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j)33Kr^!r!2!!^-

Jl iloDel

;•< *

REV. S. BARING GOULD

Author of "John Herring," "Mbhalah," "Court
Royal," Etc.

TORONTO:
WILLIAM BPYOE.

I^IJ, «■

PZ2,

206

Entered according to the Act of Parliament of Canada in the year One
Thousand Eight Hundred and Eighty-Eight, by WiLUAM Bbtok,
in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture.

.iT

;|:

r» ■•.

:i?^-

CONTENTS

CHAPTER FAOR

I. MOBWELL . • 1

II. THE LITTLE MOTEEB 9

m. THE WHISH-HUNT 16

IV. eve's BINO 22

V. THE LIMPINO HOBSE 81

VI. A BUNDLE OF CLOTHES 86

VII. A NIGHT-WATCH 44

Vin. BAB 61

IX. THE POCKET-BOOK 67

Z. BABBABA's PETITION 65

XI. OBANTED 1 71

Xn. CALLED AWAT 80

Xm. UB. BABB AT HOUE * .86

XIV. A BINE QUA HON 93

XV. AT THE QUAY 100

XVI. WATT 107

XVn. FOBQET-ME-MOT 1 IIB

XVin. DISCOVEBIBS 121

XIX. BABBABA's BINO 127

XX. FEBPLEXITT 132

XXI. THE SCYTHE OF TIME . 138

XXn. THE BED STEBAK . 146

ZXIII. A BUNCH OF BOSES. . , . . . . . . 152

XXIV. WHEBE THEY WITHEBED . • . . . . . 169

ZXV. LEAH AND BAOHEL . . . . . . * . 166

XXVI. AN IMP OF DABKNESS. . . . . . . . 172

wrmm^im

CONTENTS

CtIAt>TKll

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

XXXI.

XXXII.

XXXIII.

XXXIV.

XXXV.

XXXVI.

XXXVII.

XXXVIII.

.XXXIX.

Xli.

XLI.

XLII.

XLIII.

XLIV.

XliV.

XLVI.

XLVII.

XLvni.

XLIX.

It.

lil.

Ln.

Lnx.

MV.
JiV.

POOR UABTIN.

FATHER AND SON

HUSn-MONKX .

BETRAYAL .

CALLED TO ACCOUNT

WANDERING LIGHTS

THE OWLS

THE DOVES

THE ALARM EELL .

CONFESSIONS

THE PIPE OF PEACK

TAKEN

GONE ! .

ANOTHER SACRIFICE .

ANOTHER MISTAKE .

ENGAGED .

IN A MINE

TUCKERS .

duck and green peas
' prkciosa '
noah's ark .

IN PART .

THE OLD GUN

BY THE FIRE

A SHOT .

THE WHOLE

BY LANTERN-LIGHT .

ANOTHER LOAD .

WHAT ETEBY FOOL KNOWS

PAOB
1.9

186
193
199
205
212
219
22(»
232
239
246
251
258
265
271
277
283
290
296
302
308
316
322
328
334
340
347
354
357

EVE,

CHAPTER I.

MORWELL.

The river Tamar can be ascended by steamers as far as
Morwell, one of the most picturesque points on that most
beautiful river. There also, at a place called ' New Quay,'
barges discharge their burdens of coal, bricks, &c., which
thence are conveyed by carts throughout the neighbour-
hood. A new road, admirable as one of those of Napo-
leon's construction in France, gives access to this quay — a
road constructed at the outlay of a Duke of Bedford, to
whom belongs all the land that was once owned by the
Abbey of Tavistock. This skilfully engineered road de-
scends by zigzags from the elevated moorland on the
Devon side of the Tamar, through dense woods of oak and
fir, under crags of weathered rock wreathed with heather.
From the summit of the moor this road runs due north,
ppit mine shafts and ' ramps,' or rubble heaps thrown out
of the mines, and meets other roads uniting from various
points under the volcanic peak of Brent Tor, that rises in
solitary dignity out of the vast moor to the height of twelve
hundred feet, and is crowned by perhaps the tiniest church
in England.

Seventy or eighty years ago no such roads existed.
The vast upland was all heather and gorse, with track«
across it. An old quay had existed on the river, and the

9 EVE

ruins remained of the buildings about it erected by the
abbots of Tavistock ; but quay and warehouses had fallen
into decay, and no barges came so far up the river.

The crags on the Devon side of the Tamar rise many
hundred feet in sheer precipices, broken by gulfs filled
with oak coppice, heather, and dogwood.

In a hollow of the down, half a mile from the oak
woods and crags, with an ancient yew and Spanish chest-
nut before it, stood, and stands still, Morwell House, the
hunting-lodge of the abbots of Tavistock, built where a
moor- well — a spring of clear water — gushed from amidst
the golden gorse brakes, and after a short course ran down
the steep side of the hill, and danced into the Tamar.

Seventy or eighty years ago this house was in a better
and worse condition than at present : worse, in that it was
sorely dilapidated ; better, in that it had not suffered
tasteless modern handling to convert it into a farm with
labourers' cottages. Even forty years ago the old ban-
quetting hall and the abbot's parlour were intact. Now
all has been restored out of recognition, except the gate-
house that opens into the quadrangle. In the interior of
this old hall, on the twenty-fourth of June, just eighty
years ago, sat the tenant : a tall, gaunt man with dark
hair. He was engaged cleaning his gun, and the atmo-
sphere was foul with the odour exhaled by the piece that
had been recently discharged, and was now being purified.
The man was intent on his work, but neither the exertion
he used, nor the warmth of a June afternoon, accounted
for the drops that beaded his brow and dripped from his
face.

Once — suddenly — he placed the muzzle of his gun
against his right side under the rib, and with his foot
touched the lock. A quiver ran over his face, and his dim
eyes were raised to the ceiling. Then there came from
near his feet a feeble sound of a babe giving token with its
lips that it was dreaming of food. The man sighed, and
looked down at a cradle that was before him. He placed
the gun between his knees, and remained for a moment

M ORWELL %

gazing at the child's crib, lost in a dream, with the evening
sun shining through the large window and illumining his
face. It was a long face with hght blue eyes, in which
lurked anguish mixed with cat-like treachery. The mouth
was tremulous, and betrayed weakness.

Presently, recovering himself from his abstraction, he
laid the gun across the cradle, from right to left, and it
rested there as a bar sinister on a shield, black and omin-
ous. His head sank in his thin shaking hands, and he
bowed over the cradle. His tears or sweat, or tears and
sweat combined, dropped as a salt rain upon the sleeping
child, that gave so slight token of its presence.

All at once the door opened, and a man stood in the
yellow light, like amedisoval saint against a golden ground.
He stood there a minute looking in, his eyes too dazzled
to distinguish what was within, but he called in a hard,
sharp tone, ' Eve ! where is Eve ? '

The man at the cradle started up, showing at the time
how tall ho was. He stood up as one bewildered, with
his hands outspread, and looked blankly at the new
comer.

The latter, whose eyes were becoming accustomed to
the obscurity, after a moment's pause repeated his question,
• Eve ! where is Eve ? '

The tall man opened his mouth to speak, but no words
came.

' Are you Ignatius Jordan ? '

' I am.' he answered with an effort.

' And I am Ezekiel Babb. I am come for my daugh-
ter.'

Ignatius Jordan staggered back against the wall, and
leaned against it with arms extended and with open
palms. The window through which the sun streamed was
ancient ; it consisted of two lights with a transom, and the
sun sent the shadow of mullion and transom as a black
cross against the further wall. Ignatius stood uncon-
sciously spreading his arms against this shadow like a

4 EVE

ghastly Ohrist on his cross. The stranger noticed the
likeness, and said in his harsh tones, ' Ignatius Jordan,
thou hast crucified thyself.' Then again, as he took a
seat unasked, ' Eve I where is Eve ? '

The gentleman addressed answered with an effort,
' She is no longer here. She is gone.'

' What I ' exclaimed Bahh ; ' no longer here ? She was
here last week. Where is she now ? '

' She is gone,' said Jordan in a low tone.

* Gone ! — her child is here. When will she return ? '

* Return ! ' — with a sigh — * never.'

' Cursed be the blood that flows in her veins ! ' shouted
the new comer. ' Restless, effervescing, fevered, fantastic !
It is none of it mine, it is all her mother's.' Ho sprang
to his feet and paced the room furiously, with knitted
brows and clenched fists. Jordan followed him with his
eye. The man was some way past the middle of life.
He was strongly and compactly built. He wore a long
dark coat and waistcoat, breeches, and blue worsted
stockings. His hair was grey ; his protruding eyebrows
met over the nose. They were black, and gave a sinister
expression to his face. His profile was strongly accentu-
ated, hawklike, greedy, cruel.

' I see it all,' he said, partly to himself; ' that cursed
foreign blood would not suffer her to find rest even here,
where there is prosperity. What is prosperity to her?
What is comfort ? Bah ! all her lust is after tinsel and
tawdry.' He raised his arm and clenched fist. 'A life
accursed of God! Of old our forefathers^ under the
righteous GromweU, rose up and swept all profanity out of
the land, the jesters, and the carol singers, and theatrical
performers, and pipers and tumblers. But they returned
again to torment the elect. What saith the Scripture?
Make no marriage with the heathen, else shall ye be un-
clean, ye arid your children.'

He reseated himself. ' Ignatius Jordan,' he said, ' I
was mad and wicked when I took her mother to wife ;

M ORWELL

and a mad and wicked thing you did when you took the
daughter. As I saw you just now — as I see you at pre-
sent — standing with spiead arms against the black shadow
cross from the window, I thought it was a figure of
what you chose for your lot when you took my Eve. I
crucified myself when I married her mother, and now
the iron enters your side.' He paused; he was point-
ing at Ignatius with out-thrust finger, and the shadow
seemed to enj;er Ignatius against the wall. * The blood
that begins to fiow will not cease to run till it has all run
out.'

Again he paused. The arms of Jordan fell.

' So she has left you,' muttered the stranger, ' she has
gone back to the world, to its pomps and vanities, its lusts,
its lies, its laughter. Gone back to the players and dan-
cers.'

Jordan nodded ; he could not speak.

' Dead to every call of duty,' Babb continued with a
scowl on his brow, * dead to everything but the cravings of
a cankered heart ; dead to the love of lawful gain ; alive to
wantonness, and music, and glitter. Sit down, and I will
tell you the story of my folly, and you shall tell me the
tale of yours.' He looked imperiously at Jordan, who sank
into his chair beside the cradle.

* I will light my pipe.' Ezekiel Babb struck a light
with flint and steel. ' We have made a like experience, I
with the mother, you with the daughter. Why are you
downcast ? Bejoice if she has set you free. The mother
never did that for me. Did you marry her ? '

The pale man opened his mouth, and spread out, then
clasped, his hands nervously, but said nothing.

' I am not deaf that I should be addressed in signs,'
said Babb. * Did you marry my daughter ? '

* No.'

* The face of heaven was turned on you,' said Babb
discontentedly, ' and not on me. I committed myself, and
could not break off the yoke. I married.'

6 £VE

The child in the cradle began to stir. Jordan rocked it
with his foot.

' I will tell you all,' the visitor continued. ' I was a
young man when I first saw Eve — not your Eve, but her
mother. I had gone into Totnes, and I stood by the cloth
market at the gate to the church. It was the great fair-
day. There were performers in the open space before the
market. I had seen nothing like it before. What was
performed I do not recall. I saw only her. 'I thought her
richly, beautifully dressed. Her beauty shone forth above
all. She had hair like chestnut, and brown eyes, a clear,
thin skin, and was formed deUcately as no girl of this
country and stock. I knew she was of foreign blood. A
carpet was laid in the market-place, and she danced on it
to music. It was lil^e a flame flickering, not a girl dancing.
She looked at me out of her large eyes, and I loved her.
It was witchcraft, the work of the devil. The fire went
out of her eyes and burnt to my marrow ; it ran in my
veins. That was witchcraft, but I did not think it then.
There should have been a heap of wood raised and fired,
and she cast into the flames. But our lot is fallen in evil
days. The word of the Lord is nc longer precious, and the
Lord has said, "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."
That was witchcraft. How else was it that I gave no
thought to Tamsine Bovey, of Buncombe, till it was too
late, though Buncombe joins my land, and so Buncombe
was lost to me for ever ? Quiet that child if you want
to hear more. Hah I Your Eve has deserted you and
her babe, but mine had not the good heart to leave
me.'

The child in the cradle whimpered. The pale man
lifted it out, got milk and fed it. with trembling hand, but
tenderly, and it dozed off in his arms.

' A girl ? ' asked Babb. Jordan nodded.

' Another Eve — a third Eve ? ' Jordan nodded again.
'Another generation of furious, fiery blood to work con-
fusion, to breed desolation. Wheil will the earth open her

MORWELL 7

mouth and swallow it up, that it defile no more the habi-
tations of Israel ? '

Jordan drew the child to his heart, and pressed it so
passionately that it woke and cried.

' Still the child or I will leave the house,' said Ezekiel
Babb. * You would do well to throw a wet cloth over its
mouth, and let it smother itself before it work woe on you
and others. When it is quiet, I will proceed.' He paused.
When the cries ceased he went on.: *I watched Eve as she
danced. I could not leave the spot. Then a rope was
fastened and stretched on high, and she was to walk that.
A false step would have dashed her to the ground. I could
not bear it. When her foot was on the ladder, I uttered a
great cry and ran forward ; I caught her, I would not let
her go. I was young then.' He remained silent, smok-
ing, and loolung frowningly before him. ' I was not a
converted man then. Afterwards, when the word of God
was precious to me, and I saw that I might have had Tam-
sine Bovey, and Buncombe, then I was sorry and ashamed.
But it was too late. The eyes of the unrighteous are
sealed. I was a fool. I married that dancing girl.'

He was silent again, and looked moodily at his pipe.

* I have let the fire die out,' he said, and rekindled as
before. * I cannot deny that she was a good wife. But
what availed it me to have a woman in the house who could
dance like a feather, and could not make scald cream?
What use to me a woman who brought the voice of a
nightingale with her into the house, but no money ? She
knew nothing of the work of a household. She had bones
like those of a pigeon, there was no strength in them. I
had to hire women to do her work, and she was thriftless
and thoughtless, so the money went out when it should
have come in. Then she bore me a daughter, and the
witchery was not off me, so I called her Eve — that is your
Eve, and after that she gave me sons, and then ' — angrily
— • then, when too late, she died. Why did she not die
half a year before Tamsine Bovey married Joseph Warm-

EVE

ington ? If she had, I might still have got Buncombe —
now it is gone, gone for ever.'

He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and put it into
his pocket.

' Eve was her mother's darling ; she was brought up
like a heathen to love play and pleasure, not work and
duty. The child sucked in her mother's nature with her
mother's milk. "When the mother died, Eve — ^your Eve —
waa a grown girl, and I suppose home became unendurable
to her. One day some play actors passed through the place
on their way from Exeter, and gave a performance in our
village. I found that my daughter, against my command,
went to see it. When she came home, I took her into the
room where is my great Bible, and I beat her. Then she
ran away, and I saw no more of her ; whether she went
after the play actors or not I never inquired. '

* Did you not go in pursuit ? '

' Why should I ? She would have run away again.
Time passed, and the other day I chanced to come across
a large party of strollers, -when I was in Plymouth on busi-
ness. Then I learned from the manager about my child,
and so, for the first time, heard where she was. Now tell
me how she came iiere.'

Ignatius Jordan raised himself in his chair, and swept
back the hair that had fallen over his bowed face and
hands.

• It is passed and over,' he said.

' Let me hear all. I must know all,' said Babb. ' She
is my daughter. Thanks be, that we are not called to task
for the guilt of our children. The soul that sinneth it shall
surely die. She had light and truth set before her on one
side as surely as she had darkness and Ues on the other,
Ebal and Gerizim, and she went after Ebal. It was in her
bloc I. She drew it of her mother. One vessel is for
honour — such am I ; another for dishonour — such are all
the Eves from the first to the last, that in your arms.
Veseels of wwtb, orclaiwed to be broken, Ah I you may

MORIVELL

cherish that little creature in your arms. You may strain
it to your heart, you may wrap it round with love, hut it ia
in vain that you seek to save it, to shelter it. It is way-
ward, wanton, wicked clay ; ordained from eternity to be
broken. I stood between the first Eve and the shattering
that should have come to her. That is the cause of all my
woes. Where is the second Eve ? Broken in soul, broken
may-be in body. There lies the third, ordained to be
broken.' He folded his arms, was silent a while, and then
said : * Tell me your tale. How came my daughter to your
house ? ■

CHAPTER II.

THE LITTLE MOTHER.

'Last Christmas twelvemonth/ said Ignatius Jordan
slowly, ' I was on the moor — Morwell Down it is called.
Night was falling. The place — where the road comes
along over the down, from Beer Alston and Beer Ferris.
I dare say you came along it, you took boat firom Ply-
mouth to Beer Ferris, and thence the wa} runs — the
packmen travel it — to the north to Launceston. It was
stormy weather, and the snow drove hard ; the wind was
so high that a man might hardly face it. I heard cries
for help. I found a party of players who were on their
way to Launceston, and were caught by the storm and
darkness on the moor. They had a sick girl with
them ' His voice broke down.

