his face illuminated and the other in deep
shadow, “ he feels it, I b’lieve. Such a whack
o'clome as he'd a-bought, and a weather-glass
wherein the man comes forth as the woman goes
innards, an'a dresser, painted a bright liver
colour, engaging to the eye.”
“I niver seed a more matterimonial outfit, as
you might say,” put in Uncle Issy.
"An'a warmin'-pan, an' likewise a lookin'.
glass of a high pattern."
“An' what do he say? ” inquired Calvin
Oke, drawing a short pipe from his lips.
“In round numbers, he says nothing, but
takes on.
“A wisht state!”
“Ay, 'tis wisht. Will 'ee be so good as to
frisk up the beverage, Prudy, my dear?”
Prudy took up a second large mug that stood
warming on the hearthstone, and began to pour
the eggy-hot from one vessel to the other until
a creamy froth covered the top.
“'T'other chap's a handsome chap,” she said,
with her eyes on her work.


THE “JOLLY PILCHARDS.”
119
“Handsome is as handsome does,” squeaked
Uncle Issy.
“If you wasn' such an aged man, Uncle, I'd
call 'ee a very tame talker.”
Uncle Issy collapsed.
“I reckon you'm all afeard o' this man,"
continued Prudy, looking round on the company,
“else I'd have heard some mention of a shal-lal
afore this.”
The men with one accord drew their pipes
out and looked at her.
“I mean it. If Porthlooe was the place it
used to be, there'd be tin kettles in plenty to
drum en out o' this nay bourhood to the Rogue's
March next time he showed his face here.
When's he comin' back ?”
No one knew.
“The girl's as bad; but ’twould be punish-
ment enough for her to know her lover was
hooted out o' the parish. Mind you, I've no
grudge agen the man. I liked his dare-devil
look, the only time I saw en. I'm only sayin'
what I think that you'm all afeard.”
"I don't b’long to the parish,” remarked a


THE “JOLLY PILCHARDS.”
121
took his name, an' you've a-stepped into his
shoes, an' therefore I've a right to spake?” (he
pulled at his churchwarden),“ to spake to 'ee'”
(another pull) “ like a father.'” Here followed
several pulls in quick succession.
The pipe had gone out. So, still holding
the attention of the room, he reached out a hand
towards the tongs. Prudy, anticipating his
necessity, caught them up, dived them into
the blaze, and drawing out a blazing end of
stick, held it over the pipe while he sucked
away.
During this pause a heavy step was heard in
the passage. The door was pushed open, and a
tall man, in dripping cloak and muddy boots,
stalked into the room.
It was the man they had been discussing.
“A dirty night, friends, and a cold ride
from Plymouth.” He shook the water out of
his hat over the sanded floor. “I'll take a pull
at something hot, if you please.”
Every one looked at him. Prudy, forgetting
what she was about, waved the hot brand to and
fro under Old Zeb's nose, stinging his eyes with


122
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
smoke. Between confusion and suffocation, his
face was a study.
" You seem astonished, all of you. May I
ask why ? ”
“To tell ’ee the truth, young man,” said
Prudy, “ 'twas a case of talk of the devil an'
you'll see his horns.'”
“ Indeed. You were speaking good of me,
I hope.”
“Which o' your ears is burning ?”
“Both.”
“ Then it shu'd be the left ear only. Old
Zeb, here—_”
“ Hush 'ee now, Prudy!” implored the
crowder.
“—Old Zeb here,” continued Prudy, re-
lentlessly, “ was only a-sayin', as you walked
in, that he'd read you the Riot Act afore you
was many days older. He's mighty fierce wi’
your goin's on, I 'sure 'ee.”
“ Is that so, Mr. Minards ?”
Mr. Minards had, it is probable, never felt
so uncomfortable in all his born days, and the
experience of standing between two fires was


124
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
my mind. But, as things go, 'twould seem like
takin' an advantage.”
“ Not at all.”
“ 'Tis very kind o’you to say so, to be sure.”
Old Zeb picked up his pipe again. “ An' now,
friends, that this little bit of onpleasantness have
a-blown over, doin' ekal credit to both parties
this New Year's-eve, after the native British
fashion o’ fair-play (as why shu'd it not?), I
agree we be conformable to the pleasant season
an’ let harmony prevail--"
“ Why, man,” interrupted Prudy, "you niver
gave no answer at all. 'Far as I could see
you've done naught but fidget like an angletwitch
and look fifty ways for Sunday.”
“ 'Twas the roundaboutest, dodge-my-eyedest,
hole-an’-cornerdest bit of a chap's mind as iver
I heerd given," pronounced the traitorous Oke.
“Oke-Oke,” Old Zeb exclaimed, “all you
know 'pon the fiddle I taught 'ee!”
Said Prudy—“That's like what the chap
said when the donkey kicked en. “'Taint the
stummick that I do vally,' he said, “'tis the
cussed ongratefulness o' the jackass.'”


THE “JOLLY PILCHARDS."
125
“ I'm still waiting,” repeated the stranger.
“ Well, then ”- Old Zeb cast a rancorous
look around—“I'll tell 'ee, since you'm so set
’pon hearin'. Afore you came in, the good folks
here present was for drummin' you out o’the
country. “Shockin' behayviour !''Aw, very
shockin' indeed!' was the words I heerd flyin'
about, an' · Who'll make en sensible o't?' an'
* We'll give en what-for.' 'A silent tongue
makes a wise head,' said I, an' o' this I call
Uncle Issy here to witness."
Uncle Issy corroborated. “You was pro-
verbial, crowder, I can duly vow, an' to that
effect, unless my mem’ry misgives me.”
“So, in a mollifyin' manner, I says, 'What
hev the pore chap done, to be treated so bad ?'
I says. Says I, better lave me use logic wi’
en'-eh, Uncle Issy ?”.
“Logic was the word.”
The stranger turned round upon the com-
pany, who with one accord began to look
extremely foolish as Old Zeb so adroitly turned
the tables.
“Is this true ?” he asked.


126
I SAT THREE SHIPS.
“ 'Tis the truth, I must admit," volunteered
Uncle Lssy, who had not been asked, but was
fluttered with delight at having stuck to the
right side against appearances.
“I think,” said the stranger, deliberately,
“it is as well that you and I, my friends, should
understand each other. The turn of events has
made it likely that I shall pass my days in this
neighbourhood, and I wish to clear up all
possible misconceptions at the start. In the
first place, I am going to marry Miss Ruby
Tresidder. Our banns will be asked in church
to-morrow; but let us have a rehearsal. Can
any man here show cause or just impediment
why this marriage should not take place ? ”
“You'd better ask that o'Young Zeb,
mister,” said Prudy.
“ Why?”
“ You owe your life to’n, I hear.”
“ When next you see him you can put two
questions. Ask him in the first place if he
saved it at my request.”
“Tut-tut. A man likes to live, whether
he axes for it or no,” grunted Elias Sweetland.


THE “JOLLY PILCHARDS."
127
“ And what the devil do you know about
it?” demanded the stranger.
“I reckon I know what a man's like.”
“Oh, you do, do you? Wait a while, my
friend. In the second place,” he went on,
returning to Prudy, ask young Zebedee Minards,
if he wants my life back, to come and fetch it.
And now attend all. Do you see these ?"
He threw back his cloak, and, diving a hand
into his coat-pocket, produced a couple of
pistols. The butts were rich with brass-work,
and the barrels shone as he held them out in the
firelight.
“You needn't dodge your heads about so
gingerly. I'm only about to give you an
exhibition. How many tall candlesticks have
you in the house besides the pair here ?” he
inquired of Prudy.
“Dree pair.”
“Put candles in the other two pairs and set
them on the chimney-shelf.”
“ Why?”
“Do as I tell you.”
“Now here's summat like a man!” said


THE “JOLLY PILCHARDS.”
129
“Now stand aside.”
He stepped back to the other side of the
room, and set his back to the door.
“Don't move,” he said to Calvin Oke, whose
chair stood immediately under the line of fire,
“your head is not the least in the way. And
don't turn it either, but keep your eye on the
candle to the right.”
This was spoken in the friendliest manner,
but it hardly reassured Oke, who would have
preferred to keep his eye on the deadly weapon
now being lifted behind his back. Nevertheless
he did not disobey, but sat still, with his eyes
fixed on the mantelshelf, and only his shoulders
twitching to betray his discomposure.
Bang!
The room was suddenly full of sound, then
of smoke and the reek of gunpowder. As the
noise broke on their ears one of the candles
went out quietly. The candlestick did not
stir, but a bullet was embedded in the panel
behind. Calvin Oke felt his scalp nervously.
“One,” counted the stranger. He walked
quietly to the table, set down his smoking


THE “JOLLY PILCHARDS.”
131
was full of men and women, agog for a tragedy.
The door burst open. Through the dense
atmosphere the stranger descried a crowd of
faces in the passage. He was the first to
speak.
“Good folk, you alarm yourselves without
cause. I have merely been pointing an argu-
ment that I and my friends happen to be
holding here."
Then he turned to Calvin Oke, who lay in
his chair like a limp sack, slowly recovering
from his emotions at hearing the bullets whiz
over his head.
“When I assure you that I carry these
weapons always about me, you will hardly
need to be warned against interfering with me
again. The first man that meddles, I'll shoot
like a rabbit—by the Lord Harry, I will! You
hear? ”
He slipped the pistols into his pocket,
pulled out two crown pieces, and tossed them
to Prudy.
“ That'll pay for the damage, I daresay."
So, turning on his heel, he marched out,
12


132
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
leaving them in the firelight. The crowd in the
passage fell back to right and left, and in a
moment more he had disappeared into the black
drizzle outside.
But the tradition of his feat survives, and the
six holes in Prudy's panel still bear witness to its
truth.


133
CHAPTER VIII.
YOUNG ZEB SELLS HIS SOUL.
These things were reported to Young Zeb as he
sat in his cottage, up the coombe, and nursed his
pain. He was a simple youth, and took life in
earnest, being very slow to catch fire, but burning
consumedly when once ignited. Also he was
sincere as the day, and had been treacherously
used. So he raged at heart, and (for pride made
him shun the public eye) he sat at home and
raged—the worst possible cure for love, which
goes out only by open-air treatment. From time
to time his father, Uncle Issy, and Elias Sweet-
land sat around him and administered comfort
after the manner of Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar.
“Your cheeks be pale, my son-lily-white,
upon my soul. Rise, my son, an’ eat, as the
wise king recommended, sayin', 'Stay me wi'
flagons, comfort me wi' yapples, for I be sick o'
love.' A wise word that.”


134
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
asn
Shall a man be poured out like water,"
inquired Uncle Issy, “an' turn from his vittles,
an' pass his prime i' blowin' his nose, an' all for
a woman ? "
“I wasn'blowin' my nose,” objected Zeb,
shortly.
“Well, in black an' white you wasn', but ye
gave me that idee.”
Young Zeb stared out of the window. Far
down the coombe a slice of blue sea closed the
prospect, and the tan sails of a small lugger were
visible there, rounding the point to the westward.
He watched her moodily until she passed out of
sight, and turned to his father.
“To-morrow, did 'ee say?"
“Iss, to-morrow, at eleven i the forenoon.
Jim Lewarne brought me word.”
“ Terrible times they be for Jim, I reckon,"
said Elias Sweetland. “All yestiddy he was
goin' back’ards an' forrards like a lost dog in a
fair, movin' his chattels. There's a hole in the
roof of that new cottage of his that a man may
put his Sunday hat dro’; and as for his old
woman, she'll do nought but sit 'pon the lime-


YOUNG ZEB SELLS HIS SOUL.
135
ash floor wi' her tout-serve over her head, an' call
en ivery name but what he was chris'ened.”
“Nothin' but neck-an'-crop would do for
Tresidder, I'm told," said Old Zeb. “ I've
a-sarved 'ee faithful,' said Jim, 'an' now you
turns me out wi' a week's warnin'.' “You've
a-crossed my will,' says Tresidder, “an' I've
engaged a more pushin' hind in your place.'
'Tis a new fashion o'speech wi' Tresidder
nowadays.”
“Ay, modern words be drivin' out the old
forms. But 'twas only to get Jim's cottage for
that strong-willid supplantin' furriner because
Ruby said 'twas low manners for bride an’
groom to go to church from the same house.
So no sooner was the Lewarnes out than he
was in, like shufflin' cards, wi' his marriage
garment an' his brush an' comb in a hand-bag.
Tresidder sent down a mattress for en, an'he
slept there last night.”.
“Eh, but that's a trifle for a campaigner.”
“Let this be a warnin' to 'ee, my son niver
to save no more lives from drownin'.”
“I won't,” promised Young Zeb.