* Eve? ' asked Ezekiel Babb.

Jordan nodded. After a pause he recovered himself
and went on. ' She could walk no further, and the party
was distressed, not knowing whither to gc or what to do.
I invited them to come here. Tjil house is large enough
to hold a score of people. Next day I set them on their
way forward, as they were pressed to be at Launceston
for the Christmas holidays, 3ut the girl was too ill to

EVE

proceed, and I offered to let her remain here till she re-
covered. After a week had passed the actors sent here
from Lannceston to learn how she was, and whether she
could rejoin them, as they were going forward to Bodmin,
hilt she was not sufHciently recovered. Then a month
later, they sent again, but though. she was better I would
not let her go. After that we heard no more of the
players. So she remained at Morwell, and I loved her,
and she became my wife.'

' You said that you did riot marry her.'

' No, not exactly. This is a place qmte out of the
world, a lost, unseen spot. I am a Catholic, and no priest
comes this way. There is the ancient chapel here where
the Abbot of Tavistock had mass in the old time. It is
bare, but the altar remains, and though no priest ever
comes here, the altar is a GathoUc altar. Eve and I went
into the old chapel and took hands before the altar, and I
gave her a ring, and we swore to be true to each other ' —
his voice shook, and then a sob broke from his breast.
' We had no priest's blessing on us, that is true. But Eve
would never tell me what her name was, or whence she
came. If we had gone to Tavistock or Brent Tor to be
married by a Protestant minister, she would have been
forced to tell her name and parentage, and that, she said,
nothing would induce her to do. It mattered not, we
thought. We lived here out of the world, and to me the
vow was as sacred when made here as if confirmed before
a minister of the established religion. We swore to be all
in all to each other.'

He clasped his hands on his knees, and went on with
bent head: 'But the play-actors returned and were in
Tavistock last week, and one of them came up here to see
her, not openly, but in secret. She told me nothing, and
he did not allow me to see him. She met him alone
several times. This place is solitary and sad, and Eve of
a lively nature. She tired of being hf're. She wearied
of me.'

THE LITTLE MOTHER

Babb laughed bitterly. ' And now she is flown away
with a play-actor. As she deserted her father, she de-
serts her husband and child, and the house that housed
her. See you,' he put out his hand and grasped the
cradle : ' Here lies vanity of vanities, the pomps of the
flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride 5 life, nestled
in that crib, that self-same strain of leaping, headlong,
wayward blood, that never will rest till poured out of
the veins and rolled down into the ocean, and lost —
lost — ^lost I '

Jordan sprang from his seat with a gasp and a stifled
cry, and fell back against the wall.

Babb stooped over the cradle and plucked out the
child. He ^<?ld it in the sunlight streaming through the
window, and looked hard at it. Then he danced it up and
down with a scoffing laugh.

' See, see 1 ' he cried ; ' see how the creature rejoices
and throws forth its arms. Look at the shadow on the
wall, as of a Salamander swaying in a flood of fire. Ha !
Eve — blood ! wanton blood ! I will crucify thee too I ' He
raised the babe aloft against the black cross made by the
shadow of the mullion and transom, as the child had
thrown up its tiny arms.

' See,' he exclaimed," the child hangs also ! '

Ignatius Jordan seized the babe, snatched it away from
the rude grasp of Babb, clasped it passionately to his
breast, and covered it with kisses. Then he gently re-
placed it, crowing and smiling, in its cradle, and rocked it
with his foot.

' You fool 1 ' said Babb ; ' you love the strange blood
in spite of its fickleness and falseness. I will tell you
something further. When I heard from the players that
Eve was here, at Morwell, I did not come on at once,
because I had business that called me home. But a
fortnight after I came over Dartmoor to Tavistock. I did
not come, as you supposed, up the river to Beer Ferris and
along the road over your down ; no, I live at BuckfiEhst-

EVE

'ii,

leigli by Ashburton, right away to the east across Dart-
moor. I came thence as far as Tavistock, and there I
found the players once more, who had come up from
Plymouth to make sport for the foolish and ungodly in
Tavistock. They told me that they had heard you lived
with my Eve, and had not married her, so I did not visit
you, but waited about till I could speak with her alone, and
I sent a message to her by one of the players that I was
wanting' a word with her. She came to me at the place I
had appointed once — ay! and twice — and she feigned to
grieve that she had left me, and acted her part well as if
she loved me — her father. I urged her to leave you and
come back to her duty and her God and to me, but she
would promise nothing. Then I gave her a last chance.
I told her I would meet her finally on that rocky platform
that rises as a precipice above the river, last night, and
there she should give me her answer.'

Ignatius Jordan's agitation became greater, his lips
turned livid, his eyes were wide and staring as though
with horror, and he jjut up his hands as if warding off a
threatened blow.

* You — you met her on the Baven Eock ? '

' I met her there twice, and I was to have met her
there again last night, when she was to have given me
her final answer, what she would do — stay here, and be
lost eternally, or come back with me to Salvation. But I
was detained, and I could not keep the engagement, so I
sent one of the player- men to inform her that I would
come to-day instead. So I came on to-day, as appointed,
and she was not there, not on the Baven Rock, as you call
it, and I have arrived here, — ^but I am too late.'

Jordan clasped his hands over his eyes and moaned.
The babe began to wail.

• Still the yowl of that child ! ' exclaimed Babb. * I tell
you this as a last instance of her perfidy.' He raised his
voice above the cry of the child. * What think you was
the reason she alleged why she would not return with me

THE flTTLE MOTHER

at once — ^why did she ask time to make up her mind?
She told me that you were a Catholic, she told me of the
empty, worthless vow before an old popish altar in a
deserted chapel, and I knew her soul would be lost if she
remained with you; you would drag her into idolatry.
And I urged her, as she hoped to escape hell fire, to flee
Morwell and not cast a look behind, desert you and the
babe and all for the Zoar of Buckfastleigh. But she was
a dissembler. She loved neither me nor you nor her
child. She loved only idleness and levity, and the butterfly
career of a player, and some old sweetheart among the
play company. She has gone off with him. Now I wipe
my hands of her altogether.'

Jordan swayed himself, sitting as one stuimed, with an
elbow on each knee and his head in the hollow of his
hands.

'Can you not still the brat?' cried Ezekiel Babb;
'now that the mother is gone, who will be the mother
to it? '

* I — I — ^I 1 ' the cry of an eager voice. Babb looked
round, and saw a little girl of six, with grey eyes and
dark hair, a quaint, premature woman, in an old, long,
stiff L'ock. Her little arins were extended ; ' Baby-
sister ! ' she called, * don't cry 1 ' She ran forward, and,
kneeling by the cradle, began to caress and play with the
infant.

' Who is this ? ' asked Ezekiel.

' My Barbara,' answered Ignatius in a low tone ; ' I
was married before, and my wife died, leaving me this
little one.'

The child, stooping over the cradle, lifted the babe
carefully out. The infant crowed and made no resistan'»e,
for the arms that held it, though young, were strong.
Then Barbara seated herself on a stool, and laid the infant
on her lap, and chirped and snapped her fingers and
laughed to it, and snuggled her face into the neck of the
babe. The latter quivered with excitement, the tiny arms

^t^K

Pi,

III!

itiil

were held up, the little hands clutched in the child's long
hair and tore at it, and the feet kicked with delight.
' Father ! father ! ' cried Barbara, ' see little Eve ; she is
dancing and singing.'

' Dancing and singing I ' echoed Ezeldel Babb, * that is
all she ever will do. She comes dancing and singing into
the world, and she will go dancing and singing out of it —
and then — then,' he brushed his hand through the air, as
though drawing back a veil. The girl-nurse looked at the
threatening old man with alarm.

' Keep the creature quiet,' he said impatiently ; ' I can-
not sit here and see the ugly, evil sight. Dancing and
singing! she begins like her mother, and her mother's
mother. Take her away, the sight of her stirs my
bile.'

At a sign from the father Barbara rose, and carried the
child out of the room, talking to it fondly, and a joyous
chirp from the little one was the last sound that reached
Babb's ears as the door shut behind them.

'Naught but evil has the foreign blood, the tossing
fever-blood, brought me. First it came without a dower,
and that was like original sin. Then it prevented me from
marrying Tamsine Bovey and getting Buncombe. That
was like sin of malice. Now Tamsine is dead and her
husband, Joseph Warmington, wants to sell. I did not
want Tamsine, but I wanted Buncombe ; at one time I
could not see how Buncombe was to be had without Tam-
sine. Now the property is to be sold, and it joins on to
mine as if it belonged to it. What Heaven has joined to-
gether let not man put asunder. It was wicked witchcraft
stood in the. way of my getting my rightful own.'

• How could it be your rightful own ? ' asked Ignatius ;
* was Tamsine Bovey your kinswoman ? '

• No, she was not, but she ought to have been my wife,
and so Buncombe have come to me. I seem as if I could
see into the book of the Lord's ordinance that so it was
written. There's some wonderful good soil in Buncombe.

THE LITTLE MOTHER

But the Devil allured me with his Eve, and I was be-
witched by her beautiful eyes and little hands and feet.
Cursed be the day that shut me out of Buncombe. Cursed
be the strange blood that ran as a dividing river between
Owlacombe and Buncombe, and cut asunder what Provi-
dence ordained to be one. I toll you,' he went on fiercely,
' that so long as all that land remains another's and not
mine, so long shall I fee^ only gall, and no pity nor love,
for Eve, and all who have issued from her — for all who

inherit her name and blood. I curse ' his voice rose

to a roar, and his grey hair bristled like the fell of a wolf,

* I curse them all with '

The pale man, Jordan, rushed at him and thrust his
hand over his mouth.

* Curse not,' he said vehemently ; then in a subdued
tone, * Listen to reason, and you will feel pity and love for
my little one who inherits the name and blood of your
Eve. I have laid by money : I am in no want. It shall
be the portion of my little Eve, and I will lend it you for
seventeen years. This day, the 24th of June, seventeen
years hence, you shall repay me the whole sum without
interest. I am not a Jew to lend on usury. I shall want
the money then for my Eve, as her dower. Slfie ' — he held
up his head for a moment — * she shall not be portionless.
In the meantime take and use the money, and when you
walk over the fields you have purchased with it, — bless the
name.'

A flush came in the sallow face of Ezekiel Babb. He
rose to his feet and held out his hand.

' You will lend me the money, two thousand pounds ? '

* I will lend you fifteen hundred.'

* I will swear to repay the sum in seventeen years.
You shall have a mortgage.'

'On this day.'

* This 24th day of June, so help me God.'

A ray of orange light, smiting through the window,
was falling high up the wall. The hands of the men met in
the beam, and the reflection was east on their faces, — on the

EVE

dark hai'd face of Ezekiel, on thu white quivering face of
Ignatius.

' And you bless/ said the latter, ' you bless the name of
Eve, and the blood that follows it.'

' I bless. Peace be to the restless blood.'

CHAPTER III.

THB WHISH-HUNT.

On a wild and blustering evening, seventeen years after
the events related in the two preceding chapters, two girls
were out, in spite of the fierce wind and gathering darkness,
in a little gig that accommodated only two, the body perched
on very large and elastic springs. At every jolt of the
wheels the body bounced and swayed in a manner likely to
trouble a bad sailor. But the girls were used to the
motion of the vehicle, and to the badness of the road.
They drove a very sober cob, who went at his leisure,
picldng his way, seeing ruts in spite of the darkness.

The moor stretched in unbroken desolation far away on
all sides but one, where it dropped to the gorge of the
Tamar, but the presence of this dividing valley could only
be guessed, not perceived by the crescent moon. The dis-
tant Cornish moorland range of Hingston and the dome of
Kit Hill seemed to belong to the tract over which the girls
wwre driving. These girls were Barbara and Eve Jordan.
They had been out on a visit to some neighbours, if those
can be called neighbours who lived at a dis' ance of five
miles, and were divided from Morwell by a range of deso-
late moor. They had spent the day with their friends, and
were returning home later than they had intended.

* I do not know what father would say to our being
abroad so late, and in the dark, unattended,' said Eve,
* were he at home. It is well he is away.'

' He woflld rebuke me, not you,' said Barbarft,

r ■■ '*,

THE WHISH-HUNT

' Of oouree he would ; you are the elder, and respon-
sible.'

' But I yielded to your persuasion.'

' Yes, I like %) enjoy myself when I may. It is vastly
dull at Morwell, Tell me, Bab, did I look well in my
figured dress ? *

' Charming, darling ; you always are that.'

' You are a sweet'sister,' said Eve, and she put her arm
romid Barbara, who was driving.

Mr. Jordan, their father, was tenant of the Duke of
Bedford. The Jordans were the oldest tenants on the
estate which had come to the Bussells on the sequestration
of the abbey. The Jordans had been tenants under the
abbot, and they remained on after the change of religion
and owners, without abandoning their rehgion or losing
their position. The Jordans were not accounted pquires,
but were reckoned as gentry. They held Morwell on long
leases of ninety-nine years, regularly renewed when the
leases lapsed. They regarded Morwell House almost as
their freehold ; it was bound up with all their family tradi-
tions and associations.

As a vast tract of coimtry round belonged to the duke,
it was void of landed gentry residing on their estates, >><nd
the only famiUes of education and birth in the district were
those of the parsons, but the difference in religion formed
a barrier against intimacy with these. Mr. Jordan, more-
over, was Hving under a cloud. It was well-known through-
out the countrv that he had not been married Ho Eve's
mother, and this had caused a cessation of visits to Mor-
well. Moreover, since the disappearance of Eve's mother,
Mr. Jordan had become morose, reserved, and so peculiar
in his manner, that it was doubted whether he were in his
right mind.

Like many a small country squire, he farmed the
estate himself. At one time ' <) had been accounted an
active farmer, and was credited with having made a great
deal of money, but for th9 last seventeen years he hac^

]

"I I

EVE

\\\\\\\\

neglected agriculture a good deal, to devote himself to
mineralogical researches. He was convinced that the rocks
were full of veins of metal — silver, lead, and copper, and
he occupied himself in searching for the metals in the
wood, and on the moor, sinking pits, breaking stones,
washing and melting what he found. He believed that be
would come on some vein of almost pure silver or copper,
which would ma^e his fortune. Bitten with this craze,
he neglected his farm, which would have gone to ruin had
not his eldest daughter, Barbara, taken the management
into her own hands.

Mr. Jordan was quite right in believing that he lived
on rocks rich with metal : the whole land is now honey-
combed with shafts and adits : but he made the mistake
in thinking that he could gather a fortune out of the rocks
unassisted, armed only with his own hammer, drawing
only out of his own purse. His knowledge of chemistry
and mineralogy was not merely elementary, but incorrect ;
he read old books of science mixed up with the fantastic
alchemical notions of the middle ages, believed in the
sympathies of the planets with metals, and in the virtues
of the divining rod.

' Does a blue or a rose ribbon suit my hair best, Bab ? '
asked Eve. ' You see my hair is chestnut, and I doubt
me if pink suits the colour so well as forget-me-
not.'

' Every ribbon of every hue agrees with Eve,' said
Barbara^

' You are a darling.' The younger girl made an attempt
to kiss her sister, in return for the comphment.

* Be careful,' said Barbara, * you will upset the gig.'
' But I love you so much when you are kind.'

* Am not I always kind to you, dear ? '

' yes, but sometimes much kinder than at others.'

* That is, when I flatter you.'

* if you call it flattery ' said Eve, pouting.

* No — it is plain truth, my dearest,'

^ - ^fiiL. ' ili. x'WFTWJ M W

THE WHISH-HVNT

' Bab,' broke forth the younger suddenly, * do you not
think Bradstone a charming house ? It is not so dull as
ours.'

• And the Oloberrys— you like them ? '
' Yes, dear, very much.'

• Do you believe that story about Oliver Cloberry, the
page ? '

•What story?*

' That which Grace Cloberry told me.*

' I was not with you in the lanes when you were talk>
ing together. I do not know it.'

' Then I will tell you. Listen, Bab, and shiver.'

' I am shivering in the cold wind already.'

' Shiver more shiveringly still. I am going to curdle
your blood.'

' Go on with the story, but do not squeeze up against
me so close, or I ihall be pushed out of the gig.'

' But, Bab, I am frightened to tell the tale.'

• Then do not tell it.'

• I want to frighten you.'

• You are very considerate.'

' We share all things, Bab, even our terrors. I am a
loving sister. Once I gave you the measles. I was too
selfish to keep it all to myself. Are you ready ? Grace
toid me that OLver Cloberry, the eldest son, was page boy
to John Copi^estone, of Warleigh, iu Queen Elizabeth's
reign, you know — wicked Queen Bess, who put so many
Catholics to death. Squire Copplestone was his godfather,
but he did not Uke the boy, though he was his godchild
and page. The reason was this : he was much attached
to Joan Hill, who refused him and married Squire Clo-
^ berry, of Bradstone, instead. The lady tried to keep
friendly with her old admirer, and asked him to stand god-
father to her first boy, and then take him as his page ;
but Copplestone was a man who long bore a grudge, and
the boy grew up the image of his father, and so — Copple-
stone hated him. One day, when Copplestone was going

£y£

il <>'!

f
iii 1

out hunting, he called for his stirrup cup, and young Clo-
berry ran and brought it to him. But as the squire raised
the wine to his lips he saw a spider in it ; and in a rage
he dashed the cup and the contents in the face of the boy.
He hit Oliver Cloberry on the brow, and when the boy
staggered to his feet, he muttered something. Copplestone
heard him, and called to nim to speak out, if he were not
a coward. Then the lad exclaimed, *' Mother did well
to throw you over for my father." Some who stood by
laughec\ and Copplestone flared up ; the boy, afraid at
what he had said, turned to go, then Copplestone threw his
hunting dagger at him, and it struck him in the back,
entered his heart, and he fell dead. Do you believe this
story, Bab ? '

* There is some truth in it, I know. Prince, in his
"Worthies," says that Copplestone only escaped losing
his head for the murder by the surrender of thirteen
manors.'

' That is not all,' Eve continued ; * now comes the
creepy part of the story.* Grace Cloberry told me that
every stormy night the Whish Hounds run over the downs,
breathing fire, pursuing Copplestone, from Warleigh to
Bradstone, and that the murdered boy is mounted behind
Copplestone, and stabs him in the back all along the way.
Do you believe this ? '

* Most assuredly not.'

* Why should yon not, Bab ? Don't you think that a
man like Copplestone would be unable to rest in his grave ?
Would not that be a terrible purgatory for him to be
hunted night after night ? Grace told me that old Squire
Cloberry rides and blows his horn to egg-on the Whish
Hounds, and Copplestone has a black horse, and he strikes •
spurs into its sides when the boy stabs him in the back,
and screams with pain. When the Judgment Day comes,
then only will his rides be over. I am ^re I believe it all,
Bab. lu is so horrible.'

* It is altogether false, a foolish superstition.'

HllilH

THE WHISH-HUNT

'Look there, do you see, Bab, we are at the white
stone with the cross cut in it that my father put up where
he first saw my mother. Is it not strange that no one
knows whence my mother came? You remember her
just a little. Whither did my mother g'^ ? '

' I do not know, Eve.'

'There, again, Bab. Yoa who sneer and toss your
chin when I speak of anything out of the ordinary, must
admit this to be passing wonderful. My mother came, no
one knows whence; she went, no one knows whither.
After that, is it hard to believe in the Whish Hounds, and
Black Copplestone ? '

* The things are not to be compared,'

* Your mother was buried at Buckland, and I have
seen her grave. You know that her body is there, and
that her soul is in heaven. But as for mine, I do not
even know whether she had a human soul.'

' Eve ! "What do you mean ? '

' I have read and heard tell of such things. She may
have been a wood-spirit, an elf-maid. Whoever she was,
whatever she was, my father loved her. He loves her still.
I can see that. He seems to me to have her ever in his
thoughts.'

' Yes,' said Barbara sadly, ' he never visits my mother's
grave ; I alone care for the flowers there.'

' I can look into his heart,' said Eve. ' He loves me
so dearly because he loved my mother dearer still.'

Barbara made no remark to this.

Then Eve, in her changeful mood, went back to the
former topic of conversation.

' Thinl^, think, Bab ! of Black Copplestone riding
nightly over these wastes on his black mare, with her tail
streaming behind, and the Uttle page standing on the
crupper, stabbing, stabbing, stabbing ; and the Whish
Hounds behind, giving tongue, and Squire Cloberry in
the rear urging them on with his horn. Bab 1 I am
0ure father believes in this, I should die of feai' were

EVE

Gopplestone hunted by dogs to pass this way. Hold!
Hark ! ' she almost screamed.

The wind was behind them ; they heard a call, then
the tramp of horses' feet.

Barbara even was for the moment startled, and drew
the gig aside, off the road upon the common. A black
cloud had rolled over the sickle of the moon, and obscured
its feeble light. Eve could neither move nor speak. She
quaked at Barbara's side like an aspen.

In another moment dark figures of men and horses
were visible, advancing at full gallop along the road. The
dull cob the sisters were driving plunged, backed, and was
filled with panic. Then the moon shone out, and a faint,
ghastly light fell on the road, and they could see the black
figures sweeping along. Th^re were two horses, one some
way ahead of the other, and two riders, the first with
slouched hat. But what was that crouched on the crup-
per, clinging to the first rider ?

As he swept past, Eve distinguished the imp-like form
of a boy. That wholly unnerved her. She uttered a
piercing shriek, and clasped her hands over her
eyes.

The first horse had passed, the second was abreast of
the girls when that cry rang out. The horse plunged,
and in a moment horse and rider crashed down, and
appeared to dissolve into the ground.

CHAPTEB IV.

CiR !

,'1 i

eve's ring.

Some moments elapsed before Barbara recovered her sur-
prise, then she spoke a word of encouragement to Eve,
who was in an ecstasy of terror, and tried to disengage
herself from her arms, and master the frightened horse
Bufliciently to allow her to descend, A thorn tree tortured

EVE'S RING

by the winds stood solitary at a little distance, at a mound
which indicated the presence of a former embankment.
Barbara brought the cob an i gig to it, there descended,
and fastened the horse to the tree. Then she helped her
sister out of the vehicle.

'Do not be alarmed, Eve. There is nothing here
supernatural to dismay you, only a pair of farmers who
have been drinking, and one has tumbled off his horse.
We must see that he has not broken his neck.' But Eve
clung to her in frantic terror, and would not allow her to
disengage herself. In the meantime, by the sickle moon,
now sailing clear of the clouds, they could see that the
first rider had reined in his horse and turned.

* Jasper ! ' he called, * what is the matter ? '

No answer came. He rode back to the spot where the
second horse had fallen, and dismounted.

' What has happened ? ' screamed the boy. ' I must
get down also.'

The man who had dismounted pointed to the white
stone and said, ' Hold the horse and stay there till you are
wanted. I must see what cursed mischance has befallen
Jasper.*

Eve was somewhat reassured at the sound of human
voices, and she allowed Barbara to release herself, and
advance into the road.

' Who are you ? ' asked the horseman.

* Only a girl. Can I help ? Is the man hurt ? *

' Hurt, of course. He hasn't fallen into a feather bed,
or — by good luck — into a furze brake.'

The horse that had fallen struggled to rise.

' Out of the way,' said the inan, ' I must see that the
brute does not trample on him.' He helped the horse to
his feet ; the animal was much shaken and trembled,
• Hold the bridle, girl.' Barbara obeyed. Then the man
went to his fallen comrade and spoke to him, but received
no answer. He raised his arms, and tried if any bones
were broken, then he put his hand to the heart. ' Give

EV^

,,!"■

I II

the boy the bridle, and come here, you giri. Help me to
loosen his neck-cloth. Is there water near ? '

* None ; we are at the highest point of the moor.'

* Damn it ! There is water everywhere in over-abund-
ance in this country, except where it is wanted.'

* He is ahve,' said Barbara, kneeling and raising the
head of the prostrate, insensible man. ' He is stunned,
but he breathes.'

* Jasper ! ' shouted the man who was unhurt, ' for
God's sake, wake up. You know I can't remain here all
night.'

No response.

' This is desperate. I must press forward. Fatalities
always occur when most inconvenient. I was bom to ill-
luck. No help, no refuge near.'

' I am by as help ; my home not far distant,' said Bar-
bara, * for a refuge.'

* yes — you ! What sort of help is that ? Your
house ! I can't diverge five miles out of my road for that.'

' We live not half an hour from this point.'

* yes — half an hour multiplied by ten. You women
don't know how to calculate distances, or give a decent
direction.'

' The blood is flowing from his head,' said Barbara :
' it is cut. He has fallen on a stone.'

* What the devil is to be done ? I cannot stay.'

* Sir,' so id Barbara, * of course you stay by your com-
rade. Do you think to leave him half dead at night to the
custody of two girls, strangers, on a moor V '

* You don't understand,' answered the man ; ' I cannot
and I will not stay.' He put his hand to his head. ' How
far to your home ? '

*I have told you, half-an-hour.'
' Honoiu: bright — no more ? '
' I said, half-an-hour.'

* Good God, Watt ! always a fool ? • He turned sharply
towards the lad who was seated on the stone. The boy

£V£*S kINCr

bad unslung a violin from his back, taken it from its case,
bad placed it under bis chin, and drawn tbe bow across the
strings.

* Have done, Watt I Let go the horses, have you ?
What a fate it is for a man to be cumbered with helpless,
useless companions.'

* Jasper's horse is lame,' answered the boy, * so I have
tied the two together, the sound and the cripple, and
neither can get away.'

' Like me with Jasper. Damnation — ^but I must go t
I dare not stay.'

The boy swung his bow in the moonlight, and above
the raging of the wind rang out the squeal of the instru-
ment. Eve looked at him, scared. He seemed some
goblin perched on the stone, trying with his magic fiddle
to work a spell on all who heard its tones. The boy
satisfied himself that Iiis violin was in order, and then put
it once more in its case, and cast it over his back.

' How is Jasper ? ' he shouted ; but the man gave him
no answer.

' Half-an-hour ! Half an eternity to me,' growled the
man. ' However, one is doomed to sacrifice self for others.
I will take him to your house and leave him there. Who
live at your house ? Are there many men there ? '

* There is only old Christopher Davy at the lodge, but
he is ill with rheumatics. My father is away.' Barbara
regretted having said this the moment the words escaped
her.

The stranger looked about him uneasily, then up at the
moon. * I can't spare more than half-an-hour.'

Then Barbara said undauntedly, • No man, under any
circumstances, can desert a fellow in distress, leaving him,
perhaps, to die. You must lift him into our gig, and we
will convey him to Morwell. Then go your way if you
will. My sister and I wUl take charge of him, and do our
best for him till you can return.'

' Betum 1 ' muttered the man scornfully. ' Christian

I /

li I

'11

III

nvE

1 I

cast his burden before the cross. He didn't return to pick
it up again.'

Barbara waxed vyrroth.

* If the accident had happened to you, would your 'riend
have excused himself and deserted you ? '

' Oh ! ' exclaimed the man carelessly, ' of course he
would not.'

* Yet you are eager to leave him.*

* You do not understand. The cases are widely dif-
ferent.' He went to the horses. * Halloo ! ' he exclaimed
as he now noticed Eve. * Another girl springing out of the
turf ! Am I among pixies ? Turn your face more to the
Hght. On my oath, and I am a judge, you are a beauty ! '
Then he tried the horse that had fallen ; it halted. * The
brute is fit for dogs' meat only,' he said. ' Let the fox-
hounds eat him. Is that your gig ? We can never lift my
brother '

* Is he your brother ? '

* We can -".ever pull him up into that conveyance. No,
we must get him astride my horse ; you hold him on one
side, I on the other, and so we shall get on. Gome here,
Watt, and lend a hand ; you help also, Beauty, and see
what you can do,'

With difficulty the insensible man was raised into the
saddle. He seemed to gather some slight consciousness
when mounted, for he muttered ^^omething about pushing
on.

' You go round on the further side of the horse,' said
the maii imperiously to Barbara. * You seem strong in
the arm, possibly stronger than I am. Beauty ! lead the
horse.'

' The boy can do that,' said Barbara.

* He don't know the way,' answered the man. • Let
him come on with your old rattletrap. Upon m^ word, if
Beauty were to throw a bridle over my head, I would be
content to follow her through the world.'

Thus they went on ; the violence of the gale had some*

in ill

EVE'S RING

what abated, but it produced a roar among the heather
and gorse of the moor like that of the sea. Eve, as com-
manded, went before, holding the bridle. Her movements
were easy, her lorm was graceful. She tripped lightly along
with elastic step, unlike the firm tread of her sister. But
then Eve was only leading, and Barbara was sustaining.

For some distance no one spoke. It was not easy
to speak so as to be heard, without raising the voice ;
and now the way led towards the oaks and beeches and
pines about Morwell, and the roar among the branches
was fiercer, louder than that among the bushes of furze.

Presently the man cried imperiously * Halt ! ' and
stepping forward caught the bit and roughly arrested the
horse. ' I am certain we are followed.'

* What if we are ? ' asked Barbara.

* What if we are ! ' echoed the man. * Why, everything
to me.' He put his hands against the injured man ; Bar-
bara was sure he meant to thrust him out of the saddle,
leap into it himself, and make off. She said, ' We are
followed by the boy with our gig.'

Then he laughed. • Ah I I forgot that. When a man
has money about him and no firearms, he is nervous in
such a blast-blown desert as this, where girls who may be
decoys pop out of every furze bush.'

' Lead on, Eve^' said Barbara, affronted at his insolence.
She was unable to resist the impulse to say, across the
horse, ' You are not ashamed to let two girls see that you
are a coward.'

■ The man struck his arm across the crupper of the horse,
caught her bonnet-string and tore it away.

' I will beat your brains out against the saddle if you
insult me.'

* A coward is always cruel,' answered Barbara ; as she
said this she stood off, lest he should strike again, but he
took no notice of her ?ast words, perhaps had not caught
them. She said no more, deeming it unwise to provoke
Buch a man.

EVE

Presently, turning his head, he asked, ' Did you call
that girl— Eve ? *

* Yes ; she is my sister.*

* That is odd,' remarked the man. ' Eve ! Eve ! *

* Did you call me ? ' asked the young girl who was
leading.

' I was repeating your name, sweet as your face.*
' Go on, Eve,' said Barbara.

The path descended, and became rough with
stones.

' He is moving,' said Barbara. ' He said something.'

* Martin ! ' spoke the injured man.

* I am at your side, Jasper.'

* I am hurt— where am I ? '

' I cannot tell you ; heaven knows. In some God-
forgotten waste.'

* Do not leave me ! *
' Never, Jasper.'

* You promise me ? *

* With all my heart.*

* I must trust you, Martin, — trust you.'

Then he said no more, and sank back into half-con-
sciousness.

* How much farther ? ' asked the man who walked. ' I
call this a cursed long half-hour. To women time is
nought; but every moment to me is of consequence. I
must push on.'

' You have just promised not to desert your friend,
your brother.'

' It pacified him, and sent him to sleep again.*

' It was a promise.'

' You promise a child the moon when it cries; but it
never gets it. How much farther ? '

* We are at Morwell.

They issued from the lane, and were before the old
gatehouse of Morwell ; a light shone through the window
over the entrance door.

EVE'S RING

'Old Davy is up there, ill. He cannot come down.
The gate is open ; we will go in,' said Barbara.

' I am glad we are here,' said the man called Martin ;
* now we must bestir ourselves.'

Thoughtlessly he struck the horse with his whip, and
the beast started, nearly precipitating the rider to the
ground. The man on it groaned. The injured man was
lifted down.

' Eve ! ' said Barbara, ' run in and tell Jane to come
out, and see that a bed be got ready at once, in the lower
room.'

Presently out came a buxom womanservant, and with
her assistance the man was taken ofif the horse and carried
indoors.

A bedroom was on the ground-floor opening out of the
hall. Into this Eve led the way with a light, and the
patient was laid on a bed hastily made ready for his
reception. His coat was removed, and Barbara examined
the head.

' Here is a gash to the bone,' she said, ' and much
blood is flowing from it. Jane, come with me, and we will
get what is necessary.'

Martin was left alone in the room with Eve and the
man called Jasper. Martin moved, so that the light fell
over her ; and he stood contemplating her with wonder
and admiration. She was marvellously beautiful, slender,
not taU, and perfectly proportioned. Her hair was of the
richest auburn, full of gloss and warmth. She had the
exquisite complexion that so often accompanies hair of this
colour. Her eyes were large and blue. The pure oval
face was set on a delicate neck, round which hung a ker-
chief, which she now untied and cast aside.

• How lovely you are ! ' said Martin. A rich blush
overspread her cheek and throat, and tinged her little ears.
Her eyes fell. His look was bold.

Then, almost unconscious of what he was doing, as an
ftct of homage, Martin removed his slouched hat, and for

Ilj

EVE

the first time Eve saw what he was like, when she timidly
raised her eyes. With surprise she saw a young face.
The man with the imperious manner was not much above
twenty, and was remarkably handsome. He had dark
hair, a pale skin, very large, soft dark eyes, velvety, en-
closed within dark lashes. His nose was regular, the
nostrils delicately arched and chiselled. His lip was
fringed with a young moustache. There was a remarkable
refinement and tenderness in the face. Eve could hardly
withdraw her wondering eyes from him. Such a face she
had never seer , never even dreamed of as possible. Here
was a type of masculine beauty that transcended all her
imaginings. She had met very few young men, and those
she did meet were somewhat uncouth, addicted to the stable
and the kennel, and redolent of both, more at home follow-
ing the hounds or shooting than associating with ladies.
There was so much of innocent admiration in the gaze of
simple Eve that Martin was flattered, and smiled.