136
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
“We've found 'ee a great missment,” Elias
observed to him, after a pause. “The Psa'ms,
these three Sundays, bain't what they was for
lack o'your enlivenin' flute–I can't say they be.
An' to hear your very own name called forth in
the banns wi' Ruby's, an' you wi’out part nor lot
therein--"
“Elias, you mean it well, no doubt; but I'd
take it kindly if you sheered off.”
“'Twas a wisht Psa’m, too,” went on Elias,
“ las' Sunday mornin'; an' I cudn’ help my
thoughts dwellin' 'pon the dismals as I blowed,
nor countin' how that by this time to-
morrow-- ”
But Young Zeb had caught up his cap and
rushed from the cottage.
He took, not the highway to Porthlooe, but a
footpath that slanted up the western slope of the
coombe, over the brow of the hill, and led in
time to the coast and a broader path above the
cliffs. The air was warm, and he climbed in such
hurry that the sweat soon began to drop from
his forehead. By the time he reached the cliffs
he was forced to pull a handkerchief out and mop


YOUNG ZEB SELLS HIS SOUL.
137
himself; but without a pause, he took the turn-
ing westward towards Troy harbour, and tramped
along sturdily. For his mind was made up.
Ship’s-chandler Webber, of Troy, was fitting
out a brand-new privateer, he had heard, and she
was to sail that very week. He would go and
offer himself as a seaman, and if Webber made
any bones about it, he would engage to put a
part of his legacy into the adventure. In fact,
he was ready for anything that would take him
out of Porthlooe. To live there and run the
risk of meeting Ruby on the other man's arm was
more than flesh and blood could stand. So he
went along with his hands deep in his pockets,
his eyes fastened straight ahead, his heart
smoking, and the sweat stinging his eyelids.
And as he went he cursed the day of his
birth.
From Porthlooe to Troy Ferry is a good six
miles by the cliffs, and when he had accomplished
about half the distance, he was hailed by
name.
Between the path at this point and the cliff's
edge lay a small patch cleared for potatoes, and


YOUNG ZEB SELLS HIS SOUL.
139
“Hey?"
“She tacked just here an’ went round close
under Bradden Point; so she's for Troy, that's
certain. Be you bound that way, too ?”
“Iss, I'll see her, if she's there."
“Best not go too close, my son ; for I know
the looks o' those customers. By all accounts
you'm a man of too much substance to risk your-
self near a press-gang.”
Young Zeb gazed over the old man's head at
the horizon line, and answered, as if reading the
sentence there, “I might fare worse, holli-
bubber."
The hollibubber seemed, for a second, about
to speak; for, of course, he knew Zeb's trouble.
But after a while he took his shovel out of the
ground slowly.
“Ay, ye might,” he said ; “pray the Lord
ye don't.”
Zeb went on, faster than ever. He passed
Bradden Point and Widdy Cove at the rate
of five miles an hour, or thereabouts ; then he
turned aside over a stile and crossed a couple
of meadows; and after these he was on the


140
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
high-road, on the very top of the hill over-
looking Troy Harbour.
He gazed down. The frigate was there,
as the hollibubber had guessed, anchored at
the harbour's mouth. Two men in a small
boat were pulling from her to the farther shore.
A thin haze of blue smoke lay over the town at
his feet, and the noise of mallets in the ship-
building yards came across to him through the
clear afternoon. Zeb hardly noticed all this,
for his mind was busy with a problem. He
halted by a milestone on the brow of the hill,
to consider.
And then suddenly he sat down on the stone
and shivered. The sweat was still trickling
down his face and down his back; but it had
turned cold as ice. A new idea had taken him,
an idea of which at first he felt fairly afraid.
He passed a hand over his eyes and looked down
again at the frigate. But he stared at her
stupidly, and his mind was busy with another
picture.
It occurred to him that he must go on if he
meant to arrange with Webber, that afternoon.


YOUNG ZEB SELLS HIS SOUL.
141
So he got up from the stone and went down the
steep hill towards the ferry, stumbling over the
rough stones in the road and hardly looking at
his steps, but moving now rapidly, now slowly,
like a drunken man.
The street that led down to the ferry dated
back to an age before carts had superseded
pack-horses, and the makers had cut it in stairs
and paved it with cobbles. It plunged so
steeply, and the houses on either side wedged
it in so tightly, that to look down from the
top was like peering into a well. A patch of
blue water shone at the foot, framing a small
dark square—the signboard of the “ Four
Lords” Inn. Just now there were two or
three men gathered under the signboard.
As Young Zeb drew near he saw that they
wore pig-tails and round shiny hats : and, as he
noticed this, his face, which had been pale for
the last five minutes, grew ashen-white. He
halted for a moment, and then went on again,
meaning to pass the signboard and wait on the
quay for the ferry.
There were half a dozen sailors in front of


YOUNG ZEB SELLS HIS SOUL.
143
Back by the cliff's edge the hollibubber had
finished his day's work and was shouldering his
shovel to start for home, when he spied a dark
figure coming eastwards along the track; and,
putting up a hand to ward off the level rays of
the sun, saw that it was the young man who
had passed him at noonday. So he set down
the shovel again, and waited.
Young Zeb came along with his head down.
When he noticed the hollibubber standing in
the path he started like a man caught in a
theft.
“My son, ye 've come to lift a weight off
my heart. God forgi’e me that, i' my shyness,
I let 'ee go by wi’out a word for your trouble.”
“ All the country seems to know my affairs,"
Zeb answered with a scowl.
The hollibubber's grey eyes rested on him
tenderly. He was desperately shy, as he had
confessed: but compassion overcame his shy-
ness.
“Surely,” said he, “all we be children o'
one Father: an’ surely we may know each


144
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
Sa
'other's burdens; else, not knowin', how shall
we bear 'em ?”
“You'm too late, hollibubber.”
Zeb stood still, looking out over the purple
sea. The old man touched his arm gently.
:: “How so ? ”
“I've a-sold my soul to hell.”
“I don't care. You'm alive an' standin'
here, an' I can save 'ee.”
“Can 'ee so ? ” Zeb asked ironically.
“Man, I feel sure o't.” His ugly earnest
face became almost grand in the flame of the
sunset. “ Turn aside, here, an' kneel down; I
will wrestle wi' the Lord for thee till comfort
comes, if it take the long night.”
“You'm a strange chap. Can such things
happen i’ these days ?”
“Kneel and try.”
“No, no, no,” Zeb flung out his hands.
“It's too late, I tell 'ee. No man's words will
I hear but the words of Lamech—I ha’slain
a man to my wounding, an'a young man to my
hurt. Let me go—'tis too late. Let me go,
I say— ”


YOUNG ZEB SELLS HIS SOUL.
145
As the hollibubber still clung to his arm,
he gave a push and broke loose. The old man
tumbled beside the path with his head against
the potato fence. Zeb with a curse took to his
heels and ran; nor for a hundred yards did he
glance behind.
When at last he flung a look over his
shoulder, the hollibubber had picked himself up
and was kneeling in the pathway. His hands
were clasped and lifted.
"Too late!” shouted Zeb again, and dashed
on without a second look.


146
CHAPTER IX.
YOUNG ZEB WINS HIS SOUL BACK.
At half-past nine, next morning, the stranger
sat in the front room of the cottage vacated by
the Lewarnes. On a rough table, pushed into a
corner, lay the remains of his breakfast. A
plum-coloured coat with silver buttons hung
over the back of a chair by his side, and a waist-
coat and silver-laced hat to match rested on the
seat. For the wedding was to take place in an
hour and a half.
He sat in frilled shirt, knee-breeches and
stockings, and the sunlight streamed in upon
his dark head as he stooped to pull on a shoe.
The sound of his whistling filled the room,
and the tune was, “Soldier, soldier, will you
marry me?”
His foot was thrust into the first shoe, and
his forefinger inserted at the heel, shoe-horn
fashion, to slip it on, when the noise of light


YOUNG ZEB WINS HIS SOUL BACK.
147
wheels sounded on the road outside, and stopped
beside the gate. Looking up, he saw through the
window the head and shoulders of Young Zeb's
grey mare, and broke off his whistling sharply.
Rat-a-tat!
“ Come in !” he called, and smiled softly to
himself.
The door was pushed open, and Young Zeb
stood on the threshold, looking down on the
stranger, who wheeled round quietly on his
chair to face him. Zeb's clothes were dis-
ordered, and looked as if he had spent the
night in them; his face was yellow and drawn,
with dark semicircles underneath the eyes; and
he put a hand up against the door-post for
support.
“To what do I owe this honour?” asked the
stranger, gazing back at him.
Zeb pulled out a great turnip-watch from
his fob, and said —
“You'm dressin'?”
“Ay, for the wedding."
“ Then look sharp. You've got a bare five-
an’-twenty minnits.”
J 2


148
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
“Excuse me, I'm not to be married till
eleven.”
“Iss, iss, but they're comin' at ten, sharp.”
“And who in the world may “they' be?”
“ The press-gang."
The stranger sprang up to his feet, and
seemed for a moment about to fly at Zeb's
throat.
“ You treacherous hound !”.
“Stand off,” said Zeb wearily, without
taking his hand from the door-post. “I reckon
it don't matter what I may be, or may not be,
so long as you'm dressed i' ten minnits.”
The other dropped his hands, with a short
laugh.
“I beg your pardon. For aught I know
you may have nothing to do with this infernal
plot except to warn me against it.”
“Don't make any mistake. 'Twas I that
set the press-gang upon 'ee,” answered Zeb, in
the same dull tones.
There was silence between them for half a
minute, and then the stranger spoke, as if to
himself-


YOUNG ZEB WINS HIS SOUL BACK.
149
“My God! Love has made this oaf a
man!” He stood for a while, sucking at
his under-lip, and regarding Zeb gloomily.
“May I ask why you have deliberately
blown up this pretty mine at the eleventh
hour?”
“I couldn't do it,” Zeb groaned; “Lord
knows 'twas not for love of you, but I couldn't.”
“Upon my word, you fascinate me. People
say that evil is more easily learnt than goodness;
but that's great nonsense. The footsteps of the
average beginner are equally weak in both pur-
suits. Would you mind telling me why you
chose this particular form of treachery, in pre-
ference (let us say) to poison or shooting from
behind a hedge? Was it simply because you
risked less ? Pardon the question, but I have a
particular reason for knowing.”
“We're wastin' time,” said Zeb, pulling out
his watch again.
“It's extraordinary how a fool will stumble
on good luck. Why, sir, but for one little
accident, the existence of which you could not
possibly have known, I might easily have


150
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
waited for the press-gang, stated the case to
them, and had you lugged off to sea in my
place. Has it occurred to you, in the course of
your negotiations, that the wicked occasionally
stumble into pits of their own digging? You,
who take part in the psalm-singing every Sun-
day, might surely have remembered this. As it
iš, I suppose I must hurry on my clothes, and
get to church by some roundabout way.”
“ I'm afeard you can't, without my help."
“ Indeed? Why?”
“'Cause the gang is posted all round 'ee.
I met the lot half an hour back, an' promised to
call ’pon you and bring word you was here."
“ Come, come; I retract my sneers. You
begin to excite my admiration. I shall un-
doubtedly shoot you before I'm taken, but it
shall be your comfort to die amid expressions of
esteem.”
“You'm mistaken. I came to save 'ee, if
you'll be quick.”
“How? ”
“I've a load of ore-weed outside, in the cart.
By the lie o' the cottage none can spy ye while


YOUNG ZEB WINS HIS SOUL BACK. 151.
you slip underneath it; but I'll fetch a glance
round, to make sure. Underneath it you'll be
safe, and I'll drive 'ee past the sailors, and send
’em on here to search.”
“ You develop apace. But perhaps you'll
admit a flaw in your scheme. What on earth
induced you to imagine I should trust you ? ”
“Man, I reckoned all that. My word's
naught. But 'tis your one chance—and I would
kneel to 'ee, if by kneelin' I could persuade 'ee.
We'll fight it out after ; bring your pistols.
Only come !"
The stranger slipped on his other shoe, then
his waistcoat and jacket, whistling softly. Then
he stepped to the chimney-piece, took down his
pistols, and stowed them in his coat-pockets.
“I'm quite ready.”
Zeb heaved a great sigh like a sob; but
only said :-
“ Wait a second while I see that the coast's
clear.”
In less than three minutes the stranger was
packed under the evil-smelling weed, drawing
breath with difficulty, and listening, when the


152
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
jolting allowed, to Zeb's voice as he encouraged
the mare. Jowters' carts travel fast as a rule,
for their load perishes soon, and the distance
from the coast to the market is often consider-
able. In this case Jessamy went at a round
gallop, the loose stones flying from under her
hoofs. Now and then one struck up against
the bottom of the cart. It was hardly pleasant
to be rattled at this rate, Heaven knew whither.
But the stranger had chosen his course, and
was not the man to change his mind.
After about five minutes of this the cart
was pulled up with a scramble, and he heard
à voice call out, as it seemed, from the
hedge-
“ Well?”
“Right you are,” answered Young Zeb;
“He's in the front room, pullin' on his boots.
You'd best look slippy.”
“Where's the coin ? ”
“There!” The stranger heard the click of
money, as of a purse being caught. “You'll
find it all right.”
“H’m; best let me count it, though. One-


YOUNG ZEB WINS HIS SOUL BACK. 153
two-three-four. I feels it my dooty to tell
ye, young man, that it be a dirty trick. If this
didn't chime in wi' my goodwill towards his
Majesty's service, be danged if I'd touch the
job with a pair o'tongs ! ”
“Ay—but I reckon you'll do't, all the same,
for t’other half that's to come when you've got
en safe an’sound. Dirty hands make clean
money.”
"Well, well; ye’ve been dirtily sarved. I'll
see 'ee this arternoon at the ‘Four Lords.'
We've orders to sail at five, sharp; so there's
no time to waste."
“Then I won't detain ’ee. Clk, Jessamy!”
The jolting began again, more furiously
than ever, as the stranger drew a long breath.
He waited till he judged they must be out of
sight, and then began to stir beneath his load of
weed.
“Keep quiet,” said Zeb; "you shall get
out as soon as we're up the hill.”
The cart began to move more slowly, and
tilted back with a slant that sent the stranger's.
heels against the tail-board. Zeb jumped down
e


154
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
and trudged at the side. The hill was long, and
steep from foot to brow; and when at length
the slope lessened, the wheels turned off at a
sharp angle and began to roll softly over
turf.
The weight and smell of the weed were
beginning to suffocate the man beneath it,
when Zeb called out “Woa-a !” and the
mare stopped.
“Now you can come out.”
The other rose on his knees, shook some
of his burden off, and blinked in the strong
sunlight.
The cart stood on the fringe of a desolate
tract of downs, high above the coast. Over the
hedge to the right appeared a long narrow strip
of sea. On the three remaining sides nothing
was visible but undulating stretches of brown
turf, except where, to northward, the summits
of two hills in the heart of the county just
topped the rising ground that hid twenty
intervening miles of broken plain.
“We can leave the mare to crop. There's
a hollow, not thirty yards off, that'll do for us."