* Beauty 1 ' he said, * who would have dreamed to have
stumbled on the likes of you on the moor ? Nay, rather
let me bless my stars that I have been vouchsafed the
privilege of meeting and speaking with a real fairy. It is
said that you must never encounter a fairy without taking
of her a reminiscence, to be a charm through life.'

Suddenly he put his hand to her throat. She had a
delicate blue riband about it, disclosed when she cast aside
her kerchief. He put his finger between the riba>iid and
her throat, and pulled.

'You are strangling me I' exclaimed Eve, shrinking
away, alarmed at his boldness.

' I care not,' he replied, • this I will have.'

He wrenched at and broke the riband, and then drew
it from her neck. As he did so a gold ring fell on the
floor. He stooped, picked it up, and put it on his little
finger.

' Look,' said he with a laugh, ' my hand is so small,
my fingers so slim — I can wear this ring.'

•11

EVE'S mNG IX

' Give it me back I Let me have it ! You must not
take it 1 ' Eve was greatly agitated and alarmed. ' I may
not part with it. It was my mother's.'

Then, with the same daring insolence with which he
had taken the ring, he caught the girl to him, and kissed
her.

CHAPTER V.

THE LIMPINQ HOBSE.

Eve drew herself away with a cry of anger and alarm, and
with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks. At that moment
her sister returned with Jane, and immediately Martin re-
assumed his hat with broad brim. Barbara did not notice
the excitement of Eve ; she had not observed the incident,
because she entered a moment too late to do so, and no
suspicion that the stranger would presume to take such a
liberty crossed her mind.

Eve stood back behind the door, with hands on her
bosom to control its furious beating, and with head de-
pressed to conceal the heightened colour.

Barbara and the maid stooped over the unconscious
man, and whilst Martin held a light, they dressed and
bandaged his head.

Presently his eyes opened, a flicker of intelligence
passed through them, they rested on Martin; a smile for<
a moment kindled the face, and the lips moved.

' He wants to speak to you,' said Barbara, noticing the
direction of the eyes, and the expression that came into
them.

' "What do you want, Jasper ? ' asked Martin, putting
his hand on that of the other.

The candle-light fell on the two hands, and Barbara
noticed the contrast. That of M&rtin was delicate as the
hand of a woman, narrow, with taper Angers, and white ;
that of Jasper was strong, darkened by exposure.

' I

ill

i i

EVE

' Will you be so good as to undress him/ said Barbara,
' and put him to bed ? My sister will assist me in the
kitchen. Jane, if you desire help, is at your service.'

' Yes, go,' said Martin, ' but return speedily, as I can-
not stay many minutes.'

Then the girls left the room.

* I do not want you,' he said roughly to the serving
woman. ' Take yourself off ; when I need you I will call.
No prying at the door.' He went after her, thrust Jane
forth and shut the door behind her. Then he returned to
Jasper, removed his clothes, somewhat ungently, with
hasty hands. When his waistcoat was off, Martin felt in
the inner breast-pocket, and drew from it a pocket-book.
He opened it, and transferred the contents to his own
purse, then replaced the book and proceeded with the un-
dressing.

When Jasper was divested of his clothes, and laid at
his ease in the bed, his head propped on pillows, Martin
went to the door and called the girls. He was greatly
agitated, Barbara observed it. His lower lip trembled.
Eve hung back in the kitchen, she could not return.

Martin said in eager tones, ' I have done for him all I
can, now I am in haste to be o£f.'

* But,' remonstrated Barbara, ' he is your brother.'

* My brother ! ' laughed Martin. * He is no relation of
mine. He is nought to me and I am naught to him.'

* You called him your brother.'

' That was tantamount to comrade. All sons of Adam
are brothers, at least in misfortune. I do not even know
the fellow's name,'

* Why,' said Barbara, * this is very strange. You call
him Jasper, and he named you Martin.'

* Ah I ' said the man hesitatingly, * we are chance
travellers, riding along the same road. He asked my
name and I gave it him — my surname. I am a Mr. Mar-
tin — he mistook me ; and in exchange he gave me his
Christian name. That is how I knew it. If anyone asks

THE LIMPING HORSE

about this evont, you can say that Mr. Martin passed this
way and halted awhile at your house, on liis road to Tavi-
stock.

' You are going to Tavistock ? * . .

• Yes, that is my destination.'

• In that case I will not seek to detain you. Call up
Doctor Crooke and send him here.*

' I will do so. You furnish me with an additional
motive for haste to depart.'

• Go,' said Barbara. ' God grant the poor man may
not die.'

• Die ! pshaw 1 die ! ' exclaimed Martin. • Men aren't
such brittle ware as that pretty sister of yours. A fall
from a horse don't kill a man. If it did, fox-hunting
would not be such a popular sport. To-morrow, or the
day after, Mr. Jasper "What's-his-name will be on his feet
again. Hush I What do I hear ? '

His cheek turned pale, but Barbara did not see it ; he
kept his face studiously away from the light.

• Your horse which you hitched up outside neighed,
that is all.'

' That is a great deal. It would not neigh at
nothing.'

He went out. Barbara told the maid to stay by the
sick man, and went after Martin, She thought that in all
probability the boy had arrived driving the gig.

Martin stood irresolute in the doorway. The horse
that had borne the injured man had been brought into the
courtyard, and hitched up at the hall door. Martin looked
across the quadrangle. The moon was shining into it.
A yellow glimmer came from the sick porter's window
over the great gate. The large gate was arched, a laden
waggon might pass under it. It was unprovided with
doors. Through it the moonlight could be seen on the
paved ground in front of the old lodge.

A. sound of horse- hoofs was audible approaching slowly,
uncertainly, on the stony ground ; but no wheels.

-< ■rv'i^<"Wf

n !

EVE

1 !

Ill

• What can the bey have done with our gig ? * asked
Barbara.

• Will you be quiet ? ' exclaimed Martin angrily.
' I protest — you are trembling,' she said.

< May not a man shiver when he is cold ? ' answered
the man,

She saw him shrink back into the shadow of the
entrance as something appeared in the moonlight outside
the gatehouse, indistinctly seen, moving strangely.

Again the horse neighed.

They saw the figure come on haltingly out of the light
into the blackness of the shadow of the gate, pass through,
and emerge into the moonlight of the court.

Then both saw that the lame horse that had been
deserted on the moor had followed, limping and slowly, as
it was in pain, after the other horse. Barbara went at
once to the poor beast, saying, * I will put you in a stall,*
but in another moment she returned with a bundle in her
hand.

'What have you there?' asked Martin, who was
mounting his horse, pointing with his whip to what she
carried.

• I found this strapped to the saddle.*
' Give it to me.'

' It does not belong to you. It belongs to the other —
to Jasper.'

' Let me look through the bundle ; perhaps by that
means we may discover his name.'

•I will examine it when you are gone. I will not
detain you ; ride on for the doctor.'

' I insist on having that bundle,' said Martin. • Give
it me, or I will strike you.' He raised his whip.

' Only a coward would strike a woman. I will not
give you the bundle. It is not yours. As you said, this
man Jasper is naught to you, nor you to him.'

' I will have it,' he said with a curse, and stooped from
the saddle to wrench it from her hands. Barbara was too

!l!!|!«

m\m

THE LIMPING HORSE

quick for him ; she stepped back into the doorway and
slammed the door upon him, and bolted it.

He uttered an ugly oath, then turned and rode through
the courtyard. ' After all,' he said, * what does it matter?
We were fools not to be rid of it before.'

As he passed out of the gatehouse, he saw Eve in the
moonlight, approaching timidly.

* You must give me back my ring I ' she pleaded ; * you
have no right to keep it.'

* Must I, Beauty ? Where is the compulsion? *

* Indeed, indeed you must.'

' Then I will — but not nowr ; at some day in the future,
when we meet again.'

* give it me now I It belonged to my mother, and
she is dead.'

'Come! What will you give me for it? Another
kiss?'

Then from close by burst a peal of impish laughter,
and the boy bounded out of the shadow of a yew tree into
the moonlight.

* Halloo, Martin I always h.'j,nging over a pretty face,
detained by it when you should be galloping. I've upset
the gig and broken it ; give me my place again on the
crupper.'

He ran, leaped, and in an instant was behind Martin.
The horse bounded away, and Eve heard the clatter of the
hoofs as it galloped up the lane to the moor.

CHAPTER VI.

A BUNDLE OF CLOTHES.

Babbara Jobdan sat by the sick man with her knitting
on her lap, and her eyes fixed on his face. He was asleep,
and the sun would have shone full on him had she not
drawn a red curtain across the window, which subdued

EVE

the light, and diffused a warm glow over the bed. He
W9 s breathing calmly ; danger was over.

On the morning after the eventful night, Mr. Jordan
had returned to Morwell, and had been told what had
happened— at least, the major part — and had seen the sick
man. He, Jasper, was then still unconscious. The doctor
from Tavistock had not arrived. The family awaited him
all day, and Barbara at last suspected that Martin had not
taken the trouble to deliver her message. She did not like
to send again, expecting him hourly. Then a doubt rose
in her mind whether Doctor Crooke might not have refused
to come. Her father had made some slighting remarks
about him in company lately. It was possibl'i that these
had been repeated and the doctor had taken umuxage.

The day passed, and as he did not arrive, and as the
sick man remained unconscious, on the second morning
Barbara sent a foot messenger to Beer Alston, where
was a certain Mr. James Coyshe, surgeon, a young man,
reputed to be able, not long settled there. The gig was
broken, and the cob in trying to escape from the upset
vehicle had cut himself about the legs, and was unfit for a
journey. The Jordans had but one carriage horse. The
gig lay wrecked in the lane ; the boy had driven it against
a gate-post of granite, and smashed the axle and the
splashboard and a wheel.

Coyshe arrived ; he was a tall young man, witi' h '>.r
cut very short, very large light whiskers, prominent eyor .
and-^big protruding ears.

' He is suffering from congestion of the brain,' said the
surgeon ; ' if he does not awake to-morrow, order his grave
to be dug.'

• Can you do nothing for him ? ' asked Miss Jordan.

' Nothing better than leave him in your hands,' said
Coyshe with a bow.

This was all that had passed between Barbara and the
doctor. Now the third day was gone, and the man's brain
bad recovered from the pressure on it,

A BVNttL^ OF CL6Tim$

As Barbara knitted, she stole many a glance at Jasper's
face ; presently, finding that she had dropped stitches and
made false counts, she laid her knitting in her lap, and
watched the sleeper with imdivided attention and with a
face fall of perplexity, as though trying to read the answer
to a question which puzzled her, ard not finding the
answer where she sought it, or finding it different from
what she anticipated.

In appearance Barbara was very different from her
sister. Her face was round, her complexion olive, her
eyes very dark. She was strongly built, without grace
of form, a sound, hearty girl, hale to her heart's core.
She was not beautiful, her features were without chisel-
ling, but her abundant hair, her dark eyes, and the
sensible, honest expression of her face redeemed it from
plainness. She had practical common sense; Eve had
beauty. Barbara was content with the distribution ; per-
fectly satisfied to believe herself destitute of personal
charms, and ready to excuse every act of thoughtlessness
committed by her sister. Barbara rose from her seat,
laid aside the knitting, and went to a carved oak box
that stood against the wall, ornamented with the figure
of a man in trunk hose, with a pair of eagles' heads
in the place of a human face. She raised the lid and
looked in. Thr-^e lay, neatly folded, the contents of
Jasper's bundle, a coarse grey and yellow suit — a suit so
peculiar in cut and colour that there was no mistaking
whence it had come, and what he was who had worn it.
Barbara shut the chest and returned to her place, and her
look was troubled. Her eyes were again fixed on the
sleeper. His face was noble. It was pale from loss of
blood. The hair was black, the eyes were closed, but the
lashes were long and dark. His nose was aquiline without
being over-strongly characterised, his lips were thin and
well moulded. The face, even in sleep, bore an expression
of gravity, dignity, and integrity. Barbara found it hard
to associate such a face with crime, and yet how else could

1 1

II I

',:»'

£V1

she account for that convict garb she had fouucl rolled up
and strapped to his saddle, and which she had laid in the
trunk?

Prisoners escaped now and again from «L: great jail on
Dartmoor. This was one of them. As she sat watching
him, puzzling her mind over this, his eyes opened, and he
smiled. The smile was remarkably sweet. His eyes were
large, dark and soft, and from being sunken through sick-
ness, appeared to fill his face. Barbara rose hastily, and,
going to the fireplace, brought from it some beef-tea that
had been warming at the small fire. She put it to his
lips ; he thanked her, sighed, and hi^y back. She said not
a word, but resumed her knitting.

From this moment their positions were reversed. It
was now she who was watched by him. When she looked
up, she encountered his dark eyes. She coloured a little,
and impatiently turned her chair on one side, so as to con-
ceal her face. A couple of minutes after, sensible in every
nerve that she was being observed, unable to keep her
eyes away, spell-drawn, she glanced at him again. He
was still watching her. Then she moved to her former
position, bit her Up, frowned, and said, ' Are you in want
of anything ? ' ,

He shook his head.

* You are sufficiently yourself to remain alone for a few
minutes,' she said, stood up, and left the room. She had
the management of the house, and, indeed, of the farm on
her hands; her usual assistant in setting the labourers
their work, old Christopher Davy, was ill with rheuma-
tism. This affair had happened at an untoward moment,
but is it not always so ? A full hour had elapsed before
Miss Jordan returned. Then she saw that the convales-
cent's eyes were closed. He was probably again asleep,
and sleep was the best thing for him. She reseated her-
self by his bedside, and resumed her knitting. A moment
after she was again aware that his eyes were on her. She
had herself watched him so intently whilst he was asleep

A BUNDLE OF CLOTHES

that a smile came involuntarily to her lips. She was
being repaid in her own coin. The smile encouraged him
to speak.

* How long have I been here ? '

* Four days.'

* Have I been very ill ? '

' Yes, insensible, sometimes rambling.'

* What made me ill ? What ails my head ? * He put
his hand to the bandages.

* You have had a fall from your horse.'

He did not speak for a moment or two. His thoughts
moved slowly. After a while he asked, * Where did I
fall ? •

* On the moor — Morwell Down.*

* I can remember nothing. When was it ? '

* Four days ago.'

'Yes — ^you have told me so. I forgot. My head is
not clear, there is singing and spinning in it. To-day

is-

-?'

♦ To-day is Monday.'

• What day was that — four days ago ? '

• Thursday.'

' Yes, Thursday. I cannot think to reckon backwards.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. I can go on, but not back-
ward. It pains me. I can recall Thursday.' He sighed
and turned his head to the :wall. * Thursday night — ^yes,
I remember no more.'

After a while he turned his head round to Barbara and
asked, * Where am I now ? '

* At Morwell House.'

He asked no more questions for a quarter of an hour.
He was taking in and turning over the information he had
received. He lay on his back and closed his eyes. His
face was very pale, like marble, but not like marble in this,
that across it travelled changes of expression that stirred
the muscles. Do what she would Barbara could not keep
her eyes off him. The horrible mystery about the man,

EVE

the lie given to her thoughts of him hy his face, forced her
to ohserve him.

Presently he opened his eyes, and met hers ; she re-
coiled as if smitten with a guilty feeling at her heart.

• You have always been with me whilst I was uncon-
cious and rambling,' he said earnestly.

• I have been a great deal w'th you, but not always.
The maid, Jane, and an old womdn who comes in occa-
sionally to char, have shared wiiu me the task. You have
not been neglected.'

' I know well when you have been by me — and when
you have been away. Sometimes I have felt as if I lay on
a bank with wild thyme under me—'

' That is because we put thyme with our linen,' said
the practical Barbara.

He did not notice the explanation, but went on, * And
the sun shone on my face, but a pleasant air fanned me.
At other times all was dark and hot and miserable.

• That was according to the stages of your illness.'

' No, I think I was content when you were in the room,
and dist" 3sed when you were away. Some persons exert
a mesmeric power of soothing.'

• Sick men get strange fancies,' said Barbara.
He rose on his elbow, and held out his hand.

• I know that I owe my life to you, young lady. Allow
me to thank you. My life is of no value to any but myself.
I have not hitherto regarded it much. Now I shall esteem
it, as saved by you. I thank you. May I touch your hand ? '

He took her fingers and put them to his lips.

< This hand is firm and strong,' he said, ' but gentle as
the wing of a dove.'

She coldly withdrew her fingers.

' Enough of thanks,' she said bluntly. * I did but my
duty.'

• Was there ' he hesitated — * anyone with me when

I was found, or was I alone ? '

• There were two — a man and a boy.'

.. »

mm:

A BUNDLE OF CLOTHES

His face became troubled. He began a question, then
let it die in his mouth, began another, but could not bring
it to an end.

' And they — where are they ? ' he asked at length,

* That one called Martin brought you here.'

* He did 1 ' exclaimed Jasper, eagerly.

' That is — ^he assisted in bringing you here.' Barbara
was so precise and scrupulous about truth, that she felt
herself obliged to modify her first assertion. ' Then, when
he saw you safe in our hands, he left you.'

* Did he — did he say anything about me ? *

* Once — but that I suppose was by a slip> he called you
brother. Afterwards he asserted that you were nothing to
him, nor he to you.'

Jasper's face was moved with painful emotions, but it
soon cleared, and he said, * Yes, I am nothing to him — no-
thing. He is gone. He did well. I was, as he said — and
he spoke the truth — nothing to him.'

Then, hastily, to turn the subject, • Excuse me. Where
am I now ? And, young lady, if you will not think it rude
of me to inquire, who are you to whom I owe my poor
Ufe?'

* This, as I have already said, is Morwell, and I am the
daughter of the gentleman who resides in it, Mr. Ignatius
Jordan.'

He fell back on the bed, a deadly greyness came over
his face, he raised his hands : * My God ! my God 1 this is
most wonderful. Thy ways are past finding out.'

* What is wonderful ? ' asked Barbara.

He did not answer, but partially raised himself again
in bed.

' Where are my clothes ? ' he asked.

' Which clothes ? ' inquired Barbara, and her voice was
hard, and her expression became stern. She hesitated for
a moment, then went to the chest and drew forth the suit
that had been rolled up on the pommel of the saddle;
also that which he had worn when he met with the acci-

■iip

Ipi

iNilltl
l|i

dent,
bed.

She held one in each hand, and returned to tho

* Which ? ' she asked gravely, fixing her eyes on him.
He looked from one to the other, and his pale faco

turned a chalky white. Then he said in a low tremulous
tone, * I want my waistcoat.'

She gave it him. He felt eagerly about it, drew the
pocltet-book from the breast-pocket, opened it and fell
back.

* Gone I ' he moaned, ' gone ! *

The garment dropped from his fingers upon the floor,
his eyes became glassy and fixed, and scarlet spots of
colour formed in his cheeks.

After this he became feverish, and tossed in his bed,
put ills hand to his brow, plucked at the bandages, asked
for water, and his pulse qujpkened.

Towards evening he seemed conscious that his senses
were slipping beyond control. He called repeatedly for
the young lady, and Jane, who attended him then, was
obliged to fetch Barbara.

The sun was setting when she came into the room.
She despatched Jane about some task that had to be done,
and, coming to the side of the bed, said in a constrained
voice, * Yes, what do you require ? I am here.'

He lifted himself. His eyes were glowing with fever ;
he put out his hand and clasped her wrist ; his band was
burning. His lips quivered ; his face was full of a fiery
eagerness.

' I entreat you I you are so good, so kind ! You have
surprised a secret. I beseech you let no one else into
it — no one have a suspicion of it. I am hot. I am in
a fever. I am afraid what I may say when others are by
me. I would go on my knees to you could I rise. I pray

you, I pray you ' he put his hands together, * do not

leave me if I become delirious. It is a hard thing to ask.
1 have no claim on you ; but I fear. I would have none
but you know what I say, and 1 may say strange things if

l!ii

A BUNDLE Of CLOTHES

toy mind becomes deranged with fever. You f*iel my hand,
is it not like a red-hot-coal ? You know that I am likely
to wander. Stay by me — in pity — in mercy — for the love
of God— for the love of God I '

His hand, a fiery hand, grasped her wrist convulsively.
She stood by his bed, greatly moved, much stung with
self-reproach. It was cruel of her to act as she had done,
to show him that convict suit, and let him see that she
knew his vileness. It was heartless, wicked of her, when
the poor fellow was just returned to consciousness, to cast
him back into his misery and shame by the sight of that
degrading garment.

Spots of colour came into her cheeks almost as deep as
those which burnt in the sick man's face.

' I should have considered he was ill, that he was under
my charge,' she said, and laid her left hand on his to
intimate that she sought to disengage her wrist from his
grasp.

At the touch his eyes, less wild, looked pie. dingly at
her. '

' Yes, Mr. Jasper,' she said, ' I *

* Why do you call me Mr. Jasper ? '

* That other man gave you the name.*

* Yes, my name is Jasper. And yours ? *

* Barbara. I am Miss Barbara Jordan.'
' Will you promise what I asked ? '

* Yes,' she said, * I will stay by you all night, and what-
ever passes your lips shall never pass mine.'

He smiled, and gave a sigh of relief.

* How good you are ! How good ! Barbara Jordan.'
He did not call her Miss, and she felt slightly piqued.

He, a convict, to speak of her thus I But she pacified her
wounded pride with the consideration that his mind was
disturbed by fever.

; M

£:v£

CHAPTER Vn.

A NIGHT-WATCH.

Babbaba had passed her word to remain all night with the
sick man, should he prove delirious ; she was scrupulously
conscientious, and in spite of her father's remonstrance
and assurance that old Betty Westlake could look after the
fellow well enough, she remained in the sick room after
the rest had gone to bed.

That Jasper was fevered was indubitable ; he was hot
and restless, tossing his head from side to side on the
pillow, and it was not safe to leave him, lest he should dis-
arrange his bandage, lest, in an access of fever, he should
leap from his bed and do himself an injury.

After everyone had retired the house became very still.
Barbara poked and made up the fire. It must not become
too large, as the nights were not cold, and it must not be
allowed to go out.

Jasper did not speak, but he opened his eyes occasion-
ally, and looked at his nurse with a strange light in his
eyes that alarmed her. What if he were to become frantic ?
What — worse — were he to die ? He was only half con-
scious, he did not seem to know who she was. His lips
twitched and moved, but no voice came. Then he clasped
both hands over his brow, and moaned, and plucked at the
bandages. ' You must not do that,' said Barbara Jordan,
rising from her chpir and going beside him. He glared at
her from his burnhig eyes without intelligence. Then she
laid her cool hand on his strapped brow, and he let his arms
fall, and lay still, and the twitching of his mouth ceased.
The pressure of her hand eased, soothed him. Directly
she withdrew her hand he began to murmur and move,
and cry out, * Martin ! Martin ! '

Then he put forth his hand and opened it wide, and
closedr it again, in a wild, restless, unmeaning manner.

A mCMT-WATcM

Next he waved it excitedly, as if in vehement conver-
sation or earnest protest. Barbara spoke to him, but he
did not hear her. She urged him to lie quiet and not
excite himself, but her words, if they entered his ear,
conveyed no message to the brain. He snatched at his
bandage.

' You shall not do that,' she said, and caught bis hand,
and held it down firmly on the coverlet. Then, at once,
he was quiet. He continued turning his head on the pil-
low, but he did not stir his arm. When she attempted to
withdraw her hand he would not suffer her. Once, when
almost by main force, she plucked her hand away, he be-
came excited and tried to rise in his bed. In terror, to
pacify him, she gave him her hand again. She moved her
chair close to the bed, where she could sit facing him, and
let him hold her left hand with his left. He was quiet at
once. It seemed to her that her cool, calmly flowing blood
poured its healing influence through her hand up his arm
to his tossing, troubled head. Thus she was obliged to sit
all night, hand in hand with the man she was constrained
to pity, but whom, for his guilt, she loathed.

Ho became coder, his pulse beat less fiercely, his hand
was less burning and dry. She saw him pass from vexing
dreams into placid sleep. She was unable to knit, to do
any work all night. She could do nothing other than
sit, hour after hour, with her eyes on his face, trying to
unravel the riddle, to reconcile that noble countenance
with an evil life. And when she could not solve it, she
closed her eyes and prayed, and her prayer was concerned,
like her thoughts, with the man who lay in fever and pain,
and who clasped her so resolutely. Towards dawn his
eyes opened, and there was no more vacancy and fire in
them. Then she went to the little casement and opened it.
The fresh, sweet air of early morning rushed in, and with
the air came the song of awakening thrushes, the spiral
twitter of the lark. One fading star was still shining in a
sky that was laying aside its sables.

.-4

£V&

Sha went baok to the bedside and said gently, ' You
are better.'

' Thank you,' he answered. ' I have given you much
trouble.'

She shook her head, she did not speak. Something
rose in her throat. She had extinguished the lamp. In
the grey dawn the face on the bed looked death-like, and a
gush of tenderness, of pity for the patient, filled Barbara's
heart. She brought a basin and a sponge, and, leaning
over him, washed his face. He thanked her with his sweet
smile, a smile that told of pain. It a£fected Barbara
strangely. She drew a long breath. She could not speak.
If she had attempted to do so she would have sobbed ; for
she was tired with her continued watching. To be a nurse
to the weak, whether to a babe or a wounded man, brings
out all the sweet springs in a woman's soul; and poor
Barbara, against her judgment, felt that every ♦^^le vein

in her heart was oozing with pity, love, soUciti , mercy,

faith and hope. What eyes that Jasper had ! so gentle,
soft, and truthful. Gould treachery, cruelty, dishonesty
lurk beneath them ?

A question trembled on Barbara's lips. She longed to
ask him something about himself, to know the truth, to
have that horrible enigma solved. She leaned her hand
on the back of the chair, and put the other to her lips.

* What is it ? ' he asked suddenly.

She started. He had read her thoughts. Her eyes
met his, and, as they met, her eyes answered and said,
'Yes, there is a certain matter. I cannot rest till I
know.'

' I am sure,' he said, ' there is something you wish to
say, but are afraid lest you should excite me.'

She was silent.

* I am better now ; the wind blows cool over me,
and the morning light re&eshes me. Do not be afraid.
Speak.'

She hesitated.

:li il!

A NlGHT-lVATCn

* Speak,' ho said. * I am fully conscious and sclf-pos-
Bossbd now.'

' Yes/ she said slowly. ' It is right that I should know
for certain what you are.' She halted. She shrank from
the question. He remained waiting. Then she asked with
a trembling voice, ' Is that convict garment yours ? '

He turned away his face sharply.

She waited for the answer. He did not reply. Ilia
breast heaved and his whole body shook, the very bed
quivered with suppressed emotion.

' Do not be afraid,' she said, in measured tones. ' I
will not betray you. I have nursed you and fed you, and
bathed your head. No, n6verl never I whatever your
crime may have been, will I betray you. No one in the
house suspects. No eyes 1 ut mine have seen that garment.
Do not mistrust me ; not by word or look will I divulge the
secret, but I must know all.'

Still he did not reply. His face was turned away, but
she saw the working of the muscles of his cheek-bone, and
the throb of the great vein in his temple. Barbara felt a
flutter of compunction in her heart. She had again over-
agitated this unhappy man when he was not in a condition
to bear it. She knew she had acted precipitately, unfairly,
but the suspense had become to her unendurable.

' I have done wrong to ask the question,' she said.

' No,' he answered, and looked at her. His large eyes,
sunken and lustrous with sickness, met hers, and he saw
that tears were trembling on her lids.

' No,' he said, ' you did right to ask ; * then paused.
' The garment — the prison garment is mine.'

A catch in Barbara's breath ; she turned her head
hastily and walked towards the door. Near the door st ^od
the oak chest carved with the eagle-headed man. S^e
stooped, threw it open, caught up the convict clothes,
rolled them together, and ran up into the attic, where she
secreted them in a place none but herself would be likely
to look into.

■ ■•^•'■r«i->-'v»^»

EVE

A moment after she reappeared, composed.

* A packman came this way with his wares yesterday,*
said Miss Jordan gravely. ' Amongst other news he brought
was this, that a convict had recently broken out from the
prison at Prince's Town on Dartmoor, and was thought to
have I scaped off the moor.' He listened and made no
answer, but sighed heavily. ' You are safe here,' she said ;
* your secret remains here ' — she touched her breast. ' ' My
father, my sister, none of the maids suspect anything.
Never let us allude to this matter again, and I hope that as
soon as you are sufficiently recovered you will go your
way.'

The door opened gently and Eve appeared, fresh and
lovely as a May blossom.

*Bab, dear sister,' said the young girl, 'let me sit by
him now. You must have a nap. You take everything
upon you — you are tired. Why, Barbara, surely you have
been crying ? '

* I crying ! ' exclaimed the elder angrily. • What

have I had to make me cry ? No ; I am tired, and my
eyes bum.'

* Then close ^jhem and sleep for a couple of hours.*
Barbara left the room and shut the door behind her.

In the early morning none of the servants could be spared
to sit with the sick man. *■

Eve went to the table and arranged a bunch of oxlips,
dripping with dew, in a glass of water.

* How sweet they are ! ' she said, smiling. * Smell
them, they will do you good. These are of the old monks'
planting; they grow in abundance in the orchard, but
nowhere else. The oxlips and the orchis suit together
perfectly* If the oxlip had been a little more yellow and
the orchis a little more purple, they would have made an
ill-assorted posy.'

Jasper looked at the flowers, then at her.

* Are you her sister ? '

* What, Barbara's sister ? *

^. «

A NIGHT-WATCH

* Yes, her name is Barbara.'
' Of course I am.'

He looked at Eve. He could trace in her no likeness
to her sister. Involuntarily he said, ' You are very beau-
tiful.'

She coloured — with pleasure. Twice within a few
days the same compliment had been paid her.

* What is your name, young lady ? '

* My name is Eve.'

* Eve ! ' repeated Jasper. * How strange ! •

Twice also, within a few days, had this remark been
passed on her name.

* Why should it be strange ? '

' Because that was also the name of my mother and of
my sis'er.'

* Is your mother alive ? * ,
He shook his head.

' And your sister ? '

' I do not know. I remember her only faintly, and my
father never speaks of her.' Then he changed the subject.
•You are very unlike Miss Barbara. I should not have
supposed you were sisters.'

' We are half-sisters. We had not the same mother.*

He was exhausted with speaking, and turned towards
the wall. Eve seated herself in the chair vacated by Bar-
bara. She occupied her fingers with makmg a cowslip
ball, and when it was made she tossed it. Then, as he
moved, she feared that she disturbed him, so she put the
ball on the table, from which, however, it rolled off.

Jasper turned as she was groping for it.

* Do I trouble you ? ' she said. ' Honour bright, I will
sit quiet.'

How beautiful she looked with her chestnut hair ; how
delicate and pearly was her lovely neck ; what sweet eyes
were hers, blue as a heaven full of sunshine !

* Have you sat much with me, Miss Eve, whilst I hay^
been ill?*

EVE

' Not much ; my sister would not suffer me. I cm such
a fidget that she thought I might irritate you; such a
giddypate that I might forget your draughts and com-
presses. Barbara is one of those people who do all things
themselves, and rely on no one else.'

* I must have given Miss Barbara much trouble. How
good she has been ! '

* Oh, Barbara is good to everyone f She can't help it.
Some people are born good-tempered and practical, and
others are born pretty and poetical; some to be good
needlewomen, others to wear smart clothes.'

' Tell me, Miss Eve, did anyone come near me when I
met with my accident ? '

' Your friend Martin and Barbara brought you here.'

' And when I was .here who had to do with my
clothes ? '

Martin undressed you whilst my sister and I got ready
what was necessary for you.'

* And my clothes — who touched them ? '

♦After your friend Martin, only Barbara; she folded
them and put them away. Why do you ask ? *

Jasper sighed and put his hand to his head. Silence
ensued for some time ; had not he held his hand to
the wound Eve would have supposed he was asleep.
Now, all at once. Eve saw the cowslip ball; it was
under the table, and with the point of her little foot she
could touch it and roll it to her. So she played with the
ball, rolling it with her feet, but so lightly that she made
no noise.

All at once he looked round at her. Startled, she
kicked the cowslip ball away. He turned his head away
again.

About five minutes later she was on tiptoe, stealing
across the room to where the ball had rolled. She picked
it up and laid it on the pillow near Jasper's face. He
opened his eyes. They had been closed.

* I thought,' explained Eve, ' that the scent of the

IHIWfltlli

A MGHT-tVATCtt

flowers might do you good. They are somewhat bruised
and so smell the stronger.'

He half nodded and closed his eyes again.

Presently she plucked timidly at the sheet. As he paid
no attention she plucked again. He looked at her. The
bright face, like an opening wild rose, was bending over
him.

* Will it disturb you greatly if I ask you a question ? '
He shook his head.

* Who was that young man whom you called Martin ? '
He looked earnestly into her eyes, and the colour

mounted under the transparent skin of her throat, cheeks,
and brow.

* Eve,' he said gravely, * have you ever been ill — cut,
wounded ' — he put out his hand and lightly indicated her
heart — ' there ? '

She shook her pretty head with a smile.

* Then think and ask no more about Martin. He came
to you out of darkness, he went from you into darkness.
Put him utterly and for ever out of your thoughts as you
value your happiness.'

CHAPTER Vm.

BAB.