YOUNG ZEB WINS HIS SOUL BACK.
155
Zeb led the way to the spot. It was indeed
the fosse of a half-obliterated Roman camp, and
ran at varying depth around a cluster of grassy
mounds, the most salient of which-the præ-
torian-still served as a landmark for the
Porthlooe fishing boats. But down in the
fosse the pair were secure from all eyes. Not
a word was spoken until they stood together
at the bottom.
Here Zeb pulled out his watch once more.
“We'd best be sharp,” he said ; "you must
start in twenty minnits to get to the church in
time.”
“It would be interesting to know what you
propose doing.” The stranger sat down on the
slope, picked a strip of sea-weed off his breeches,
and looked up with a smile.
“I reckon you'll think it odd.”
“Of that I haven't a doubt."
“ Well, you've a pair o'pistols i' your
pockets, an' they're loaded, I expect.”
“ They are."
“I'd a notion of askin' 'ee, as a favour, to
give and take a shot with me.”


156
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
The stranger paused a minute before giving
his answer.
“Can you fire a pistol ? "
.." I've let off a blunderbust, afore now, an'
I suppose 'tis the same trick.”
“And has it struck you that your body may
be hard to dispose of? Or that, if found, it may
cause me some inconvenience ?”
“There's a quag on tother side o' the
Castle * here. I han't time to go round an'
point it out; but 'tis to be known by bein'
greener than the rest o' the turf. What's
thrown in there niver comes up, an' no man
can dig for it. The folks 'll give the press-gang
the credit when I'm missin'_ " '
“You forget the mare and cart.”
“Lead her back to the road, turn her
face to home, an' fetch her a cut across th'
ears. She always bolts if you touch her
ears."
“And you really wish to die?”.
“Oh, my God!” Zeb broke out; “would I
be standin' here if I didn'?”
* Camp


YOUNG ZEB WINS HIS SOUL BACK.
157
The stranger rose to his feet, and drew out
his pistols slowly.
: “It's a thousand pities,” he said ; “for I
never saw a man develop character so fast.”
He cocked the triggers, and handed the
pistols to Zeb, to take his choice.
“ Stand where you are, while I step out
fifteen paces.” He walked slowly along the
fosse, and, at the end of that distance, faced
about. “Shall I give the word ?”
Zeb nodded, watching him sullenly.
“Very well. I shall count three slowly,
and after that we can fire as we please. Are
you ready?—stand a bit sideways. Your chest
is a pretty broad target—that's right; I'm
going to count. One-two-three ”.
The word was hardly spoken before one of
the pistols rang out. It was Zeb's; and
Heaven knows whither his bullet flew. The
smoke cleared away in a blue, filmy streak, and
revealed his enemy standing where he stood
before, with his pistol up, and a quiet smile
on his face.
Still holding the pistol up, the stranger


158
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
now advanced deliberately until he came to a
halt about two paces from Zeb, who, with white
face and set jaw, waited for the end. The eyes
of the two men met, and neither flinched.
“Strip,” commanded the stranger. “Strip
-take off that jersey."
“Why not kill me without ado? Man, isn't
this cruel ? "
“Strip, I say.”
Zeb stared at him for half a minute, like
a man in a trance; and began to pull the
jersey off.
“Now your shirt. Strip—till you are
naked as a babe.”
Zeb obeyed. The other laid his pistol down
on the turf, and also proceeded to undress, until
the two men stood face to face, stark naked.
“We were thus, or nearly thus, a month
ago, when you gave me my life. Does it strike
you that, barring our faces, we might be twin
brothers ? Now, get into my clothes, and toss
me over your own!”
“ What's the meanin' o't ? ” stammered Zeb,
hoarsely.


YOUNG ZEB WINS HIS SOUL BACK. 159
a
W
“I am about to cry quits with you. Hurry;
for the bride must be at the church by this.”
“What's the meanin' o't?” Zeb repeated.
“Why, that you shall marry the girl.
Steady-don't tremble. The banns are up in
your name, and you shall walk into church,
and the woman shall be married to Zebedee
Minards. Stop, don't say a word, or I'll repent
and blow your brains out. You want to know
who I am, and what's to become of me.
Suppose I'm the Devil ; suppose I'm your twin
soul, and in exchange for my life have given
you the half of manhood that you lacked and
I possessed ; suppose I'm just a deserter from
his Majesty's fleet, a poor devil of a marine,
with gifts above his station, who ran away
and took to privateering, and was wrecked at
your doors. Suppose that I am really Zebedee
Minards; or suppose that I heard your name
spoken in Sheba kitchen, and took a fancy to
wear it myself. Suppose that I shall vanish
to-day in a smell of brimstone; or that I shall
leave in irons in the hold of the frigate now
in Troy harbour. What's her name ? "


160
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
He was dressed by this time in Zeb's old
clothes.
“The Recruit."
“ Whither bound?”
“ Back to Plymouth to-night, an' then to the
West Indies wi'a convoy."
“Hurry, then ; don't fumble, or Ruby 'll be
tired of waiting. You'll find a pencil and
scrap of paper in my breast pocket. Hand
them over.”
Zeb did so, and the stranger, seating himself
again on the slope, tore the paper in half, and
began to scribble a few lines on each piece. By
the time he had finished and folded them up,
Zeb stood before him dressed in the plum-
coloured suit.
“Ay,” said the stranger, looking him up
and down, and sucking the pencil contempla-
tively; “she'll marry you out of hand.”
“I doubt it."
“ These notes will make sure. Give one to
the farmer, and one to Ruby, as they stand by
the chancel rails. But mainly it rests with you.
Take no denial. Say you've come to make her


YOUNG ZEB WINS HIS SOUL BACK. 161
omd
your wife, and won't leave the church till you've
done it. She's still the same woman as when she
threw you over. Ah, sir, we men change our
natures; but woman is always Eve. I suppose
you know a short cut to the church? Very
well. I shall take your cart and mare, and
drive to meet the press-gang, who won't be in
the sweetest of tempers just now. Come, what
are you waiting for? You're ten minutes late
as it is, and you can't be married after noon."
“Sir,” said Zeb, with a white face; “it's
a liberty, but will 'ee let me shake your hand ?”
“I'll be cursed if I do. But I'll wish you
good luck and a hard heart, and maybe ye'll
thank me some day.”
So Zeb, with a sob, turned and ran from
him out of the fosse and towards a gap in the
hedge, where lay a short cut through the fields.
In the gap he turned and looked back. The
stranger stood on the lip of the fosse, and waved
a hand to him to hurry.


.
162
CHAPTER X.
THE THIRD SHIP..
We return to Ruan church, whence this history
started. The parson was there in his surplice,
by the altar; the bride was there in her white
frock, by the chancel rails; her father, by her
side, was looking at his watch ; and the
parishioners thronged the nave, shuffling their
feet and loudly speculating. For the bride-
groom had not appeared.
Ruby's face was white as her frock. Parson
Babbage kept picking up the heavy Prayer-
book, opening it, and laying it down impatiently.
Occasionally, as one of the congregation scraped
an impatient foot, a metallic sound made itself
heard, and the buzz of conversation would sink
for a moment, as if by magic.
For beneath the seats, and behind the
women's gowns, the whole pavement of the
church was covered with a fairly representative


THE THIRD SHIP.
163
.
collection of cast-off kitchen utensils--old kettles,
broken cake-tins, frying-pans, saucepans—all cal-
culated to emit dismal sounds under percussion.
Scattered among these were ox-bells, rook-rattles,
a fog-horn or two, and a tin trumpet from Lis-
- keard fair. Explanation is simple: the outraged
feelings of the parish were to be avenged by a
shal-lal as bride and bridegroom left the church.
Ruby knew nothing of the storm brewing for
her, but Mary Jane, whose ears had been twice
boxed that morning, had heard a whisper of it
on her way down to the church, and was con-
firmed in her fears by observing the few members
of the congregation who entered after her. Men
and women alike suffered from an unwonted cor-
pulence and tightness of raiment that morning,
and each and all seemed to have cast the afflic-
tion off as they arose from their knees. It was
too late to interfere, so she sat still and trembled.
Still the bridegroom did not come. ...
mi - A more onpresidented feat I don't recall,”
remarked Uncle Issy to a group that stood at
the west end under the gallery, “not since
'Melia Spry's buryin', when the devil, i the
K 2


164
1 SAW THREE SHIPS.
we m
shape of a black pig, followed us all the way
to the porch.”
“That was a brave while ago, Uncle."
“Iss, iss; but I mind to this hour how we
bearers perspired—an' she such a light-weight
corpse. But plague seize my old emotions !
we'm come to marry, not to bury.”
“By the look o't 'tis neither marry nor
bury, Nim nor Doll,” observed Old Zeb, who
had sacrificed his paternal feelings and come to
church in order to keep abreast with the age;
“'tis more like Boscastle Fair, begin at twelve
o'clock an' end at noon. Why tarry the wheels
of his chariot?”
"'Tis possible Young Zeb an' he have a-met
'pon the road hither,” hazarded Calvin Oke by a
wonderful imaginative effort ; “an' 'tis possible
that feelings have broke loose an' one o' the
twain be swelterin' in his own bloodshed, or
vicey-versey."
“I heard tell of a man once,” said Uncle
Issy, “ that committed murder upon another for
love; but, save my life, I can't think ’pon his
name, nor where 't befell.”


THE THIRD SHIP.
165
“What an old store-house 'tis !” ejaculated
Elias Sweetland, bending a contemplative gaze
on Uncle Issy.
“Mark her pale face, naybours," put in a
woman ; “an’ Tresidder, he looks like a man
that’s neither got nor lost.”
“Trew, trew.”
“Quarter past the hour, I make it,” said Old
Zeb, pulling out his timepiece.
Still the bridegroom tarried.
Higher up the church, in the front pew but
one, Modesty Prowse said aloud to Sarah Ann
Nanjulian-
“If he doesn' look sharp, we'll be married
before she after all.”
Ruby heard the sneer, and answered it with
a look of concentrated spite. Probably she
would have risked her dignity to retort, had not
Parson Babbage advanced down the chancel at
this juncture.
“Has anyone seen the bridegroom to-day?"
he inquired of Tresidder. “Or will you send
some one to hurry him ?”.
"Be danged if I know," the farmer began


166
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
testily, mopping his bald head, and then he broke
off, catching sound of a stir among the folk
behind.
“Here he be-here he be at last!” cried
somebody. . And with that a husk of bewilder-
ment fell on the congregation. .
In the doorway, flushed with running and
glorious in bridal attire, stood Young Zeb.
It took everybody's breath away, and he
walked up the nave between silent men and
women. His eyes were fastened on Ruby, and
she in turn stared at him as a rabbit at a
snake, shrinking slightly on her father's arm.
Tresidder's jaw dropped, and his eyes began to
protrude.
“What's the meanin' o' this?” he
stammered.
“I've come to marry your daughter,"
answered Zeb, very slow and distinct. “She
was to wed Zebedee Minards to-day, an’ I'm
Zebedee Minards."
“But ”
"I've a note to hand to each of ’ee. Better
save your breath till you've read 'em.”


168
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
Zeb's hand still enclosed hers, and she felt
she was caught and held for life. Her eyes
fluttered up to her lover's face, and found it
inexorable.
“Yes,” she gasped out, as if the word had
been suffocating her. And with the word came
a rush of tears—helpless, but not altogether
unhappy.
“Dry your eyes,” said Parson Babbage, after
waiting a minute; "we must be quick about
a
ST
it.”
So it happened that the threatened shal-lal
came to nothing. Susan Jago, the old woman
who swept the church, discovered its forgotten
apparatus scattered beneath the pews on the
following Saturday, and cleared it out, to the
amount (she averred) of two cartloads. She
tossed it, bit by bit, over the west wall of the
churchyard, where in time it became a mound,
covered high with sting-nettles. If you poke
among these nettles with your walking-stick, the
odds are that you turn up a scrap of rusty iron.
But there exists more explicit testimony to Zeb's
me


THE THIRD SHIP.
. 169
wedding within the church and within the
churchyard, too, where he and Ruby have rested
this many a year.
Though the bubble of Farmer Tresidder's
dreams was pricked that day, there was feasting
at Sheba until late in the evening. Nor until
eleven did the bride and bridegroom start off,
arm in arm, to walk to their new home. Before
them, at a considerable distance, went the players
and singers—a black blur on the moonlit road;
and very crisply their music rang out beneath a
sky scattered with cloud and stars. All their songs
were simple carols of the country, and the burden
of them was but the joy of man at Christ's
nativity ; but the young man and maid who
walked behind were well pleased.
: “Now then,” cried the voice of Old
Zeb, “lads an’lasses all together an'wi' a
will-
“ All under the leaves, an' the leaves o' life,
I met wi' virgins seven,
An' one o' them was Mary mild,
Our Lord's mother of Heaven.


170
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
Se
12
11
O what are 'ee seekin', you seven fair maids,
All under the leaves o' life ;
Come tell, come tell, what seek ye
All under the leaves o' life?'
* We're seekin' for no leaves, Thomas,
But for a friend o’thine,
We're seekin' for sweet Jesus Christ
To be our guide an' thine.'
'Go down, go down, to yonder town
An' sit in the gallery,
An' there you'll see sweet Jesus Christ
Nailed to a big yew-tree.'
So down they went to yonder town
As fast as foot could fall,
An' many a grievous bitter tear
From the Virgin's eye did fall.
"O peace, Mother-O peace, Mother,
Your weepin' doth me grieve ;
I must suffer this,' he said,
* For Adam an' for Eve.


THE THIRD SHIP.
171
O Mother, take John Evangelist
All for to be your son, sem
An' he will comfort you sometimes
. Mother, as I've å-done'.'..
O come, thou John Evangelist,
Thou’rt welcome unto me,
But more welcome my own dear Son
: Whom I nursed on my knee.'
Then he laid his head'pon his right shoulder
Seein' death it struck him nigh ;
.' The holy Mother be with your soul-
I die, Mother, I die.'
O the rose, the gentle rose,
An' the fennel that grows so green!
God gi’e us grace in every place
To pray for our king an' queen.
Furthermore, for our enemies all
Our prayers they should be strong ;
Amen, good Lord; your charity
Is the endin' of my song !" ..


THE THIRD SHIP.
173
I saw dree ships come sailin' by,
-A-sailin' by, a-sailin' by,
I saw dree ships come sailin' by
On Chris’mas day i' the mornin'.
Now who shud be ï these dree ships
And to this measure Zeb and Ruby stepped
home.
At the cottage door Zeb thanked the singers,
who went their way and flung back shouts and
joyful wishes as they went. Before making all
fast for the night, he stood a minute or so,
listening to their voices as they died away down
the road. As he barred the door, he turned and
saw that Ruby had lit the lamp, and was already
engaged in setting the kitchen to rights ; for, of
course, no such home-coming had been dreamt of
in the morning, and all was in disorder. He
stood and watched her for a while, then turned
to the window.
After a minute or two, finding that he did
not speak, she too came to the window. He
bent and kissed her.


174
I SAW THREE SHIPS.
For he had seen, on the patch of sea beyond
the haven, a white frigate steal up Channel like
a ghost. She had passed out of his sight by this
time, but he was still thinking of one man that
she bore.


THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.


-
-
--
-
--


177
THE
HAUNTED DRAGOON.
BESIDE the Plymouth road, as it plunges down-
hill past Ruan Lanihale church towards Ruan
Cove, and ten paces beyond the lych-gate-
where the graves lie level with the coping, and
the horseman can decipher their inscriptions in
passing, at the risk of a twisted neck—the base
of the churchyard wall is pierced with a low
archway, festooned with toad-flax and fringed
with the hart's-tongue fern. Within the arch-
way bubbles a well, the water of which was once
used for all baptisms in the parish, for no child
sprinkled with it could ever be hanged with
hemp. But this belief is discredited now, and
the well neglected: and the events which led to
this are still a winter's tale in the neighbour-
hood. I set them down as they were told me,


THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
179
with them and all such gammut. He prettily
doted on me—the poor old ancient !
But there came a day—a dry afternoon in
the late wheat harvest—when we were up in the
churchyard together, and though father had his
tools beside him, not a tint did he work, but kept
travishing back and forth, one time shading his
eyes and gazing out to sea, and then looking
far along the Plymouth road for minutes at a
time. Out by Bradden Point there stood a
little dandy-rigged craft, tacking lazily to and
fro, with her mains'le all shiny-yellow in the
sunset. Though I didn't know it then, she was
the Preventive boat, and her business was to
watch the Hauen : for there had been a brush
between her and the Unity lugger, a fortnight
back, and a Preventive man shot through the
breast-bone, and my mother's brother Philip
was hiding down in the town. I minded, later,
how that the men across the vale, in Farmer
Tresidder's wheat-field, paused every now and
then, as they pitched the sheaves, to give a look
up towards the churchyard, and the gleaners
moved about in small knots, causeying and
L 2


180
THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
glancing over their shoulders at the cutter out
in the bay; and how, when all the field was
carried, they waited round the last load, no man
offering to cry the Neck, as the fashion was, but
lingering till sun was near down behind the
slope and the long shadows stretching across
the stubble.
“Sha’n’t thee go underground to - day,
father?” says I, at last.
He turned slowly round, and says he, “ No,
sonny. 'Reckon us 'll climb skywards for a
change.”
And with that, he took my hand, and
pushing abroad the belfry door began to climb
the stairway. Up and up, round and round we
went, in a sort of blind-man’s-holiday full of
little glints of light and whiffs of wind where
the open windows came; and at last stepped
out upon the leads of 'the tower and drew
breath.
“ There's two-an’-twenty parishes to be wit-
nessed from where we're standin', sonny—if
ye’ve got eyes,” says my father.
Well, first I looked down towards the


182
THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
field, like as if all shouted at once-dear, the
sweet sound! And then a gun was fired, and
craning forward over the coping I saw a dozen
men running across the stubble and out into the
road towards the Hauen ; and they called as
they ran, “A neck-a neck!”
“Iss,” says my father, “'tis a neck, sure
’nuff. Pray God they save en! Come,
sonny— "
But we dallied up there till the horsemen
were plain to see, and their scarlet coats and
armour blazing in the dust as they came. And
when they drew near within a mile, and our
limbs ached with crouching — for fear they
should spy us against the sky-father took me
by the hand and pulled hot foot down the
stairs. Before they rode by he had picked up
his shovel and was shovelling out a grave for
his life.
Forty valiant horsemen they were, riding
two-and-two (by reason of the narrowness of the
road) and a captain beside them—men broad and
long, with hairy top-lips, and all clad in scarlet
jackets and white breeches that showed bravely


THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
183
against their black war-horses and jet-black
holsters, thick as they were wi' dust. Each man
had a golden helmet, and a scabbard Happing by
his side, and a piece of metal like a half-moon
jingling from his horse's cheek-strap. 12 D was
the numbering on every saddle, meaning the
Twelfth Dragoons.
Tramp, tramp! they rode by, talking and
joking, and taking no more heed of me—that sat
upon the wall with my heels dangling above them
—than if I'd been a sprig of stonecrop. But the
captain, who carried a drawn sword and mopped
his face with a handkerchief so that the dust ran
across it in streaks, drew rein, and looked over
my shoulder to where father was digging.
“Sergeant !” he calls back, turning with a
hand upon his crupper; “ didn't we see a figger
like this a-top o' the tower, some way back ?”
The sergeant pricked his horse forward and
saluted. He was the tallest, straightest man in
the troop, and the muscles on his arm filled out
his sleeve with the three stripes upon it—a
handsome red-faced fellow, with curly black
hair.


18+
THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
Says he, “ That we did, sir—a man with
sloping shoulders and a boy with a goose neck.”
Saying this, he looked up at me with a grin.
“I'll bear it in mind,” answered the officer,
and the troop rode on in a cloud of dust, the
sergeant looking back and smiling, as if 'twas a
joke that he shared with us. Well, to be short,
they rode down into the town as night fell. But
'twas too late, Uncle Philip having had fair
warning and plenty of time to flee up towards the
little secret hold under Mabel Down, where none
but two families knew how to find him. All the
town, though, knew he was safe, and lashins of
women and children turned out to see the
comely soldiers hunt in vain till ten o'clock
at night.
The next thing was to billet the warriors.
The captain of the troop, by this, was pesky
cross-tempered, and flounced off to the “ Jolly
Pilchards” in a huff. “Sergeant,” says he,“ here's
an inn, though a damned bad ’un, an' here I
means to stop. Somewheres about there's a farm
called Constantine, where I'm told the men can
be accommodated. Find out the place, if you


THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
185
can, an' do your best : an' don't let me see yer
face till to-morra,” says he.
So Sergeant Basket—that was his name-
gave the salute, and rode his troop up the street,
where—for his manners were mighty winning,
notwithstanding the dirty nature of his errand-
he soon found plenty to direct him to Farmer
Noy's, of Constantine; and up the coombe they
rode into the darkness, a dozen or more going
along with them to show the way, being won by
their martial bearing as well as the sergeant's
very friendly way of speech.
Farmer Noy was in bed—a pock-marked,
lantern-jawed old gaffer of sixty-five; and the
most remarkable point about him was the wife he
had married two years before—a young slip of
a girl but just husband-high. Money did it, I
reckon ; but if so, 'twas a bad bargain for her.
He was noted for stinginess to such a degree that
they said his wife wore a brass wedding-ring,
weekdays, to save the genuine article from wear-
ing out. She was a Ruan woman, too, and
therefore ought to have known all about him.
But woman's ways be past finding out.


186
THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
Hearing the hoofs in his yard and the
sergeant's stram-a-ram upon the door, down
comes the old curmudgeon with a candle held
high above his head.
“What the devil's here?” he calls out.
Sergeant Basket looks over the old man's
shoulder ; and there, halfway up the stairs, stood
Madam Noy in her night rail—a high-coloured
ripe girl, languishing for love, her red lips parted
and neck all lily-white against a loosened pile
of dark brown hair.
“Be cussed if I turn back !” said the sergeant
to himself; and added out loud .
“Forty souldjers, in the King's name!”
“Forty devils !” says old Noy.
“They're devils to eat," answered the
sergeant, in the most friendly manner; "an',
begad, ye must feed an’ bed 'em this night-or
else I'll search your cellars. Ye are a loyal man
-eh, farmer? An' your cellars are big, I'm
an
told.”
“Sarah,” calls out the old man, following the
sergeant's bold glance, “ go back an' dress yersel
dacently this instant! These here honest


THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
187
souldjers—forty damned honest gormandisin’
souldjers—be come in his Majesty's name, forty
strong, to protect honest folks' rights in the
intervals of eatin' 'em out o' house an' home.
Sergeant, ye be very welcome i’ the King's name.
Cheese an' cider ye shall have, an' I pray the
mixture may turn your forty stomachs.”
In a dozen minutes he had fetched out his
stable-boys and farm-hands, and, lantern in hand,
was helping the sergeant to picket the horses
and stow the men about on clean straw in the
outhouses. They were turning back to the
house, and the old man was turning over in his
mind that the sergeant hadn't yet said a word
about where he was to sleep, when by the door
they found Madam Noy waiting, in her
wedding gown, and with her hair freshly
braided.
Now, the farmer was mortally afraid of the
sergeant, knowing he had thirty ankers and more
of contraband liquor in his cellars, and minding
the sergeant's threat. None the less his jealousy
got the upper hand.
“ Woman,” he cries out, “ to thy bed !”


188
THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
“I was waiting,” said she, “ to say the Cap'n's
bed- ”
“Sergeant's,” says the dragoon, correcting
her.
. “_Was laid i' the spare room.”
“Madam," replies Sergeant Basket, looking
into her eyes and bowing, “a soldier with my
responsibility sleeps but little. In the first place,
I must see that my men sup.”
“ The maids be now cuttin' the bread an'
cheese and drawin' the cider.”
“Then, Madam, leave me but possession of
the parlour, and let me have a chair to sleep in.”
By this they were in the passage together,
and her gaze devouring his regimentals. The
old man stood a pace off, looking sourly. The
sergeant fed his eyes upon her, and Satan got
hold of him.
“Now if only,” said he, “ one of you could
play cards !”
“But I must go to bed,” she answered ;
“ though I can play cribbage, if only you stay
another night.”
For she saw the glint in the farmer's eye;


THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
189
and so Sergeant Basket slept bolt upright that
night in an arm-chair by the parlour fender.
Next day the dragooners searched the town
again, and were billeted all about among the
cottages. But the sergeant returned to Con-
stantine, and before going to bed—this time in
the spare room—played a game of cribbage with
Madam Noy, the farmer smoking sulkily in his
arm-chair.
“Two for his heels!” said the rosy woman
suddenly, halfway through the game. “ Ser-
geant, you're cheatin' yoursel' an' forgettin' to
mark. Gi’e me the board ; I'll mark for both."
She put out her hand upon the board, and
Sergeant Basket's closed upon it. 'Tis true he
had forgot to mark; and feeling the hot pulse in
her wrist, and beholding the hunger in her eyes,
'tis to be supposed he'd have forgot his own soul.
He rode away next day with his troop: but
my uncle Philip not being caught yet, and the
Government set on making an example of him,
we hadn't seen the last of these dragoons. 'Twas
a time of fear down in the town. At dead of
night or at noonday they came on us-six times


190
THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
non
in all: and for two months the crew of the
Unity couldn't call their souls their own, but
lived from day to day in secret closets and
wandered the country by night, hiding in
hedges and straw-houses. All that time the
revenue men watched the Hauen, night and day,
like dogs before a rat-hole.
But one November morning 'twas whispered
abroad that Uncle Philip had made his way to
Falmouth, and slipped across to Guernsey. Time
passed on, and the dragooners were seen no more,
nor the handsome devil-may-care face of Ser-
geant Basket. Up at Constantine, where he had
always contrived to billet himself, 'tis to be
thought pretty Madam Noy pined to see him
again, kicking his spurs in the porch and smiling
out of his gay brown eyes; for her face fell away
from its plump condition, and the hunger in her
eyes grew and grew. But a more remarkable
fact was that her old husband—who wouldn't
have yearned after the dragoon, ye'd have
thought—began to dwindle and fall away too.
By the New Year he was a dying man, and
carried his doom on his face. And on New


THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
191
Year's Day he straddled his mare for the last
time, and rode over to Looe, to Doctor Gale's.
“Goody - losh !” cried the doctor, taken
aback by his appearance—“What's come to ye,
Noy?”
“Death!” says Noy. “Doctor, I bain't
come for advice, for before this day week I'll
be a clay-cold corpse. I come to ax a favour.
When they summon ye, before lookin' at my
body—that 'll be past help-go you to the little
left-top corner drawer o' my wife's bureau, an'
there ye 'll find a packet. You 're my executor,”
says he, “and I leaves ye to deal wi’ that packet
as ye thinks fit.”
With that, the farmer rode away home-along,
and the very day week he went dead.
The doctor, when called over, minded what
the old chap had said, and sending Madam Noy
on some pretence to the kitchen, went over and
unlocked the little drawer with a duplicate key,
that the farmer had unhitched from his watch-
chain and given him. There was no parcel of
letters, as he looked to find, but only a small
packet crumpled away in the corner. He pulled


192
THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
se
it out and gave a look, and a sniff, and another
look: then shut the drawer, locked it, strode
straight down-stairs to his horse and galloped
away.
In three hours' time, pretty Madam Noy
was in the constables' hands upon the charge of
murdering her husband by poison.
They tried her, next Spring Assize, at
Bodmin, before the Lord Chief Justice. There
wasn't evidence enough to put Sergeant Basket
in the dock alongside of her—though 'twas
freely guessed he knew more than anyone
(saving the prisoner herself) about the arsenic
that was found in the little drawer and inside
the old man's body. He was subpæna'd from
Plymouth, and cross - examined by a great
hulking King's Counsel for three - quarters of
an hour. But they got nothing out of him.
All through the examination the prisoner
looked at him and nodded her white face,
every now and then, at his answers, as
much as to say, “ That's right-that's right:
they shan't harm thee, my dear.” And the
love-light shone in her eyes for all the court to


194
THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
father and mother had determined it would be an
excellent thing for my rickets to take me into
Bodmin that day, and get a touch of the dead
woman's hand, which in those times was con-
sidered an unfailing remedy. So we borrowed the
parson's manure-cart, and cleaned it thoroughly,
and drove in together.
The place of the hangings, then, was a little
door in the prison-wall, looking over the bank
where the railway now goes, and a dismal piece
of water called Jail-pool, where the townsfolk
drowned most of the dogs and cats they'd no
further use for. All the bank under the gallows
was that thick with people you could almost walk
upon their heads; and my ribs were squeezed by
the crowd so that I couldn't breathe freely for a
month after. Back across the pool, the fields
along the side of the valley were lined with
booths and sweet-stalls and standings—a perfect
Whitsun-fair ; and a din going up that cracked
your ears.
But there was the stillness of death when the
woman came forth, with the sheriff and the
chaplain reading in his book, and the unnamed


THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
195
man behind-all from the little door. She wore
a strait black gown, and a white kerchief about
her neck—a lovely woman, young and white and
tearless.
She ran her eye over the crowd and stepped
forward a pace, as if to speak; but lifted a finger
and beckoned instead : and out of the people a
man fought his way to the foot of the scaffold.
'Twas the dashing sergeant, that was here upon
sick-leave. Sick he was, I believe. His face
above his shining regimentals was grey as a
slate ; for he had committed perjury to save his
skin, and on the face of the perjured no sun will
ever shine.
“ Have you got it ? ”the doomed woman said,
many hearing the words.
He tried to reach, but the scaffold was too
high, so he tossed up what was in his hand, and
the woman caught it-a little screw of tissue-
paper.
“I must see that, please!” said the sheriff,
laying a hand upon her arm.
“ 'Tis but a weddin’-ring, sir”-and she
slipped it over her finger. Then she kissed it
M 2


198
THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
n
V
past us and sent a shower of mud in our faces as
his horse leapt off again, and 'way-to-go down the
hill. My father stood up and lashed our old grey
with the reins, and down we went too, bumpity-
bump for our lives, the poor beast being taken
suddenly like one possessed. For the screaming
behind was like nothing on earth but the wailing
and sobbing of a little child-only tenfold
louder. 'Twas just as you'd fancy a baby might
wail if his little limbs was being twisted to
death.
At the hill's foot, as you know, a stream
crosses the lane-that widens out there a bit,
and narrows again as it goes up t'other side of
the valley. Knowing we must be overtaken
further on-for the screams and clatter seemed
at our very backs by this—father jumped out
here into the stream and backed the cart well
to one side ; and not a second too soon.
The next moment, like a wind, this thing
went by us in the moonlight—a man upon a
black horse that splashed the stream all over us
as he dashed through it and up the hill. 'Twas
the scarlet dragoon with his ashen face; and


THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
199
behind him, holding to his cross-belt, rode a
little shape that tugged and wailed and raved.
As I stand here, sir, 'twas the shape of a naked
babe!
Well, I won't go on to tell how my father
dropped upon his knees in the water, or how my
mother fainted off. The thing was gone, and
from that moment for eight years nothing was
seen or heard of Sergeant Basket. The fright
killed my mother. Before next spring she fell
into a decline, and early next fall the old man-
for he was an old man now—had to delve her
grave. After this he went feebly about his
work, but held on, being wishful for me to step
into his shoon, which I began to do as soon as
I was fourteen, having outgrown the rickets by
that time.
But one cool evening in September month,
father was up digging in the yard alone : for
'twas a small child's grave, and in the loosest
soil, and I was off on a day's work, thatching
Farmer Tresidder's stacks. He was digging


200
THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
away slowly when he heard a rattle at the lych-
gate, and looking over the edge of the grave,
saw in the dusk a man hitching his horse there
by the bridle.
'Twas a coal-black horse, and the man wore
a scarlet coat all powdered with pilm; and as
he opened the gate and came over the graves,
father saw that 'twas the dashing dragoon. His
face was still a slaty-grey, and clammy with
sweat; and when he spoke, his voice was all of a
whisper, with a shiver therein.
“ Bedman,” says he, “go to the hedge
and look down the road, and tell me what
you see.”
My father went, with his knees shaking, and
came back again.
"I see a woman,” says he, “not fifty
yards down the road. She is dressed in black,
an' has a veil over her face; an’ she's comin'
this way.”
“Bedman," answers the dragoon, “ go to the
gate an' look back along the Plymouth road, an’
tell me what you see.”
“I see,” says my father, coming back with
unswe


THE HAUNTED DRAGOON.
201
his teeth chattering, “I see, twenty yards back,
a naked child comin'. He looks to be callin',
but he makes no sound.” :
“Because his voice is wearied out,” says the
dragoon. And with that he faced about, and
walked to the gate slowly.
“Bedman, come wi' me an' see the rest,” he
says, over his shoulder.
He opened the gate, unhitched the bridle
and swung himself heavily up in the saddle.
Now from the gate the bank goes down
pretty steep into the road, and at the foot of
the bank my father saw two figures waiting.
'Twas the woman and the child, hand in hand ;
and their eyes burned up like coals : and the
woman's veil was lifted, and her throat bare.
As the horse went down the bank towards
these two, they reached out and took each a
stirrup and climbed upon his back, the child
before the dragoon and the woman behind.
The man's face was set like a stone. Not a
word did either speak, and in this fashion they
rode down the hill towards Ruan sands. All
that my father could mind, beyond, was that
Won


A BLUE PANTOMIME.





205
A BLUE PANTOMIME.
I.
HOW I DINED AT THE “INDIAN QUEENS.”
The sensation was odd; for I could have made
affidavit I had never visited the place in my life,
nor come within fifty miles of it. Yet every
furlong of the drive was earmarked for me, as it
were, by some detail perfectly familiar. The
high-road ran straight ahead to a notch in
the long chine of Huel Tor; and this notch was
filled with the yellow ball of the westering sun.
Whenever I turned my head and blinked, red
simulacra of this ball hopped up and down over
the brown moors. Miles of wasteland, dotted
with peat-ricks and cropping ponies, stretched
to the northern horizon : on our left three long
coombes radiated seaward, and in the gorge of
the midmost was a building stuck like a fish-
bone, its twisted Jacobean chimneys overtopping


206
A BLUE PANTOMIME.
a plantation of ash-trees that now, in November,
allowed a glimpse, and no more, of the grey
façade. I had looked down that coombe as we
drove by; and catching sight of these chimneys
. felt something like reassurance, as if I had been
counting, all the way, to find them there.
But here let me explain who I am and
what brought me to these parts. My name is
Samuel Wraxall—the Reverend Samuel Wraxall,
to be precise : I was born a Cockney and edu-
cated at Rugby and Oxford. On leaving the
University I had taken orders ; but, for reasons
impertinent to this narrative, was led, after five
years of parochial work in Surrey, to accept an
Inspectorship of Schools. Just now I was
bound for Pitt's Scawens, a desolate village
among the Cornish clay-moors, there to examine
and report upon the Board School. Pitt's
Scawens lies some nine miles off the railway,
and six from the nearest market-town; con-
sequently, on hearing there was a comfortable inn
near the village, I had determined to make that
my resting-place for the night and do my
business early on the morrow.
am
en
ni


208
A BLUE PANTOMIME.
Nevertheless Parkyn was not the name I
wanted. What was the name? And why did
I want it? I had not the least idea. For
the next mile I continued to hunt my brain
for the right combination of syllables. I only
knew that somewhere, now at the back of
my head, now on my tongue-tip, there hung
a word I desired to utter, but could not. I was
still searching for it when the gig climbed over
the summit of a gentle rise, and the “Indian
Queens” hove in sight.
It is not usual for a village to lie a full mile
beyond its inn : yet I never doubted this must
be the case with Pitt's Scawens. Nor was I in
the least surprised by the appearance of this
lonely tavern, with the black peat-pool behind
it and the high-road in front, along which its
end windows stare for miles, as if on the look-
out for the ghosts of departed coaches full of
disembodied travellers for the Land's End. I
knew the sign-board over the porch : I knew-
though now in the twilight it was impossible to
distinguish colours—that upon either side of it
was painted an Indian Queen in a scarlet turban


A BLUE PANTOMIME.
209
and blue robe, taking two black children with
scarlet parasols to see a blue palm-tree. I recog-
nised the hepping-stock and granite drinking-
trough beside the porch ; as well as the eight
front windows, four on either side of the door,
and the dummy window immediately over it.
Only the landlord was unfamiliar. He appeared
as the gig drew up-a loose-fleshed, heavy man,
something over six feet in height—and welcomed
me with an air of anxious hospitality, as if I
were the first guest he had entertained for many
years.
“You received my letter, then ? ” I asked.
“ Yes, surely. The Rev. S. Wraxall, I
suppose. Your bed's aired, sir, and a fire in
the Blue Room, and the cloth laid. My wife
didn't like to risk cooking the fowl till you
were really come. “Railways be that un-
certain,” she said. “Something may happen to
the train and he'll be done to death and all
in pieces.'"
It took me a couple of seconds to discover
that these gloomy anticipations referred not to
me but to the fowl.
V


A BLUE PANTOMIME.
211
and rinse the coal-dust out of my hair. My
spirits revived, and I began mentally to arrange
my plans for the next day. The prospect of
dinner, too, after my cold drive was wonderfully
comforting. Perhaps (thought I), there is good
wine in this inn; it is just the house wherein
travellers find, or boast that they find, forgotten
bins of Burgundy or Teneriffe. When my land-
lord returned to conduct me to the Blue Room, I
followed him down to the first landing in the
lightest of spirits.
Therefore, I was startled when, as the
landlord threw open the door and stood aside
to let me pass, it came upon me again—and this
time not as a merely vague sensation, but as
a sharp and sudden fear taking me like a cold
hand by the throat. I shivered as I crossed the
threshold and began to look about me. The
landlord observed it, and said
“It's chilly weather for travelling, to be
sure. Maybe you'd be better down-stairs in the
coffee-room, after all.”
I felt that this was probable enough. But
it seemed a pity to have put him to the pains of
N 2


212
A BLUE PANTOMIME.
lighting this fire for nothing. So I promised
him I should be comfortable enough.
He appeared to be relieved, and asked me
what I would drink with my dinner. “There's
beer-I brew it myself; and sherry— ”.
I said I would try his beer.
And a bottle of sound port to follow ?”
Port upon home-brewed beer! But I had
dared it often enough in my Oxford days, and a
long evening lay before me, with a snug arm-
chair, and a fire fit to roast a sheep. I assented.
He withdrew to fetch up the meal, and I
looked about me with curiosity. The room was
a long one--perhaps fifty feet from end to end,
and not less than ten paces broad. It was
wainscotted to the height of four feet from the
ground, probably with oak, but the wood had
been so larded with dark blue paint that its
texture could not be discovered. Above this
wainscot the walls were covered with a fas-
cinating paper. The background of this was a
greenish-blue, and upon it a party of red-coated
riders in three-cornered hats blew large horns
while they hunted a stag. This pattern, striking