As Jasper recovered, he saw less of the sisters. June
had come, and with it lovely weather, and with the lovely
weather the haysel. The air was sweet about Hhe house
with the fragrance of hay, and the soft summer breath
wafted the pollen and fine strands on its wings into the
court and in at the windows of the old house. Hay harvest
was a busy time, especially for Barbara, Jordan. She
engaged extra hands, and saw that cake was baked and
beer brewed for the harvesters. Mr. Jordan had become,
as years passed, more abstracted from the cares of the

EVE

! i

l!| ill

farm, and more steeped in his fantastic semi-scientiific pulf-
suits. As his eldest daughter put her strong shoulder to
the wheel of business, Mr. Jordan edged his from under it
and VAi the whole pressure upon her. Consequently Bar-
bara was very much engaged. All that was necessary to
be done for the convalescent was done, quietly and con-
siderately ; but Jasper was left considerably to himself.
Neither Barbara nor Eve had the leisure, even if they
had the inclination, to sit in his room and entertain
him with conversation. Eve brought Jasper fresh flowers
every morning, and by snatches sang to him. The little
parlour opened out of the room he occupied, and in it was
her harpsichord, an old instrument, without much tone,
but it served to accompany her clear fresh voice. In the
evening she and Barbara sang duets. The elder sister had
a good alto voice that contrasted well with the warble of
her sister's soprano.

Mr. Jordan came periodically into the sick room, and
saluted his guest in a shy, reserved manner, asked how he
progressed, made some common remark about the weather,
fidgeted with the backs of the chairs or the brim of his
hat, and went away. He was a timid man with strangers,
a man who lived in his own thoughts, a man with a
frightened, far-off look in his eyes. He was ungainly in
his movements, through nervousness. He made no friends,
he had acquaintances only.

His peculiar circumstances, the connection with Eve's
mother, his natural reserve, had kept him apart from the
gentlefolks around. His reserve had deepened of late, and
his shyne^ had become painful to himself and to those
with whom he spoke.

As Eve grew up, and her beauty was observed, the
neighbours pitied the two girls, condemned through no
fault of their own to a life of social exclusion. Of Barbara
everyone spoke well, as an excellent manager and thrifty
housekeeper, kind of heart, in all things reliable. Of Eve
everyone spoke as a beauty. Some little informal conclaves

BAB

had been held in the neighbourhood, and one good lady
had said to the CJoberrys, * If you will call, so will I.' So
the Cloberrys of Bradstone, as a leading county family, had
taken the initiative and called. As the Cloberry family
coEkch drove up to the gate of Morwell, Mr. Jordan was all
but caught, but he had the presence of mind to slip behind
a laurel bush, that concealed his body, whilst exposing his
legs. There he remained motionless, believing himself un-
seen, till the carriage drove away. After the Cloberrys had
called, other visitors arrived, and the girls received invita-
tions to tea, which they gladly accepted. Mr. Jordan
sent his card by his daughters ; he would make no calls in
person, and the neighbours were relieved not to see him.
That affair of seventeen years ago was not forgiven.

Mr. Jordan was well pleased that his daughters should
go into society, or rather that his daughter Eve should be re«
ceived and admired. With Barbara he had not much in
common, only the daily cares of the estate, and these wor-
ried him. To Eve, and to her alone, he opened out, and
spoke of things that lived within, in his mind, to her alone
did he exhibit tenderness. Barbara was shut out from his
heart ; she felt the exclusion, but did not resent the prefer-
ence shown to Eve. That was natural, it was Eve's due,
for Eve was so beautiful, so bright, so perfect a little fairy.
But, though Barbara did not grudge her young sister the
love that was given to her, she felt an ache in her heart,
and a regret that the father's love was not so full that it
could embrace and envelop both.

One day, when the afternoon sun was streaming into
the hall, Barbara crossed it, and came to the convalescent's
room.

* Come,* she eaid, ' my father and I think you had
better sit outside the house ; we are carrying tbe hay, and
it may amuse you to watch the waggons. The sweet air
will do you good. You must be weary of confinement in
this Uttle room.'

* How can I be weary where I am so kindly treated l^-

•-^■....••*\.;<,<.3

EVE

lili

^|i i I! l!

||||1HI

I'llll ! II

>l !

ill

where all speaks to me of rest and peace and culture !
Jasper was dressed, and was sitting in an irm-chair read-
ing, or pretending t ■) read, a book.

* Can you rise, Mr. Jasper ? ' she asked.

He tried to leave the chair, but he was still very weak,
80 she assisted him.

* And now,' she said kindly, * walk, sir 1 '

She watched his steps. His face was pale, and the
pallor wad the more observable from the darkness of his
hair. * I think,' said he, forcing a sn Ue, * I must beg a
little support.'

She went without hesitation to his side, and he put his
arm in hers. He had no+ only lost much blood, but had
been bruised and severely shaken,, and was not certain of
his steps. Barbara was a&aid, in crossing the hall, lest he
should fall on the stone floor. She disengaged his hand,
put her arm about his waist, bade him lean on her shoul-
der. How strong she seemed I

* Can you get on now ? ' she asked, looking up. His
deep eyes met her.

* I could get on for ever thus,' he answered.
She flushed scarlet.

I dislike such speeches,' she ^aid ; and disengaged her-
self from him. Whilst her arm was about him her hand
had felt the beating of his heart.

She conducted him to a bench in the garden near a bed
of stocks, where the bees were busy.

* How beautiful the world looks when one has not seen
it for many days ! * he said.

* Yes, there is a good shear of hay, saved in splendid
order.'

* When a child is born into the world there is always
a gathering, and a festival to greet it. I am born anew
into the beautiful world to-day. I am on the threshold of
a new life, and you have nursed me into it. Am I too
presumptuous if I ask you to sit here a very little while,
and welcome me into it ? That will be a festival indeed,'

111

BAB

She smiled good-humouredly, and took hor place on the
bench. Jasper puzzled her daily more and more. What
was he? What was the temptation that had led him
away ? Was his repentance thorough ? Barbara prayed
for him daily, with the excuse to her conscience that it was
always well to pray for the conversion of a sinner, and that
she was bound to pray for the man whom Providence
had cast broken and helpless at her feet. The Goc i Sa-
maritan prayed, doubtless, for the man who fell among
thieves. She was interested in her patient. Her patient
he was, as she was the only person in the house to provide
and order whatever was done in it. Her patient, Eve and
her father called him. Her patient he was, somehow her
own heart told her he was ; bound to her doubly by the so-
licitude with which she had nursed him, by the secret of
his life which she had surprised.

He puzzled her. He puzzled her more and more daily
There was a gentleness and refinement in his manner and
speech that showed her he was not a man of low c? ass, that
if he were not a g«T>tleman by birth he was one in mind
and culture. There was a gr ive religiousness about him,
moreover, that could not be a isumed, and did not comport
with a criminal.

Who was he, and wlat had he done ? How far had he
sinned, or been sinned against? Barbara's mind was
fretted with these ever-recurring questions. Teasjd with
the (nigma, she could not divert her thoughts for long
from it — it formed the background to all that occupied her
during the day. She considered the dairy, but when the
butter was weighed, went back in mind to the riddle. She
was withdrawn again by the demands of the cook for gro-
ceries from her store closet ; when the closet door was shut
she was again thinking of the puzzle She had to calcu-
late the amount of cake required for the harvesters, and
went on from the calculations of currants and sugar to the
balancing of probabilities in the case of Jasper.

She had avoided seeing him of late more than was ne-

■fl^

M II

! ■ ''I

|i!'! 1

£V&

cessary, she had resolved not to go near him, and let the
maid Jane attend to his requirements, ftided hy Christo-
pher Davy's hoy, who cleaned the hoots and knives, and
ran errands, and weeded the paths, and was made gener-
ally useful. Yet for all her resolve she did not keep it :
she discovered that some Uttle matter had been neglected,
which forced her to enter the room.

When she was there she was impatient to he out of it
again, and she hardly spoke to Jasper, was short, busy, and
away in a moment.

' It does not do to leave the servants to themselves,'
soliloquised Barbara. ' They half do whatever they are
set at. Tne sick man would not Hke to complain. I must
see to everything myself.'

Now she complied with his request to sit beside him,
but was at once filled with restlessness. She could not
speak to him on the one subject th ~ > tormented her. She
had herself forbidden mention of

She looked askance at Jasper, who was not speaking.
He had his hat off, on his lap ; his eyes were moist, his
lips were moving. She was confident he was praying. He
turned in a moment, re-covered his head, and said with his
sweet smile, ' God is good. I have already thanked you.
I have thanked him now.'

Was this hypocrisy ? Barbara could not believe it.

She said, * If you have no objection, may we know
your name ? I have been asked by my father and others.
I mean,' she hesitated, * a name by which you would care
to be called.' • * ^

* You shall have my real name,' he said, slightly colour-
ing.

* For myself to know, or to tell others ? '

* As you will. Miss Jordan. My name is Babb.*

' Babb 1 ' echoed Barbara. She thought to herself that
it was a name as ugly as it was unusual. At that moment
Eve appeared, glowing with life, a wreath of wild roses
wound about her hat.

SAB

' Bab ! Bab dear 1 ' she cried, referring to her sister.
Barbara turned crimson, and sprang from her seat.

* The last cartload is going to start,' said Eve eagerly,
' and the men say that I am the Queen and must sit on the
top ; but I want half-a-crown, Bab dear, to pay my footing
up the ladder to the top of the load.'

Barbara drew her sister away. ' Eve ! never call me
by that ridiculous pet-name again. When we were chil-
dren it did not matter. Now I do not wish it.'

• Why not ? ' asked the wondering girl. * How hot you
are looking, and yet you have been sitting still ! '

' I do not wish it. Eve. You will make me very angry,
and I shall feel hurt if you do it again. Bab — think, dar-
ling, the name is positively revolting, I assure you. I hate
it. If you have any love for me in your heart, any re-
gard for my feelings, you will not call me by it again.
Bab 1'

CHAPTER IX.

THE POCKET-BOOK.

Jaspeb drew in full draughts of the delicious air, leaning
back on the bench, himself in shade, watching the trees,
hearing the hum of the bees, and the voices of the harves-
ters, pleasant and soft in the distance, as if the golden sun
had subdued all the harshness in the tones of the rough
voices. Then the wagg' a drew nigh ; the garden was
above the level of the fariayard, terraced so that Jasper
could not see the cart and horses, or the men, but he saw
the great load of grey-green hay move by, with Eve and
Barbara seated on it, the former not only crowned with
roses, but holding a pole with a bunch of roses and a
flutter of ribands at the top. Eve's golden hair had fallen
loose and was about her shoulders. She was in an ecstasy
of gaiety. As the load travelled along before the garden,

- ho

-1

//!

EVE

both Evo and her sister saw the sick man on his bench.
He seemed so thin, white, and feeble in the midst of a fresh
and vigorous nature that Barbara's heart grew soft, and
she had to bite her lip to control its quiver. Eve waved
her staff topped with flowers and streamers, stood up in
the hay and curtsied to him, with a merry laugh, and then
dropped back into the hay, having lost her balance through
the jolting of the wheels. Jasper brightened, and, remov-
ing his hat, returned the salute with comic majesty. Then,
as Eve and Barbara disappeared, he fell back against the
wall, and his eyes rested on the fluttering leaves of a white
poplar, and some white butterflies that might have been
leaves reft from the trees, flickering and pursuing each
other in the soft air. The swallows that lived in. a colony
of inverted clay domes under the eaves were darting about,
uttering shrill cries, the expression of exuberant joy of life.
Jasper sank into a summer dream.

He was roused from his reverie by a man coming be-
tween him and the pretty garden picture that filled his
eyes. He recognised the surgeon, Mr. — or as the country
people called him. Doctor — Coyshe. The young medical
man had no objection to being thus entitled, but he very
emphatically protested against his name being converted
into Quash, or even Squash. Coyshe is a very respectable
and ancient Devonshire family name, but it is a name that
lends itself readily to phonetic degradation, and the young
surgeon had to do daily battle to preserve it from being
vulgarised. * Good afternoon, patient 1 ' said he cheerily ;
* doing well, thanks to my treatment.'

Jasper made a suitable reply.

' Ah ! I dare say you pull a face at seeing me now,
thinking I am paying visits for the sake of my fee, when
need for my attendance is past. That, let me tell you, is
the way of some doctors ; it is, however, not mine. Lord
love you, I knew a case of a man who sent for a doctor
because his wife was ill, and was forced to smother her
under pillows to cui short the attendance and bring the

THE POCKET-BOOK

bill within the compass of his means. Bless your stars, my
man, that you fell into my hands, not into those of old
Crooke.'

' I am assured,' said Jasper, ' that I am fallen into the
best possible hands.'

• Who assured you of that ? ' asked Coyshe sharply ;
* Miss Eve or the other ? '

' I am assured by my own experience of your
skill.'

* Ah ! an ordinary practitioner would have trepanned
you ; the whole run of them, myself and myself only ex-
cepted, have an itch in their fingers for the saw and the
scalpel. There is far too much bleeding, cupping, and
calomel used in the profession now — but what are we to
say ? The people love to have it so, to see blood and havj
a squeal for their money. I've had before now to admin-
ister a bread pill and give it a Greek name.'

Mr. Jordan from his study, the girls from the stackyard
(or moway, as it is locally called), saw or heard the sur-
geon. He was loud in his talk and made himself heard.
They came to him into the garden. Eve, with her natural
coquetry, retained the crown of roses and her sceptre.

* You see,' said Mr. Coyshe, rubbing his hands, ' I have
done wonders. This would have been a dead man but for
me. Now, sir, look at me,' he said to Jasper ; * you owe
me a life.'

' I know very well to whom I owe my life,' answered
Jasper, and glanced at Barbara. ' To my last hour I shall
not forget the obligation.'

• And do you know why he owes me his life ? ' asked the
surgeon of Mr. Jordan. ' Because I let nature alone, and
kept old Crooke away. I can tell you the usual practice.
The doctor comes and shrugs his shoulders and takes snuff.
"When he sees a proper impression made, he says, " How-
ever ; we will do our best, only we don't work miracles."
He sprinkles his victim with snuff, as if about to embalm
the body. If the man dies, the reason is clear. Crooke

EVE

was not sent for in timo. If he recovers, Orooke has
wrought a miracle. That is not my way, as you all know.*
He looked about him complacently.

' What will you take, Mr. Coyshe ? ' asked Barbara ;
* some of our haysel ale, or claret ? And will you come
indoors for refreshment ? '

' Indoors ! dear me, no ! ' said the young doctor ; * I
keep out of the atmosphere impregnated with four or five
centuries of dirt as much as I can. If I had my way I
would burn down every house with all its contents every
ten years, and so we might get rid of half the diseases
which ravage the world. I wouldn't live in your old
ramshackle Morwell if I were paid ten guineas a day.
The atmosphere must be poisoned, charged with particles
of dust many centuries old. Under every cupboard, ay,
and on top of it, is fluff, and every stir of a gown, every
tread of a foot, sets it floating, and the currents bring it
to your lungs or pores. What is that dust made up of ?
Who can tell ? The scrapings of old monks, the scum of
Protestant reformers, the detritus of any number of Jor-
dans for ages, some of whom ha^e had measles, some
scarlet-fever, some small-pox. No, thank you. I'll have
my claret in the gaiicsn, I can tell you without looking
what goes to make up the air in that pestilent old box ;
the dog has carried old bones behind the cupboard, the cat
has been set a saucer of milk under the chest, which has
been forgotten and gone sour. An old stocking which one
of the ladies was mending was thrust under a sofa cushion,
when the front door bell rang, and she had to receive
callers — and that also was forgotten.'

Miss Jordan waxed red and indignant. • Mr. Coyshe,'
she said, * I cannot hear you say this, it is not true. Our
house is perfectly sweet and clean ; there is neither a store
of old bones, nor a half- darned stocking, nor any of the
other abominations you mentioned about it.*

* Your eyes have not seen the world through a micro-
scope. Mine have,' answered the unabashed surgeon,

THE POCKET-BOOK

[she,'
Our

store
the

[cro-
leon,

* When a ray of sunhght enters your rooms, you can see
the whole course of the ray.*

•Yes.

' Very well, that is because the air is dirty. If it were
clean you would be unable to see it. No, thank you. I
will have my claret in the garden ; perhaps you would not
mind having it sent out to me. The air out of doors is
pure compared to that of a house.'

A little table, wine, glasses and cake were sent out.
Barbara and Eve did not reappear.

Mr. Jordan had a great respect frr the young doctor
His self-assurance, his pedantry, his boasting, imposed on
the timid and half-cultured mind of the old man. He
hoped to get information from the surgeon about tests
for metals, to interest him in his pursuits without letting
him into his secrets ; he therefore overcame his shyness
sufficiently to appear and converse when Mr. Coyshe
arrived.

* What a very beautiful daughter you have got I ' said
Coyshe ; * one that is only to be seen in pictures. A man
despairs of beholding such loveliness in actual hfe, and
see, here, at the limit of the world, the vision flashes on
one I Not much like you, Squire, not much like her
sistei* ; looks as if she belonged to another breed.'

Jasper Babb looked round startled at the audacity and
rudeness of the surgeon. Mr. Jordan was not offended ;
he seemed indeed flattered. He was very proud of Eve.

* You are right. My eldest daughter has almost
nothing in common with her younger sisier — only a half-
sister.'

* Really,' said Coyshe, * it makes me shiver for the
future of that fairy being. I take it for granted she will
be yoked to some county booby of a squire, a Bob Acres.
Good Lord ! what a prospect ! A jewel of gold in a
swine's snout, as Solomon says.'