A BLUE PANTOMIME.
217
wild ; a drinking, dicing, cock-fighting, horse-
racing young man ; poured out his money like
water through a sieve. That was bad enough:
but when it came to carrying off a young
lady and putting a sword through her father
and running the country, I put it to you it's
worse.”
“ Did he disappear ?”
“ That's part of the story, too. When
matters got desperate and he was forced to let
Tremenhuel, he took what money he could
raise and cleared out of the neighbourhood for a
time; went off to Tregarrick when the militia
was embodied, he being an officer; and there
he cast his affections upon old Sir Felix Wil-
liams's daughter, Miss Cicely— ”.
I was expecting it: nevertheless I dropped
my fork clumsily as I heard the name, and for a
few seconds the landlord's voice sounded like
that of a distant river as it ran on--
“ And as Sir Felix wouldn't consent—for
which nobody blamed him-Squire Philip and
Miss Cicely agreed to go off together one dark
night. But the old man found them out and
was


A BLUE PANTOMIME.
219
never spoke : which was carrying her anger at
his interference rather far, 'specially as she
remained good friends with her father.”
He broke off here to fetch up the second
course. We talked no more, for I was ponder-
ing his tale and disinclined to be diverted to
other topics. Nor can I tell whether the rest
of the meal was good or ill. I suppose I ate :
but it was only when the landlord swept the
cloth, and produced a bottle of port, with a plate
of biscuits and another of dried raisins, that I
woke out of my musing. While I drew the
arm-chair nearer the fire, he pushed forward the
table with the wine to my elbow. After this,
he poured me out a glass and fell to dusting a
high-backed chair with vigour, as though he
had caught it standing at ease and were giving
it a round dozen for insubordination in the
ranks. “Was there anything more?” “No-
thing, thank you.” He withdrew.
I drank a couple of glasses and began medi-
tatively to light my pipe. I was trying to
piece together these words “Philip Car-
dinnock — Cicely Williams — fui,” and to fit


221
II.
WHAT I SAW IN THE MIRROR.
The smoke that had dimmed the mirror's
face for a moment was rolling off its surface and
upwards to the ceiling. But some of it still
lingered in filmy, slowly revolving eddies. The
glass itself, too, was stirring beneath this film
and running across its breadth in horizontal
waves which broke themselves silently, one after
another, against the dark frame, while the
circles of smoke kept widening, as the ripples
widen when a stone is tossed into still water.
I rubbed my eyes. The motion on the
mirror's surface was quickening perceptibly,
while the glass itself was steadily becoming
more opaque, the film deepening to a milky
colour and lying over the surface in heavy folds.
I was about to start up and touch the glass
with my hand, when beneath this milky colour
and from the heart of the whirling film, there


A BLUE PANTOMIME.
223
0
TS
the candles in the centre. This was my first
observation. The second was that the colours
of the hearth-rug had gained in freshness, and
that a dark spot just beyond it—a spot which in
my first exploration I had half-anusedly. taken
for a blood-stain-was not reflected in the glass.
.. As I leant back and gazed, with my hands
in my lap, I remember there was some difficulty
in determining whether the tune by which I
was still haunted ran in my head or was tinkling
from within the old spinet by the window. But
after a while the music, whencesoever it came,
faded away and ceased. A dead silence held
everything for about thirty seconds.
And then, still looking in the mirror, I saw
the door behind me open slowly.
The next moment, two persons noiselessly
entered the room-a young man and a girl.
They wore the dress of the early Georgian days,
as well as I could see ; for the girl was wrapped
in a cloak with a hood that almost concealed her
face, while the man wore a heavy riding-coat.
He was booted and spurred, and the backs of
his top-boots were splashed with mud. I say


A BLUE PANTOMIME.
225
twined fingers work as she struggled with her
grief. The young Squire advanced and, with a
hand on her shoulder, endeavoured by many
endearments to comfort her. His lips moved
vehemently, and gradually her shoulders ceased
to rise and fall. By-and-by she raised her head
and looked up into his face with wet, gleaming
eyes. It was very pitiful to see. The young
man took her face between his hands, kissed it,
and pouring out a glass of wine, held it to her
lips. She put it aside with her hand and glanced
up towards the tall clock in the corner. My
eyes, following hers, saw that the hands pointed
to a quarter to twelve.
The young Squire set down the glass hastily,
stepped to the window and, drawing aside the
blue curtain, gazed out upon the night. Twice
he looked back at Cicely, over his shoulder,
and after a minute returned to the table. He
drained the glass which the girl had declined,
poured out another, still keeping his eyes on
her, and began to walk impatiently up and down
the room. And all the time Cicely's soft eyes
never ceased to follow him. Clearly there was


226
À BLUE PANTOMIME.
need for hurry, for they had not laid aside
their travelling-cloaks, and once or twice the
young man paused in his walk to listen. At
length he pulled out his watch, glanced from it
to the clock in the corner, put it away with a
frown and, striding up to the hearth, flung him-
self down in the arm-chair—the very arm-chair
in which I was seated.
As he sat there, tapping the hearth-rug
with the toe of his thick riding-boot and moving
his lips now and then in answer to some ques-
tion from the young girl, I had time to examine
his every feature. Line by line they reproduced
my own—nay, looking straight into his eyes I
could see through them into the soul of him
and recognised that soul for my own. Of all the
passions there I knew that myself contained the
germs. Vices repressed in youth, tendencies to sin
starved in my own nature by lack of opportunity
—these flourished in a rank growth. I saw
virtues, too, that I had once possessed but had
lost by degrees in my respectable journey through
life—courage, generosity, tenderness of heart.
I was discovering these with envy, one by one,


A BLUE PANTOMIME.
227
when he raised his head higher and listened for a
moment, with a hand on either arm of the chair.
The next instant he sprang up and faced the
door. Glancing at Cicely, I saw her cowering
down in her chair.
The young Squire had hardly gained his
feet when the door flew open and the figures of
two men appeared on the threshold—Sir Felix
Williams and his only son, the father and brother
of Cicely.
There, in the doorway, the intruders halted;
but for an instant only. Almost before the
Squire could draw, his sweetheart's brother had
sprung forward. Like two serpents their rapiers
engaged in the candle-light. The soundless
blades crossed and glittered. Then one of them
flickered in a narrow circle, and the brother's
rapier went spinning from his hand across the
room.
Young Cardinnock lowered his point at once,
and his adversary stepped back a couple of paces.
While a man might count twenty the pair
looked each other in the face, and then the old
man, Sir Felix, stepped slowly forward.
o
2


231
III.
WHAT I SAW IN THE TARN.
As the steel entered my back, cutting all the
cords that bound me to life, I suffered anguish
too exquisite for words to reach, too deep for
memory to dive after. My eyes closed and
teeth shut on the taste of death; and as they
shut a merciful oblivion wrapped me round.
When I awoke, the room was dark, and I
was standing on my feet. A cold wind was
blowing on my face, as from an open door. I
staggered to meet this wind and found myself
groping along a passage and down a staircase
filled with Egyptian darkness. Then the wind
increased suddenly and shook the black curtain
around my senses. A murky light broke in on
me. I had a body. That I felt; but where it
was I knew not. And so I felt my way for-
ward in the direction where the twilight showed
least dimly.


232
A BLUE PANTOMIME.
ren I
as
Slowly the curtain shook and its folds dis-
solved as I moved against the wind. The clouds
lifted; and by degrees I grew aware that I
was standing on the barren moor. Night was
stretched around to the horizon, where straight
ahead a grey bar shone across the gloom. I
pressed on towards it. The heath was uneven
under my feet, and now and then I stumbled
heavily; but still I held on. For it seemed
that I must get to this grey bar or die a second
time. All my muscles, all my will, were
strained upon this purpose.
Drawing nearer, I observed that a wave-like
motion kept passing over this brighter space, as
it had passed over the mirror. The glimmer
would be obscured for a moment, and then re-
appear. At length a gentle acclivity of the
moor hid it for a while. My legs positively
raced up this slope, and upon the summit I
hardly dared to look for a moment, knowing
that if the light were an illusion all my hope
must die with it.
But it was no illusion. There was the light,
and there, before my feet, lay a sable sheet of


A BLUE PANTOMIME.
233
water, over the surface of which the light was
playing. There was no moon, no star in
heaven; yet over this desolate tarn hovered a
pale radiance that ceased again where the edge
of its waves lapped the further bank of peat.
Their monotonous wash hardly broke the still-
ness of the place.
The formless longing was now pulling at
me with an attraction I could not deny, though
within me there rose and fought against it a
horror only less strong. Here, as in the Blue
Room, two souls were struggling for me. It
was the soul of Philip Cardinnock that drew me
towards the tarn and the soul of Samuel Wraxall
that resisted. Only, what was the thing towards
which I was being pulled ?
I must have stood at least a minute on the
brink before I descried a black object floating at
the far end of the tarn. What this object was
I could not make out; but I knew it on the
instant to be that for which I longed, and all
my will grew suddenly intent on drawing it
nearer. Even as my volition centred upon it,
the black spot began to move slowly out into


234
A BLUE PANTOMIME.
me
the pale radiance towards me. Silently, surely,
as though my wish drew it by a rope, it floated
nearer and nearer over the bosom of the tarn ;
and while it was still some twenty yards from
me I saw it to be a long black box, shaped
somewhat like a coffin.
There was no doubt about it. I could hear
the water now sucking at its dark sides. I
stepped down the bank, and waded up to my
knees in the icy water to meet it. It was a
plain box, with no writing upon the lid, nor
any speck of metal to relieve the dead black :
and it moved with the same even speed straight
up to where I stood.
As it came, I laid my hand upon it and
touched wood. But with the touch came a
further sensation that made me fling both arms
around the box and begin frantically to haul
it towards the shore.
It was a feeling of suffocation; of a weight
that pressed in upon my ribs and choked the
lungs' action. I felt that I must open that
box or die horribly; that until I had it upon
the bank and had forced the lid up I should


236
A BLUE PANTOMIME.
see
Then, as I felt the black anguish of the Blue
Room descending a second time upon me, I
seemed to put all my strength into my hands.
From the lid or from my own throat-I could
not distinguish—there came a creak and a long
groan. I tore back the board and fell on the
heath with one shuddering breath of relief.
And drawing it, I raised my head and looked
over the coffin's edge. Still drawing it, I
tumbled back.
White, cold, with the last struggle fixed on
its features and open eyes, it was my own dead
face that stared up at me!


237
IV.
WHAT I HAVE SINCE LEARNT.
They found me, next morning, lying on the
brink of the tarn, and carried me back to the
inn. There I lay for weeks in a brain fever and
talked—as they assure me—the wildest non-
sense. The landlord had first guessed that
something was amiss on finding the front door
open when he came down at five o'clock. I
must have turned to the left on leaving the
house, travelled up the road for a hundred yards,
and then struck almost at right angles across
the moor. One of my shoes was found a furlong
from the highway, and this had guided them.
Of course they found no coffin beside me, and I
was prudent enough to hold my tongue when I
became convalescent. But the effect of that
night was to shatter my health for a year and
more, and force me to throw up my post of
School Inspector. To this day I have never


A BLUE PANTOMIME.
239
the body they afterwards turned up a silver snuff-box,
with the word “Fui” on the lid. “Fui” was the motto of
the Cardinnocks, who held Tremenhuel before it passed to
the Parkyns. There seems to be no doubt that these are
the bones of the last Squire, who disappeared mysteriously
more than a hundred years ago, in consequence of a love
affair, I'm told. It looks like foul play ; but, if so, the
account has long since passed out of the hands of man.
Yours ever, David E. MAINWARING.
P.S.—I reopen this to say that Squire Parkyn has
accepted my offer for the chimney-piece. Let me hear soon
that you'll come and look at it and give me your opinion.





THE TWO HOUSEHOLDERS.
245
by one inch-sent a strong thrill down my
back.
I cut straight across the heather towards the
light, risking quags and pitfalls. Nay, so
heartening was the chance to hear a fellow
creature's voice, that I broke into a run,
skipping over the stunted gorse that cropped up
here and there, and dreading every moment to
see the light quenched. “Suppose it burns in
an upper window, and the family is going to
bed, as would be likely at this hour- " The
apprehension kept my eyes fixed on the bright
spot, to the frequent scandal of my legs, that
within five minutes were stuck full of gorse
prickles.
But the light did not go out, and soon a
flicker of moonlight gave me a glimpse of the
house's outline. It proved to be a deal more
imposing than I looked for—the outline, in
fact, of a tall, square barrack, with a cluster
of chimneys at either end, like ears, and a high
wall, topped by the roofs of some outbuildings,
concealing the lower windows. There was no
gate in this wall, and presently I guessed the


246
THE TWO HOUSEHOLDERS.
reason. I was approaching the place from
behind, and the light came from a back window
on the first floor.
The faintness of the light also was explained
by this time. It shone behind a drab-coloured
blind, and in shape resembled the stem of a
wine-glass, broadening out at the foot; an
effect produced by the half-drawn curtains
within. I came to a halt, waiting for the next
ray of moonlight. At the same moment a rush
of wind swept over the chimney-stacks, and
on the wind there seemed to ride a human sigh.
On this last point I may err. The gust
had passed some seconds before I caught my-
self detecting this peculiar note, and trying
to disengage it from the natural chords of
the storm. From the next gust it was absent;
and then, to my dismay, the light faded from
the window.
I was half-minded to call out when it ap-
peared again, this time in two windows-those
next on the right to that where it had shone
before. Almost at once it increased in brilliance,
as if the person who carried it from the smaller


254
THE TWO HOUSEHOLDERS.
The old man's eyes beamed a contemptuous
pity.
“You are indifferent sharp, my dear sir, for
a housebreaker. Come in. Set down those
convicting boots, and don't drip pools of water
in the doorway. If I must entertain a burglar,
I prefer him tidy."
He walked to the fire, picked up a poker,
and knocked the coals into a blaze. This done,
he turned round on me with the poker still in
his hand. The serenest gravity sat on his large,
pale features.
“Why have I done this ?” he asked.
“I suppose to get possession of the poker.”
“Quite right. May I inquire your next
move?"
“Why?” said I, feeling in my tail-pocket,
“I carry a pistol.”
“Which I suppose to be damp ?”
“ By no means. I carry it, as you see, in an
oil-cloth case."
He stooped, and laid the poker carefully in
the fender.
“That is a stronger card than I possess. I


THE TWO HOUSEHOLDERS.
255
might urge that by pulling the trigger you
would certainly alarm the house and the neigh-
bourhood, and put a halter round your neck.
But it strikes me as safer to assume you capable
of using a pistol with effect at three paces.
With what might happen subsequently I will
not pretend to be concerned. The fate of your
neck ” — he waved a hand, — “ well, I have
known you for just five minutes, and feel but a
moderate interest in your neck. As for the
inmates of this house, it will refresh you to hear
that there are none. I have lived here two
years with a butler and female cook, both of
whom I dismissed yesterday at a minute's
notice, for conduct which I will not shock your
ears by explicitly naming. Suffice it to say,
I carried them off yesterday to my parish
church, two miles away, married them and dis-
missed them in the vestry without characters.
I wish you had known that butler—but excuse
me; with the information I have supplied, you
ought to find no difficulty in fixing the price
you will take to clear out of my house in.
stanter.”


THE TWO HOUSEHOLDERS.
257
Having done so, he helped himself to a glass
and a chair, and sat down facing me.
“I was speaking, just now, of my late
butler," he began, with a sip at his brandy.
“Does it strike you that, when confronted with
moral delinquency, I am apt to let my indigna-
tion get the better of me?”
“Not at all,” I answered heartily, refilling
my glass.
It appeared that another reply would have
pleased him better.
“H’m. I was hoping that, perhaps, I had
visited his offence too strongly. As a clergy-
man, you see, I was bound to be severe ; but
upon my word, sir, since Parkinson left I have
felt like a man who has lost a limb."
He drummed with his fingers on the cloth
for a few moments, and went on-
“One has a natural disposition to forgive
butlers-Pharaoh, for instance, felt it. There
hovers around butlers an atmosphere in which
common ethics lose their pertinence. But mine
was a rare bird-a black swan among butlers !
He was more than a butler: he was a quick


260
THE TWO HOUSEHOLDERS.
“ We are too impulsive, I think," was his
answer, after a minute's silence; " and your
speech smacks of the amateur. You say, 'Let
me cease to be your burglar and let me be your
butler.' The aspiration is respectable; but a
man might as well say, “Let me cease to write
sermons, let me paint pictures.' And truly, sir,
you impress me as no expert even in your
present trade.”
“On the other hand,” I argued, “ consider
the moderation of my demands; that alone
should convince you of my desire to turn over
a new leaf. I ask for a month's trial; if at the
end of that time I don't suit, you shall say
so, and I'll march from your door with nothing
in my pocket but my month's wages. Be
hanged, sir ! but when I reflect on the amount
you'll have to pay to get me to face to-night's
storm again, you seem to be getting off dirt
cheap!” cried I, slapping my palm on the
table.
“Ah, if you had only known Parkinson !”
be exclaimed.
Now the third glass of clean spirit has


262
THE TWO HOUSEHOLDERS.
Marsala, you have every right to refuse me.
Two minutes ago you offered to become my
butler, and I demurred. I now beg you to
repeat that offer. Say the word, and I employ
you gladly: you shall even have the second
decanter (which contains genuine Madeira) to
take to bed with you."
We shook hands on our bargain, and
catching up a candlestick, he led the way from
the room.
Picking up my boots, I followed him along
the passage and down the silent staircase. In
the hall he paused to stand on tip-toe, and turn
up the lamp, which was burning low. As he
did so, I found time to fling a glance at my old
enemy, the mastiff. He lay as I had first
seen him—a stuffed dog, if ever there was one.
“Decidedly," thought I, “my wits are to seek
to-night; ” and with the same, a sudden sus-
picion made me turn to my conductor, who had
advanced to the left-hand door, and was waiting
for me, with a hand on the knob.
“ One moment !” I said: “This is all very
pretty, but how am I to know you're not


THE TWO HOUSEHOLDERS.
263
sending me to bed while you fetch in all the
countryside to lay me by the heels ? ”
"I'm afraid," was his answer, “ you must be
content with my word, as a gentleman, that
never, to-night or hereafter, will I breathe a
syllable about the circumstances of your visit.
However, if you choose, we will return up-
stairs.”
“No; I'll trust you,” said I; and he opened
the door.
It led into a broad passage paved with slate,
upon which three or four rooms opened. He
paused by the second and ushered me into a
sleeping-chamber, which, though narrow, was
comfortable enough—a vast improvement, at
any rate, on the mumpers' lodgings I had been
used to for many months past.
“You can undress here,” he said. “The
sheets are aired, and if you'll wait a moment,
I'll fetch a nightshirt-one of my own.”
“Sir, you heap coals of fire on me.”
“Believe me that for ninety-nine of your
qualities I do not care a tinker's curse ; but for
your palate you are to be taken care of.”


264
THE TWO HOUSEHOLDERS.
He shuffled away, but came back in a couple
of minutes with the nightshirt.
“Good-night,” he called to me, flinging it
in at the door ; and without giving me time to
return the wish, went his way up-stairs.
Now it might be supposed I was only too
glad to toss off my clothes and clinib into the
bed I had so unexpectedly acquired a right to.
But, as a matter of fact, I did nothing of
the kind. Instead, I drew on my boots and sat
on the bed's edge, blinking at my candle till it
died down in its socket, and afterwards at the
purple square of window as it slowly changed to
grey with the coming of dawn. I was cold to
the heart, and my teeth chattered with an ague.
Certainly I never suspected my host's word; but
was even occupied in framing good resolutions
and shaping out a reputable future, when I
heard the front door gently pulled to, and a
man's footsteps moving quietly to the gate.
The treachery knocked me in a heap for
the moment. Then, leaping up and flinging my
door wide, I stumbled through the uncertain
light of the passage into the front hall.


THE TWO HOUSEHOLDERS.
267
man—a face waxen and peaceful, with quiet
lines about the mouth and eyes, and long lines
of grey hair falling back from the temples. The
body was turned a little on one side, and one
hand lay outside the bedclothes in a very
natural manner. But there were two big dark
stains on the pillow and coverlet.
Then I knew I was face to face with the real
householder, and it flashed on me that I had
been indiscreet in taking service as his butler,
and that I knew the face his ex-butler wore.
And, being by this time awake to the
responsibilities of the post, I quitted it three
steps at a time, not once looking behind me.
Outside the house the storm had died down,
and white daylight was 'gleaming over the
sodden moors. But my bones were cold, and
I ran faster and faster.





271
THE
DISENCHANTMENT OF
’LIZABETH.
“So you reckon I've got to die?”.
The room was mean, but not without
distinction. The meanness lay in lime-washed
walls, scant fittings, and uncovered boards ;
the distinction came of ample proportions
and something of durability in the furniture.
Rooms, like human faces, reflect their histories;
and that generation after generation of the same
family had here struggled to birth or death was
written in this chamber unmistakably. The
candle-light, twinkling on the face of a dark
wardrobe near the door, lit up its rough in-
scription, “S.T. and M.T., MDCLXVII”; the
straight-backed oaken chairs might well claim
an equal age; and the bed in the corner was


272 THE DISENCHANTMENT OF ’LIZABETH.
a spacious four-poster, pillared in smooth
mahogany and curtained in faded green damask.
In the shadow of this bed lay the man who
had spoken. A single candle stood on a tall
chest at his left hand, and its ray, filtering
through the thin green curtain, emphasised the
hue of death on his face. The features were
pinched, and very old. His tone held neither
complaint nor passion: it was matter-of-fact
even, as of one whose talk is merely a concession
to good manners. There was the faintest in-
terrogation in it; no more.
After a minute or so, getting no reply, he
added more querulously,
"I reckon you might answer, 'Lizabeth.
Do'ee think I've got to die?”
'Lizabeth, who stood by the uncurtained
window, staring into the blackness without,
barely turned her head to answer-
“ Certain.”
“Doctor said so, did he?”
'Lizabeth, still with her back towards him,
nodded. For a minute or two there was silence.
“I don't feel like dyin'; but doctor ought to
answ


THE DISENCHANTMENT OF ’LIZABETH. 273
know. Seemed to me 'twas harder, an'-an’
more important. This sort o'dyin' don't seem
o' much account.”.
“No?”
“That's it. I reckon, though, 'twould be
other if I had a family round the bed. But
there ain't none o' the boys left to stand by me
now. It's hard.”
“ What's hard ? ”
“ Why, that two out o' the three should be
called afore me. And hard is the manner of it.
It's hard that, after Samuel died o’ fever, Jim
shud be blown up at Herodsfoot powder-mill.
He made a lovely corpse, did Samuel; but Jim,
you see, he hadn't a chance. An'as for William,
he's never come home nor wrote a line since he
joined the Thirty-Second ; an’ it's little he cares
for his home or his father. I reckoned, back
along, 'Lizabeth, as you an' he might come to an
understandin'.”
“ William's naught to me.”
“Look here!” cried the old man sharply ;
“he treated you bad, did William.”
“Who says so ?”


274 THE DISENCHANTMENT OF ’LIZABETH.
“ Why, all the folks. Lord bless the girl !
do 'ee think folks use their eyes without usin’
their tongues? An' I wish it had come about,
for you'd ha' kept en straight. But he treated
you bad, and he treated me bad, tho’ he won't
find no profit o' that. You’m my sister's child,
'Lizabeth,” he rambled on; “an’ what house-room
you've had you've fairly earned—not but what
you was welcome: an’ if I thought as there was
harm done, I'd curse him 'pon my deathbed, I
would.”
“You be quiet!”
She turned from the window and cowed him
with angry grey eyes. Her figure was tall and
meagre; her face that of a woman well over
thirty-once comely, but worn over-much, and
prematurely hardened. The voice had hardened
with it, perhaps. The old man, who had risen
on his elbow in an access of passion, was taken
with a fit of coughing, and sank back upon the
pillows.
“There's no call to be niffy,” he apologised
at last. “I was on’y thinkin' of how you'd
manage when I'm dead an' gone."
roman
er


THE DISENCHANTMENT OF 'LIZABETH. 275
“I reckon I'll shift."
She drew a chair towards the bed and sat
beside him. He seemed drowsy, and after a
while stretched out an arın over the coverlet and
fell asleep. 'Lizabeth took his hand, and sat
there listlessly regarding the still shadows on
the wall. The sick man never moved; only
muttered once—some words that 'Lizabeth did
not catch. At the end of an hour, alarmed
perhaps by some sound within the bed's
shadow, or the feel of the hand in hers,
she suddenly pushed the curtain back, and,
catching up the candle, stooped over the sick
man.
His lids were closed, as if he slept still; but
he was quite dead.
'Lizabeth stood for a while bending over him,
smootlied the bedclothes straight, and quietly
left the room. It was a law of the house to
doff boots and shoes at the foot of the stairs,
and her stocking'd feet scarcely raised a creak
from the solid timbers. The staircase led
straight down into the kitchen. Here a fire
was blazing cheerfully, and as she descended
R 2


276 THE DISENCHANTMENT OF ’LIZABETH.
she felt its comfort after the dismal room
above.
Nevertheless, the sense of being alone in the
house with a dead man, and more than a mile
from any living soul, was disquieting. In truth,
there was room for uneasiness. 'Lizabeth knew
that some part of the old man's hoard lay up-stairs
in the room with him. Of late she had, under his
eye, taken from a silver tankard in the tall chest
by the bed such moneys as from week to week
were wanted to pay the farm hands; and she
had seen papers there, too-title-deeds, maybe.
The house itself lay in a cup of the hill-side,
backed with steep woods—so steep that, in places,
anyone who had reasons (good or bad) for doing
so, might well see in at any window he chose.
And to Hooper's Farm, down the valley, was a
far cry for help. Meditating on this, 'Lizabeth
stepped to the kitchen window and closed the
shutter; then, reaching down an old horse-
pistol from the rack above the mantelshelf, she
fetched out powder and bullet and fell to loading
quietly, as one who knew the trick of it.
And yet the sense of danger was not so near


THE DISENCHANTMENT OF 'LIZABETH. 277
as that of loneliness--of a pervading silence
without precedent in her experience, as if its
master's soul in fitting had, whatever Scripture
may say, taken something out of the house with
it. 'Lizabeth had known this kitchen for a score
of years now; nevertheless, to-night it was
unfamiliar, with emptier corners and wider
intervals of bare floor. She laid down the
loaded pistol, raked the logs together, and set
the kettle on the flame. She would take com-
fort in a dish of tea.
There was company in the singing of the
kettle, the hiss of its overflow on the embers, and
the rattle with which she set out cup, saucer,
and teapot. She was bending over the hearth
to lift the kettle, when a sound at the door
caused her to start up and listen.
The latch had been rattled: not by the
wind, for the December night without was
misty and still. There was somebody on the
other side of the door ; and, as she turned, she
saw the latch lowered back into its place.
With her eyes fastened on this latch, she set
down the kettle softly and reached out for her


278 THE DISENCHANTMENT OF ’LIZABETH.
pistol. For a moment or two there was silence.
Then someone tapped gently.
The tapping went on for half a minute ;
then followed silence again. 'Lizabeth stole
across the kitchen, pistol in hand, laid her ear
against the board, and listened.
Yes, assuredly there was someone outside
She could catch the sound of breathing, and the
shuffling of a heavy boot on the door-slate.
And now a pair of knuckles repeated the tap-
ping, more imperiously.
“Who's there?”
A man's voice, thick and husky, made some
indistinct reply.
’Lizabeth fixed the cap more securely on her
pistol, and called again-
“Who's there?”
“ What the devil — ” began the voice.
'Lizabeth shot back the bolt and lifted the
latch.
“If you'd said at once 'twas William come
back, you'd ha' been let in sooner,” she said
quietly.
A thin puff of rain floated against her face


THE DISENCHANTMENT OF ’LIZABETH. 281
William set down the kettle with some
violence.
“ You still keep a cursedly rough tongue,
I notice.”
“An' you've been a soldier five year. I
reckoned you'd be a sergeant at least,” she pur-
sued simply, with her eyes on his undecorated
sleeve.
William took a gulp.
“How do you know I've not been a ser-
geant?"
“ Then you've been degraded. I'm main
sorry for that.”
“Look here, you hush up! Damn it!
there's girls enough have fancied this coat,
though it ain't but a private's ; and that's
enough for you, I take it.”
“It's handsome.”
“There, that'll do. I do believe you're spite-
ful because I didn't offer to kiss you when I
came in. Here, Cousin 'Lizabeth,” he exclaimed,
starting up, “I'll be sworn for all your tongue
you're the prettiest maid I've seen this five year.
Give me a kiss.”