' Eve shall never marry one unworthy of her,' said
Ignatius Jordan vehemently. She will be under no con-

EVE

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straint. She will ^)e able to afford to shape her future
according to her fancy. She will be comfortably off.'

* Comfortably off fifty years ago means pinched now,
and pinched now means screwed flat fifty years hence.
Everything is becoming costly. Living is a luxm*y only
for the well-to-do. The rest merely exist under suffer-
ance.'

* Miss Eve will not be pinched,' answered Mr. Jordan,
unconscious that he was being drawn out by the surgeon.

' ' Seventeen years ago I lent fifteen hundred pounds, which
is to be returned to me on Midsummer Day. To that I
can add about five hundred; I have saved something
since — not much, for somehow the estate has not answered
as it did of old.'

* You have two daughters.'

* Oh, yes, there is Barbara,' said Jordan in a tone of
indifference. - Of course she will have something, but
then — she can always manage for herself — with the other
it is different.'

* Are you ill ? ' asked Coy she, suddenly, observing that
Jasper had turned very pale, and dark under the eyes.
* Is the air too strong for you ? '

* No, let me remain here. The sun does me good.'
Mr. Jordan was rather glad of this opportunity of

publishing the fortune he was going to give his younger
daughter. He wished it to be known in the neighbour-
hood, that Eve might be esteemed and sought by suitable
young men. He often said to himself that he could die
content were Eve in a position where she would be happy
and admired.

'When did Miss Eve's mother die?' asked Coyshe
abruptly. Mr. Jordan started.

' Did I say she was dead ? Did I mention her ? '
Coyshe mused, put his hand through his hair and
ruffled it up ; then folded his arms and threw out his
legs.

* Now tell me, squire, are you sure of your money ? '

THE POCKET-BOOK

• What do you mean ? '

*That money you say you lent seventeen years ago.
What are your securities ? '

• The best. The word of an honourable man.'

'- The word I ' Mr. Coyshe whistled. * Words ! What
are words ? '

• Ho offered me a mortgage, but it never came,' said
Mr. Jo-'dan. * Indeed, I never applied for it. I had his
word.'

' If you see the shine of that money again, you are
lucky.' Then looking at Jasper : * My patient is upset
again — I thought the air was too strong for him. He
must be carried in. He is going into a fit.'

Jasper was leaning back against the wall, with dis-
tended eyes, and hands and teeth clenched as with a
spasm.

' No,' said Jasper faintly, * I am not in a fit.'

* You looked much as if going into an attack of lock-
jaw.'

At that moment Barbara came out, and at once noticed
the condition of the convalescent.

* Here,' said she, ' lean on me as you did coming out.
This has been too much for you. Will you help me,
Doctor Coyshe ? '

* Thank you,' said Jasper. * If Miss Jordan will suffer
me to rest on h<^r arm, I will return to my room.'

When he was l^^ack in his arm-chair and the little room
he had occupied, Barbara looked earnestly in his face and
said, ' What has troubled you ? I am sure something has.'

' I am very unhappy,' he answered, ' but you must ask
me no questions.'

Miss Jordan went in quest of her sister. ' Eve,' she
said, ' our poor patient is exhausted. Sit in the parlour
and play and sing, and give a look into his room now and
then. I am busy.'

The slight disturbance had not altered the bent of Mr.
Jordan's thoughts. When Mr. Coyshe rejoined him, which

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EVE

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he did the moment he saw Jasper safe in his room, Mr.
Jordan said, • I cannot believe that I ran any risk with the
money. The man to whom I lent it is honourable. Be-
sides, I have his note of hand acknowledging the debt ;
not that I would use it against him.'

* A man's word,' said Coy she, * is like india-rubber that
can be made into any shape he likes. A word is made up
of letters, and he will hold to the letters and permute
their order to suit his own convenience, not yours. A
man will stick to his word only so long as his word will
stick to him. It depends entirely on which side it is
licked. Hark ! Is that Miss Eve singing ? What a
voice ! Why, if she were trained and on the stage '

Mr. Jordan stood up, agitated and angry.

* I beg your pardon,' said Coyshe. ' Does the sugges-
tion offend you ? I merely threw it out in the event of
the money lent not turning up.'

Just then his eyes fell on something that lay under the
seaL ' What is that ? Have you dropped a pocket-book ? '

A rough large leather pocket-book that was to which
he pointed. Mr. Jordan stooped and took it up. He
examined it attentively and uttered an exclamation of
surprise.

* Well,' said the surgeon mockingly, * is the money
come, dropped from the clouds at your feet ? '

* No,' answered Mr. Jordan, under his breath, * but
this is most extraordinary, most mysterious ! How comes
this case here ? It is the very same which I handed over,
filled wnth notes, to that man seventeen years ago ! See !
there are my initials on it ; there on the shield is my
crest. How comes it liere ? '

' The question, my dear sir, is not how comes it here ?
but what does it contain ? '

* Nothing.'

The surgeon put his hands in his pockets, screwed up
his hps for a whistle, and said, ' 1 foretold this, I am
always right.'

A NlCNT-WATCn

' The money is not due till Midsummer-day.'
'Nor will come till the Greek kalencjs. Poor Miss
Ever

CHAPTER X.

BARBARA'S PETITION.

Midsummer-day was come. Mr. Jordan was in suspense
and agitation. His pale face was more livid and drawn
than usual. The fears inspired by the surgeon had taken
hold of him.

Before the birth of Eve he had been an energetic man,
eager to get all he could out of the estate, but for seven-
teen years an unaccountable sadness had hung over him,
damping his ardour ; his thoughts had been carried away
from his land, whither no one knew, though the results
were obvious enough.

With Barbara he had little in common. She was
eminently practical. He was always in a dream. She
was never on an easy footing with her father, she tried to
understand him and failed, she feared that his brain was
partially disturbt ' Perhaps her efforts to make him out
annoyed him ; at any rate he was cold towards her, with-
out being intentionally unkind. An ever-present restraint
was upon both in each other's presence.

Ai; first, after the disappearance of Eve's mother, things
had gone on upon the oid lines. Christopher Davy had
superintended the farm laoours but as he aged and failed,
and Barbara grew to see r,he necessity for supervision, she
took the managt men: of tb* farm as well as of the house
upon herself. She saw ihat the men dawdled over their
work, and chat the condition of the estite was going back.
The coppices had not been shredded in winter and the oak
wap jjrown into a tangle. The rending for bark in spring
Wa^ doaoie unsystematically. The hedges became ragged,

*, ^-i

■'V
.1

EVE

the ploughs out of order, the thistles were not cut periodi-
cally and preA;»ented from seeding. There were not men
sufficient to do the work that had to be done. She had
not the time to attend to the men as well as the maids, to
the farmyard as well as the house. She had made up her
mind that a proper bailiff must be secured, with authority
to employ as many labourers as the estate required. Bar-
bara was convinced that her father, with his lost, dreamy
head, was incapable of managing their property, even if he
had the desire. Now that the trusty old Davy was ill,
and breaking up, she had none to advise her.

She was roused to anger on Midsummer-day by dis-
covering that the hayrick had never been thatched, and
that it had been exposed to the rain which had fallen
heavily, so that half of it had to be taken down because
soaked, lest it should catch fire or blacken. This was the
result of the carelessness of the men. She determined to
speak to her father at once. She had good reason for
doing so-

Slie found him in his study arranging his specimens of
mundic and peacock copper.

• Has anyone come, asking for me ? ' be said, looking
up with fluttering face from his work.

' No one, father.'

' You startled me, Barbara, coming on me stealthily
from behind. What do you want with me ? You see I
am engaged, and you know I hate to be disturbed.'

* I have something I wish to speak about.'

• "Well, well, say it and go.' His shaking hands re-
sumed their work.

* It is the old story, dear papa. I want you to engage
a steward. It is impossible for us to go on longer in the
way we have. You know how I am kept on the run from
morning to night. I have to look after all your helpless
men, as well as my own helpless maids. When I am in
the field, there is mischief done in the kitchen ; when I
am in the house, the men are smoking and idling on the

BARBARA'S PETITION

scimens

farm. Eve cannot help me in seeing to domestic matters,
she has not the experience. Everything devolves on me.
I do not grudge doing my utmost, but I have not the time
for everything, and I am not ubiquitous.'

* No,' said Mr. Jordan, * Eve cannot undertake any sort
of work. That is an understood thing.'

* I know it is. If I ask her to be sure and recollect
something, she is certain with the best intention:-, to for-
get ; she is a dear beautiful butterfly, not fit to be har-
nessed. Her brains are thistledown, her bones cherry
stalks.'

* Yes, do not crush her spirits with uncongenial work.'

* I do not want to. I know as well as yourself that I
must rely on her for nothing. But the result is that I am
overtasked. Now — will you credit it ? The beautiful hay
that was like green tea is spoiled. Those stupid men did
not thatch it. They said they had no reed, and waited to
comb some till the rain set in. When it did pour, they
were all in the barn talking and making reed, but at the
same time the water was drenching and spoiling the hay.
Oh, papa, I feel disposed to cry ! '

* I will speak to them about it,' said Mr. Jordan, with
a sigh, not occasioned by the injury to his hay, but because
he was disturbed over his specimens.

' My dear papa,' said the energetic Barbara, * I do not
wish you to be troubled about these tiresome matters.
You are growing old, daily older, and your strength is not
gaining. You have other pursuits. You are not heartily
interested in the farm. I see your hand tremble when
you hold your fork at dinnr^r ; you are becoming thinner
every day. I would spare you trouble. It is really neces-
sary, I must have it — you must engage a bailiff. I shall
break down, and that will be the end, or we shall all go to
ruin. The woods are running to waste. There are trees
lying about literally rotting. They ought to be sent away
to the Devonport dockyard where they could be sold. Last
spring, when you let the rending, the barkers shaved a

H'.i

; [

•ha

EVE

whole copse wood, as if shaving a man's chin, instead of
leaving the better sticks standing.'

' We have enough to live on.'

' We must do our duty to the land on which we live.
I cannot endure to see waste anywhere. I have only one
head, one pair of eyes, and one pair of hands. I cannot
think of, see to, and do everything. I lie awake night
after night considering what has to be done, and the day
is too short for me to do all I have determined on in the
night. Whilst that poor gentleman has been ill, I have
had to think of him in addition to everything else ; so
some duties have been neglected. That is how, I suppose,
the doctor came to guess there was a stocking half-darned
under the sofa cushion. Eve was mending it, she tired
and put it away, and of course forgot it. I generally
look about for Eve's leavings, and tidy her scraps when she
has gone to bed, but I have been too busy. I am vexed
about that stocking. How those protruding eyes of the
doctor managed to see it I cannot think. He was, how-
ever, wrong about the saucer of sour milk.'

Mr. Jordan continued nervously sorting his minerals
into little white card boxes.

• Well, papa, are you going to do anything ? '

• Do— do— what ? '

• Engage a bailiff. I am sure we shall gain money by
working the estate better. The bailiff will pay his cost,
and something over.'

' You are very eager for money,' said Mr. Jordan
sulkily ; ' are you thinking of getting married, and anxious
to have a dower ? '

Barbara coloured deeply, hurt and offended.

• This is unkind- of you, papa ; I am thinking of Eve.
I think only of her. You ought to know that ' — the tears
came into her eyes. ' Of course Eve will marry some
day ; ' then she laughed, ' no one will ever come for
me.'

• To b? sure,' said Mr. Jordan.

BARBAkA'S PETITION

'I have been thinking, papa, that Eve ought to be
sent to some very nice lady, or to some very select school,
where she might have proper finishing. All she has learnt
has been from me, and I have had so much to do, and I
have been so unable to be severe with Eve — that — tha.t —
I don't think she has learned much except music, to
which she takes instinctively as a South Sea islander to
water.'

* I cannot be parted from Eve. It would rob my sky
of its sun. "What would this house be with only you — I
mean without Eve to brighten it ? '

* If you will think the matter over, father, you will see
that it ought to be. We must consider Eve, and not our-
selves. I would not have her, dear heart, anywhere but
in the very best school, — hardly a school, a place where
only three or four young ladies are taken, and they of the
best families. That will cost money, so we must put our
shoulders to the wheel, and push the old coach on.' She
laid her hands on the back of her father's chair and leaned
over his shoulder. She had been standing behind him.
Did she hope he would kiss her? If so, her hope was
vain.

' Do, dear papa, engage an honest, superior sort of
man to look after the farm. I will promise to make a
great deal of money with my dairy, if he will see to the
cows in the fields. Try the experiment, and, trust me, it
will answer.'

* All in good time.'

* No, papa, do not put this off. There is another reason
why I speak. Christopher Davy is bedridden. You are
sometimes absent, then we girls are left alone in this great
house, all day, and occasionally nights as well. You know
there was no one here on that night when the accident
happened. There were two men in this house, one, in-
deed, insensible. We know nothing of them, who they
were, and what they were about. How can you tell that
bad characters may not come here ? It is thought that

tir.^

:|,.. .._.,.

EVE

i II'

you have saved money, and it is known that Morwell is
unprotected. You, papa, are so frail, and with your
shaking hand a gun would not he dangerous.'

He started from his chair and upset his specimens.

' Do not speak like that,' he said, trembling.

* There, I have disturbed you even by alluding to it.
If you were to level a gun, and had your finger '

He put his hand, a cold, quivering hand, on her lips :
'For God's sake — silence ! ' he said.

She obeyed. She knew how odd her father was, yet
his agitation now was so (jreat that it surprised her. It
made h^r more resolute to carry her point.

' Papa, you are expecting to have about two thousand
pounds in the house. Will it be safe? You have told
the doctor, and that man, our patient, heard you. Excuse
my saying it, but I think it was not well to mention it
before a perfect stranger. You may have told others. Mr.
Coyshe is a chatterbox, he may have talked about it
throughout the neighbourhood — the fact may be Imown to
everyone, that to-day you are expecting to have a lai^'^e
sum of money brought you. Well — who is to guard it ?
Are fiere no needy and unscrupulous men in the county
who. would rob the house, and maybe silence an old
man and two girls who stood in their way to a couple of
thousand pounds ? '

' The sum is large. It must be hidden away,' said Mr.
Jordan, uneasily. * I had not considered the danger ' — ^he
paused — * if it be paid '

* If, papa ? I thought you were sure of it.'

' Yes, quite sure ; only Mr. Coyshe disturbed me by
suggesting doubts.'

* Oh, the doctor I ' exclaimed Barbara, shrugging her
shoul4ers.

* Well, the doctor,' repeated Mr. Jordan, captiously.
* He is a very able man. Wljy 4o you turn up jour nose
at him ? He can see through a stone wall, and under a
cushion to where a stocking is hidden, and under a

tforwell is
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under a

BARBARA'S PETITION

7«

cupboard to where a saucer of sour milk is thrust away ;
and he can see into the human body through the flash
and behind the bones, and can tell you where every nerve
and vein is, and what is wrong with each. When things
are wrong, then it is like stockings and saucers where they
ought not to be in a house.'

* He was wrong about the saucer of sour milk, utterly
wrong,' persisted Barbara.

«^ ' I hope and trust the surgeon was wrong in his fore-
cast about the money — but my heart fails me '

* He was wrong about the saucer,' said the girl en-
couragingly.

'But he was right about the stocking,' said her father
dispiritedly.

CHAPTER XI.

GEANTED !

As the sun declined, Mr. Jordan became uneasy. He
could not remain in his study. He could not rest any-
where. The money had not been returned. He had
taken out of his strong box Ezekiel Babb's acknowledg-
ment and promise of payment, but he knew that iii was so
much waste-paper to him. He could rot or would not
proceed against the borrower. Had he not wronged him
cruelly by living with his daughter as if she were his wife,
without having been legally married to her ? Could he
take legal proceedings for the recovery of his money, and
so bring all the ugly story to light and publish it to the
world ? He had let M^.'. Babb have the money to pacify
him, and make some amends for the wiong he had done.
No ! If Mr. Babb did not voluntarily return the money,
Ignatius Jordan foresaw that it was lost to him, lost to
Eve, and poor Eve's future was unprovided for. The
estate must go to Barbara, that is, the reversion in the
teaurs of it ; the y eady pip»ey lj§ }i^4 i^tQ^ded for Eve,

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EVE

Mr. Jordan felt a bitterness rise in his heart against Bar-
bara, whoBv*^ future was assured, whilst that of Eve was
not. He would have liked to leave Morwell to his younger
daughter, but he was not sure that the Duke would approve
of this, and he was quite sure that Eve was incompetent
to manage a farm and dairy.

At the time of which we treat, it was usual for every
squire to farm a portion of his own estate, his manor
house was backed with extfinsive outbuildings for cattle,
and his wife and daughters were not above superintending
the dairy. Indeed, an ancestress of the author took farm
after farm into her '^wn hands as the leases fell in, and at
last farmed the entire parish. She died in 1795. The
Jordans were not squires, but perpetual tenants under the
Dukes of Bedford, o^ 1 had been received by the country
gentry on an equal .ooting, till Mr. Jordan compromised
his character by his union with Eve's mother. The estate
of Morwell was a large one for one man to farm ; if the
Duke had exacted a large rent, J. late years Mr Jordan
would have fallen into arrears, but the Duke had not
raised his rent at thu last renewal. The Dukes were the
most indulgent of landlords.