THE DISENCHANTMENT OF ’LIZABETH. 283
" When Johnny comes marching home again,
Hooray! hoo "
“Don't, don't! Oh, why did you come
back to-night, of all nights ?”
“And why the devil not to-night so well as
any other ? You're a comfortable lot, I must
say! Maybe you'd like common metre better :--
“ Within my father's house
The blessed sit at meat,
Whilst I my belly stay
With husks the swine did eat.
-“Why shouldn't I wake the old man ? I've
done naught that I'm ashamed of.”
“It don't seem you’re improved by soldier.
ing."
“Improved ? I've seen life.” William
drained his glass.
“An' got degraded.”
“Burn your tongue ! I'm going to see
him.” He rose and made towards the door.
'Lizabeth stepped before him.
“Hush! You mustn't.”
«Mustn't?' That's a bold word.”


THE DISENCHANTMENT OF ’LIZABETH. 285
“ We?”
His foot was on the stair by this time. He
turned and nodded.
“Yes, we. It ain't a bad game being
mistress o' this house. Eh, Cousin ’Lizabeth ?”
She turned her hot face to the flame, with-
out reply; and he went on his way up the
stairs.
’Lizabeth sat for a while staring into the wood
embers with shaded eyes. Whatever the path
by which her reflections travelled, it led in the
end to the kettle. She remembered that the tea
was still to make, and, on stooping to set the
kettle back upon the logs, found it emptied by
William's potations. Donning her stout shoes
and pattens, and slipping a shawl over her head,
she reached down the lantern from its peg, lit
it, and went out to fill the kettle at the spring.
It was pitch-dark; the rain was still falling,
and as she crossed the yard the sodden straw
squeaked beneath her tread. The yard had
been fashioned generations since, by levelling
back from the house to the natural rock of


286 THE DISENCHANTMENT OF 'LIZABETH.
W
the hill-side, and connecting the two on the
right by cow-house and stable, with an upper
storey for barn and granary, on the left by a low
wall, where, Chrough a rough gate, the cart-
track from the valley found its entrance.
Against the further end of this wall leant an
open cart-shed; and within three paces of it a
perpetual spring of water gushing down the
rock was caught and arrested for a while in a
stone trough before it hurried out by a side
gutter, and so down to join the trout-stream in
the valley below. The spring first came to
light half-way down the rock’s face. Overhead
its point of emergence was curtained by a net-
work of roots pushed out by the trees above and
sprawling over the lip in helpless search for
soil.
'Lizabeth's lantern threw a flare of yellow on
these and on the bubbling water as she filled her
kettle. She was turning to go when a sound
arrested her.
It was the sound of a suppressed sob, and
seemed to issue from the cart-shed. 'Lizabeth
turned quickly and held up her lantern. Under


THE DISENCHANTMENT OF ’LIZABETH. 287
the shed, and barely four paces from her, sat a
woman.
The woman was perched against the shaft of
a hay-waggon, with her feet resting on a mud-
soiled carpet-bag. She made but a poor
appealing figure, tricked out in odds and ends of
incongruous finery, with a bonnet, once smart,
hanging limply forward over a pair of light-
coloured eyes and a very lachrymose face. The
ambition of the stranger's toilet, which ran riot
in cheap jewellery, formed so odd a contrast
with her sorry posture that 'Lizabeth, for all
her wonder, felt inclined to smile.
“What's your business here?”
“Oh, tell me,” whimpered the woman,
“what's he doing all this time? Won't his
father see me? He don't intend to leave me
here all night, surely, in this bitter cold, with
nothing to eat, and my gown ruined !”
“He?” 'Lizabeth's attitude stiffened with
suspicion of the truth.
“ William, I mean ; an'a sorry day it was I
agreed to come.”
“ William ? "


THE DISENCHANTMENT OF ’LIZABETH. 289
damp stockings," there's run an' there's tea.
Which will you take to warm yoursel ? ”
Mrs. William elected to take rum, and 'Liza-
beth noted that she helped herself with freedom.
She made no comment, however, but set about
making tea for herself; and, then, drawing up
her chair to the table, leant her chin on her
hand and intently regarded her visitor.
“Where's William?” inquired Mrs. Transom.
“ Up-stairs.”
“Askin' his father's pardon ?”
“ Well,” 'Lizabeth grimly admitted, “ that's
like enough; but you needn't fret about them.”
Mrs. William showed no disposition to fret.
On the contrary, under the influence of the rum
she became weakly jovial and a trifle garrulous
-confiding to ’Lizabeth that, though married to
William for four years, she had hitherto been
blessed with no children; that they lived in
barracks, which she disliked, but put up with
because she doted on a red coat; that William
had always been meaning to tell his father, but
feared to anger him, “because, my dear,” she
frankly explained, “I was once connected with


THE DISENCHANTMENT OF 'LIZABETH. 291.
when him an'me was keepin' company, 'I
believe you could sit on that hair o' yours, I
do reely.' 'Go along, you silly!' I said, 'to be
sure I can.'"
“He called you darling ?”
“Why, in course. H’ain't you never had a
young man ? ”
’Lizabeth brushed aside the question by
another.
“Do you love him ? I mean so that—that
you could lie down and let him tramp the life
out o’you?”
“Good Lord, girl, what questions you do
ask! Why, so-so, o' course, like other married
women. He's wild at times, but I shut my
eyes; an' he hav'n struck me this year past. I
wonder what he can be doin' all this time."
“ Come and see.”
'Lizabeth rose. Her contempt of this fool-
ish, faded creature recoiled upon herself, until
she could bear to sit still no longer. With
William's wife at her heels, she mounted the
stair, their shoeless feet making no sound. The
door of the old man's bed-room stood ajar, and
s 2


294 THE DISENCHANTMENT OF ’LIZABETH.
“Mean? Oh, o' course, you're innocent as
a lamb! Mean? Why, look here.”
He opened the chest again, and, drawing
out a scrap of folded foolscap, began to read :-
“I, Ebenezer Transom, of Compton Bur-
rows, in the parish of Compton, yeoman, being
of sound wit and health, and willing, though a
sinner, to give my account to God, do hereby
make my last will and testament.
“My house, lands, and farm of Compton
Burrows, together with every stick that I own,
I hereby (for her good care of me) give and
bequeath to Elizabeth Rundle, my dead sister's
child-Let be, I tell you !”
But 'Lizabeth had snatched the paper from
him. For a moment the devil in his eye seemed
to meditate violence. But he thought better of
it; and when she asked for the candle held it
beside her as she read on slowly.
“..... to Elizabeth Rundle, my dead
sister's child, desiring that she may marry and
bequeath the same to the heirs of her body; less


296 THE DISENCHANTMENT OF ’LIZABETH.
'Lizabeth had definite notions of right and
wrong, and this disinheritance of William struck
her conservative mind as a violation of Nature's
laws.
William's silence was his wife's opportunity.
“ Robbery's the word, you baggage! You
thought to buy him wi’ your ill-got gains. Ugh!
go along wi' you ! ”
'Lizabeth threw a desperate look towards the
cause of this trouble—the pale mask lying on
the pillows. Finding no help, she turned to
William again,
“ You believe I meant to rob you ? "
Meeting her eyes, William bent his own on
the floor, and lied.
“I reckon you meant to buy me, Cousin
'Lizabeth."
His wife tittered spitefully.
“Woman!” cried the girl, lapping up her
timid merriment in a flame of wrath. “Woman,
listen to me. Time was I loved that man o'
your'n; time was he swore I was all to him.
He was a liar from his birth. It's your natur'
to think I'm jealous; a better woman would
.


THE DISENCHANTMENT OF ’LIZABETH. 297
know I'm sick-sick wi' shame an' scorn o'
mysel'. That man, there, has kissed me, oft'n
an’oft'n-kissed me 'pon the mouth. Bein'
what you are, you can't understand how those
kisses taste now, when I look at you.”
“Well, I'm sure !”
“Hold your blasted tongue !” roared Wil-
liam. Mrs. Transom collapsed.
“Give me the candle,” 'Lizabeth com-
manded. “Look here--"
She held the corner of the will to the flame,
and watched it run up at the edge and wrap the
whole in fire. The paper dropped from her hand
to the bare boards, and with a dying flicker was
consumed. The charred flakes drifted idly across
the floor, stopped, and drifted again. In dead
silence she looked up.
Mrs. Transom's watery eyes were open to
their fullest. 'Lizabeth turned to William and
found him regarding her with a curious frown.
“Do you know what you've done?” he
asked hoarsely.
'Lizabeth laughed a trifle wildly.
“I reckon I've made reparation.”


THE DISENCHANTMENT OF 'LIZABETH. 301
“An' I'd a matter on my mind to tell you,"
he pursued, encouraged to find she harboured no
malice. “It's troubled me, since, that way you
burnt the will, an' us turnin' you out; for in a
way the place belonged to you. The old man
meant it, anyhow.”
“Well,” said 'Lizabeth, setting down her
basket, and looking him full in the eyes.
“Well, I reckon we might set matters
square, you an' me, 'Lizabeth, by marryin' an'
settlin' down comfortable. I've no children to
pester you, an' you’re young yet to be givin’
up thoughts o' marriage. What do 'ee say,
cousin ? "
'Lizabeth picked a full pod from the bush
beside her, and began shelling the peas, one
by one, into her hand. Her face was cool and
contemplative.
“ 'Tis eight years ago, William, since last
you asked me. Ain't that so ? ” she asked
absently.
“Come, Cousin, let bygones be, and tell
me; shall it be, my dear ? '
“No, William,” she answered ; “ 'tis too late
e answer


302 THE DISENCHANTMENT OF 'LIZABETH.
an hour to ask me now. I thank you, but it
can't be.” She passed the peas slowly to and
fro in her fingers.
“But why, 'Lizabeth ?” he urged; “you
was fond o' me once. Come, girl, don't stand
in your own light through a bit o' pique.”
“It's not that,” she explained ; “it's that I've
found myself out-an' you. You've humbled
my pride too sorely.”
“You're thinking o' Maria.”
“Partly, may be ; but it don't become us to
talk o' one that's dead. You've got my answer,
William, and don't ask me again. I loved you
once, but now I'm only weary when I think o't.
You wouldn't understand me if I tried to tell
you."
She held out her hand. William took it.
" You're a great fool, 'Lizabeth.”
“Good-bye, William.”
She took up her basket and walked slowly
back to the house; William watched her for a
moment or two, swore, and returned to his horse.
He did not ride homewards, but down the valley,
where he spent the day at the “ Compton Arms.”


THE DISENCHANTMENT OF ’LIZABETH. 303
When he returned home, which was not before
midnight, he was boisterously drunk.
Now it so happened that when William dis-
mounted at the gate Mrs. Hooper had spied him
from her bedroom window, and, guessing his
errand, had stolen down on the other side of the
garden wall parallel with which the peas were
planted. Thus sheltered, she contrived to hear
every word of the foregoing conversation, and
repeated it to her good man that very night.
“An' I reckon William said true,” she wound
up. “If 'Lizabeth don't know which side her
bread's buttered she's no better nor a fool-an'
William's another.”
“I dunno,” said the farmer; "it's a queer
business, an' I don't fairly see my way about in
it. I'm main puzzled what can ha' become o’
that will I witnessed for th' old man.”
“ She's a fool, I say." .
“ Well, well; if she didn't want the man I
reckon she knows best. He put it fairly to
her."
“ That's just it, you ninny !” interrupted his
wiser wife; “I gave William credit for more


304 THE DISENCHANTMENT OF ’LIZABETH.
sense. Put it fairly, indeed! If he'd said
nothin', but just caught her in his arms, an'
clipped an' kissed her, she couldn't ha' stood
out. But he's lost his chance, an' now she'll
never marry.”
And it was as she said.
THE END.
PRINTED BY CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE, LONDON, E.C.









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