Mr. Jordan came into the hall. It was the same as
it had been seventeen years before ; the same old clock
was there, ticking in the same tone, the same scanty fur-
niture of a few chairs, the same slate floor. Only the
cradle was no longer to be seen. The red light smote into
the room just as it had seventeen years before. There
against the wall it painted a black cross as it had done
seventeen years ago.

Ignatius Jordan looked up over the great fireplace.
Above it hung the musket he had been cleaning when
Ezekiel Babb entered. It had not been taken down and
used since that day. Seventeen years ! It was an age.
The little babe that had lain in the cradle was now a
beautiful marriageable maiden. Time had made its mark
upon himself. His back v/as more bent, his hand more

GRANTED!

shaky, his walk less steady ; a careful, thrifty man had
been converted into an abstracted, half-crazed dreamer.
Seventeen years of gnawing caru and ceaseless sorrow ! How
had he been ftble to bear it ? Only by the staying wings of
love, of lovi; for his little Eve for her child. Without
his Eve, her child, long ago he would have stmk and been
swallowed up, the clouds of derangement of intellect would
have descended on his brain, or his bodily health would
have given way.

Seventeen years ago, on Midsummer-day, there had
stood on the little folding oak table under the window x
tumbler full of china roses, which were drooping, and had
shed their leaves over the polished, almost black, table
top. They had been picked some days before by his wife.
Now, in the same place stood a glass, and in it were roses
from the same tree, not drooping, but fresh and glistening,
placed that morning therfe by her daughter. His eye
sought the clock. At five o'clock, seventeen years ago,
Ezekiel Babb had come into that hall through that door-
way, and had borrowed his money. The clock told that
the time was ten minutes to five. If Mr. Babb did not
appear to the hour, he would abandon the expectation of
seeing him. He must make a journey to Buckfastleigh
over the moor, a long day's journey, and seek the
defaulter, and know the reason why the loan was not
repaid.

He thought of the pocket-book on the gravel. How
came it there ? Who could have brought it ? Mr. Jordan
was too fully impressed with belief in the supernatural not
to suppose it was dropped at his feet as a wai ling that liis
money was gone.

Mr. Jordan's eyes were fixed on the clock. The works
began to whir-r. Then followed the strokes. One — two
— three — four — Five.

At the last stroke the door of Jasper's sickroom opened,
and the convalescent slowly entered the hall and con-
f]:ontQd his host.

:* r

!i Hi

■ ■ -il

»> II

I ■:>?,

:^m

EVE

W P

The last week had wrought wonders in the man. He
had rapidly recovered flesh and vigour after his wounds
were healed.

As he entered, and his eyes met those of Mr. Jordan,
the latter felt that a messenger from Ezekiel Babb stood
before him, and that his money was not forthcoming.

* Well, sir ? ' he said.

* I am Jasper, the eldest son of Ezekiel Babb, of Owla-
combe in Buckfastleigh,' he said. * My father borrowed
money of you this day seventeen years ago, and solemnly
swore on this day to repay it.'

'Well?'

' It is not well. I have not got the money.*

A moan of disappointment broke from the heart of
Ignatius Jordan, then a spasm of rage, such as might seize
on a madman, transformed his face ; his eye blazed, and
he sprang to his feet and ran towards Jasper. The latter,
keeping his eye on him, said firmly, * Listen to me, Mr.
Jordan. Pray sit down again, and I will explain to you
why my father has not sent the money.'

Mr. Jordan hesitated. His face quivered. With his
raised hand he would have struck Jasper, but the com-
posure of the latter awed him. The paroxysm passed,
and he sank into his chair, and gave way to depression.

* My father is a man of honour. He gave you his
word, and he intended to keep it. He borrowed of you a
large sum, and he laid it out in the purchase of some land.
He has been fairly prosperous. He saved money enough
to repay the debt, and perhaps more. As the time drew
nigh for repayment he took the sum required from the
bank in notes, and locked them in his bureau. Others
knew of this. My father was not discreet : he talked
about the repayment, he resented having to make it, com-
plained that he would be reduced to great straits with-
out it.'

* The money was not his, but mine.'

•I know that,' m^ Jpper, sorrowfully, 'But my

i II „,

1: 2

GRANTED!

father has always been what is termed a close man, has
thought much of money, and cannot boar to part witli it.
I do not say that this justifies, but it explains, his dissatis-
faction. He is an old man, and becoming feeble, and
clings through force of habit to his money.'

* Go on ; nothing can justify him.'

* Others knew of his money. One day he was at
Totnes, at a great cloth fair. He did not return till the
following day. During his absence his bureau was broken
open, and the money stolen.'

* Was the thief not caught ? Was the money not re-
covered ? ' asked Mr. Jordan, trembling with excitement.

* The money was in part recovered.'

* Where is it ? '

' Listen to what follows. You asked if the — the person
who took the money was caught. He was.'
' Is he in prison ? '

* The person who took the money was caught, tried,
and sent to jail. When taken, some of the money was
found about him ; he had not spent it all. What remained
I was bringing you.'

' Give it me.'

* I have not got it.*

' You have not got it ? *

' No, I have lost it.'

Again did Mr. Jordan start np in a fit of rage. He
ground his teeth, and the sweat broke out in drops on his
brow.

*I had the money with me when the accident hap-
pened, and I was thrown from my horse, and became uncon-
scious. It was lost or taken then.'

* Who was your companion ? He must have robbed
you.'

* I charge no one. I alone am to blame. The money
was entrusted to my keeping.'

* Why did your father give you the money before the
appointed day ? '

('•

EVE

* When my father recovered part of the money,
he would no longer keep it in his possession, lest he
should again lose it ; so he bade me take it to you at
once.'

* You have spent the money, you have spent it your-
self ! ' cried Mr. Jordan wildly.

* If I had done this, should I have come to you to-day
with this confession? I had the money in the pocket-book
in notes. The notes were abstracted from the book. As
I was so long insensible, it was too late to stop them at
the bank. Whoever took them had time to change them
all.'

' Cursed be the day I lent the money,' m.oaned Igna-
tius Jordan. * The empty, worthless case returns, the
precious contents are gone. What is the shell without the
kernel ? My Evo, my Eve ! ' He clasped his hands over
his brow.

' And now once more hearken to me,' pursued Jasper.
* My father cannot immediately find the money that he
owes you. He does not know of this second loss. I have
not communicated with him since I met with my accident.
The blame attaches to me. I must do what I can to make
amends for my carelessness. I put myself into your hands.
To repay you now, my father would have to sell the land
he bought. I do not think he could be persuaded to do
this, though, perhaps, you might be able to force him to it.
However, as you say the money is for your daughter, will
you allow it to lie where it is for a while ? I will under-
take, should it come to ma after my father's death, to sell
it or transfer it, so as to make up to Miss Eve at the rate
of five per cent, on the loan. I will do more. If jou will
consent to this, I will stay here and work for you. I have
been trained in the country, and know about a farm. I
will act as your foreman, overlooker, or baiHff. I will put
my hand to anything. Reckon what my wage would be.
Reckon at the end of a yoar whether I have not earned my
wage and much more. If you like, I will work for you as

GRANTED!

your-

long as my father lives ; I will serve you now faithfully as
no hired bailiff would serve you. My presence here will be
a guarantee to you that I wil' be true to my undertaking
to repay the whole sum with interest. I can see that this
estate needs an active man on it ; and you, sir, are too
advanced in age, and too much given up to scientitic pur-
suits, to cope with what is required.'

Those words, ' scientific pursuits,' softened Mr. Jordan.
Jasper spoke in good j'lith ; he had no idea how worthless
those pursuits were, how little true science entered into
them. He knew that Mr. Jordan made mineralogical
studies, and he supposed they were well directed.

* Order me to do what you will,' said Jasper, ' and I
will do it, and will double your gains in the year.'

* I accept,' said Ignatius Jordan. ' There is no help for
it. I must accept or be plundered of all.'

* You accept ! let us join hands on the bargain.'

It was strange ; as once before, seventeen years ago,
hands had met in the golden {[leam of sun that shot
through the window, ratifying a, contract, so was it now.
The hands clasped in the sunbeam, and the reflected light
from their illuminated hands smote up into the faces of the
two men, both pale, one with years and care, the other with
sickness.

Mr. Jordan withdrew his hand, clasped both palms
over his face and wept. * Thus it comes,' he said. • The
shadow is on me and on my child. One sorrow follows
another.'

At that moment Barbara and Eve entered from the
court.

* Eve ! Eve ! ' cried the father excitedly, * come to me,
my angel ! my ill-treated child ! my martyr ! ' He caught her
to his heart, put his face on her shoulder, and sobbed.
* My darling, you have had your money stolen, the money
put away for you when you were in the cradle.'

' Who has stolen it, papa ? ' asked Barbara.

* Look there ! ' he cried ; ' Jasper Babb was bringing

if, I

■ i'

EVE

1 1 ill

me the money, and when he fell from his horse, it was
stolen.'

Neither Barbara nor Eve spoke.

* Now,' continued Mr. Jordan, ' he has oiTered himself
as my hind to look after the farm for me, and promises, if
I give him time '

* Father, you have refused ! ' interrupted Barbara.
'On the contrary, I have accepted.'

* It cannot, it must not be ! ' exclaimed Barbara vehe-
mently. * Father, you do not know what you have
done.'

' This is strange language to be addressed by a child to
a father,' said Mr. Jordan in a tone of irritation. ' Was
there ever so unreasonable a girl before ? This morning
you pressed me to engage a bailiff, apd now that Mr.
Jasper Babb has volunteered, and I have accepted him, you
turn round and won't have him.'

* No,' she said, with quick-drawn breath, * I will not.
Take anyone but him. I entreat you, papa. If you have
any regard for my opinipn, let him go. For pity's sake do
not allow him to remain here ! '

* 1 have accepted him,' said her father coldly. * Pray
what weighty reasons have you got to induce me to alter
piy resolve ? '

Miss Jordan stood thinking ; the colour mounted to
her forehead, then her brows contracted. * I have none
to give,' she said in a low tone, greatly confused, with her
eyes on the ground. Then, in a moment, she recovered
her self-possession and looked Jasper full in the face, but
without speaking, steadily, sternly. In fact, her heart was
beating so fast, and her breatii coming so quick, that she
could not speak. ' Mr. Jasper,' she said at length, con-
trolling her emotions by a strong effort of will, ' I entreat
you— go.'

He was silent.

* I have nursed you ; I have given my nights and days
to you. You confessed that I had saved your life. If you

^^mmis^z

GRANTED /

have any gratitude in your heart, if you have any respect
for the house that has sheltered you— go ! '

* Barbara,' said her father, ' you are a perverse girl.
He shall not go. I insist on his fulfilling his engagement.'
If he leaves -I shall take legal proceedings against his father
to recover the money.'

* Do that rather than retain him.'

' Miss Jordan,' said Jasper, slowly, and with sadness
in his voice, ' it is true that you have saved my life. Your
kind hand drew me from the brink of the grave whither I
was descending. I thank you with all my heart, but I
cannot go from my engagement to your father. Through
my fault the money was lost, and I must make what
amends I may for my negligence.'

* Go back to your father.'
' That I cannot do.'

She considered with her hand over her lips to hide her
agitation. ' No,' she said, ' I understand that. Of course
you cannot go back to your native place and to your home ;
but you need not stay here.' Then suddenly, in a burst of
passion, she extended her hands to her father, * Papa ! ' —
then to the young man, * Mr. Jasper ! — Papa, send him
away ! Mr. Jasper, do not remain ! '

The young man was hardly less agitated than herself.
He took a couple of steps towards the door.

' Stuff and fiddlesticks ! ' shouted Mr. Jordan. ' He
shall not go. I forbid him.'

Jasper turned. * Miss Barbara,' he said, humbly,
•you are labouring under a mistake which I must not
explain. Forgive me. I stay.'

She looked at him with moody anger, and muttored,
' Knowing what you do — that I am not blind— that you
should dare to settle here under this honourable roof. It
is unjust ! it is ungrateful I it is wicked ! God help us !
J have done what J could,'

■s.

EVE

i 'I

CHAPTER XII.

CALLED AWAY.

Jasper was installerl in Morwell as bailiflf in spite of the
remonstrances of Barbara. He was given a room near
the gatehouse, and was attended by Mrs. Davy, but he
came for his dinner to the table o^ the Jordans. Barbara
had done what she could to pr ent his becoming an
inmate of the house. She might ot tell her father her
real reasons for objecting to the arri„ngement.

She was rendered more uneasy a day or two after by
receiving news that an aunt, a sister of her mother, who
lived beyond Dartmoor, was dying, and she was summoned
to receive her last sigh. She must leave Morwell, leave
her father and sister in the house with 8 ^an whom she
thoroughly mistrusted. Her only comfort . that Jasper
was not sufficiently strong and well to be dangerous.
What was he ? "Was there any truth in that story he had
told her father? She could not believe it, because it
would not fit in with what she already knew. What place
had the convict's garb in that tale ? She turned the nar-
rative about in her mind, and rejected it. She was in-
clined to disbelieve in Jasper being the son of old Mr.
Babb. He had assumed the name and invented the story
to deceive her father, and form an excuse for remaining in
the house.

She hardly spoke to Jasper when they met. She was
cold and haughty, she did not look at him ; and he made
no advances to gain her goodwill.

When she received the summons to her aunt's death-
bed, knowing that she must go, she asked where Mr. Babb
was, and, hearing that he was in the \. rn, -vyont thither
with the letter in her hand.

He had been examining the horse wijued wiiujowmg

iiiiiil

lii ill

'"'^""^wm^^

CALLED AWAY

machine, which was out of order. As she came to the
door he looked up and removed his hat, making a formal
salute. The day w.,ri Lot ; he had been taking the machine
to pieces, and was warm, so he had removed his coat. He
at once drew it on his back again.

Barbara had a curt, almost roflgh, manner at times
She was vexed now, and angry with him, so she spoke
shortly, * I am summoned to Ashburton. That is close to
Buckfastleigh, where, you say, you lived, to make my
father believe it is your home.'

' Yes, Miss Jordan, that is true.'

' You have not written to your home since you have
been with us. At least — ' she hesitated, and slightly
coloured — ' you have sent no letter by our boy. Perhaps
you were afraid to have it known where you are. No
doubt you were right. It is e^^sential to you th. ^our
presence here should not be known to anyone but your
father. A letter might be opened, or let lie about, and so
your whereabouts be discovered. Supposing your story to
be true, that is how I account for your silence. If it be
false '

' It is not false, Miss Jordan.'

' I am going to Ashburton, I will assure myself of
it there. If it be false I shall break my promise to you,
and tell my father everything. I give you fair warning.
If it I . true '

* It is true, dear young lady.'

* Do not be afraid of my disck^.t ng your secret, and
putting yea in peril.'

' I am sure you cannot do that,' he said, with a smile
that was sad. * If you go to Buckfastleigh, Miss Jordan,
I shall venture to send word by you to my father where I
am, that the money is lost, and what I have undertaken.'

Barbara tossed her head, and flashed an indignant
glance at him out of her brown eyes.

* I cannot, I \

What lies?

not ^rv a portey of Ues,

:, ^«l

B I

P^ls-

EVE

' You did not lose the money. "Why deceive me ? I
know your object in lurking here, in the most out-of-the-
way nook of England you could find. You think that
here you are safe from pursuit. You made up the story
to impose on my father, and induce him to engage you.
0, you are very honourable ! discharging a debt ! — I hate
crime, but I hate falsehood even more.'

* You are mistaken, Miss Jordan. The story is true.'

* You have told the whole honest truth ? '

' I do not profess to have told the whole truth. What
I have told has been true, though I have not told all.'

* A pinch of truth is often more false than a bushel
of lies. It deceives, the other does not.'

' It is true that I lost the money confided to me. If
you are going to Ashburton, I ask you, as a nii Uer of kind-
ness — I know how kind you can be, alas, and I know also
how cruel — to see my father.'

She laughed haughtily. ' This is a fine proposition.
The servant sends the mistress to do his dirty work. I
thank you for the honour.' She turned angrily away.

* Miss Barbara,' said Jasper, ' you are indeed cruel.'

* Am I cruel ? ' She turned and faced him again, with
a threatening brow. * I have reason to be just. Cruel I
am not.'

* You were all gentleness at one time, when I was ill.
Now '

' I will not dispute with you. Do you expect to be fed
with a spoon still ? When ^ ou were ill I treated you as a
patient, not more kindly than I would have treated my
deadliest enemy. I acted as duty prompted. There was
no one else to take care of you, that was my motive — my
only motive.'

' When I think of your kindness then, I wish I were
sick again.'

* A mean and wicked wish. Tired already, I suppose,
pf doing honest work.'

* Miss Barbara,' he said, * praj^ Jet m^ speaki'

CALLED AWAY

* Cruel,' — she recurred to what he had said before,
without listening to his entreaty. 'It is you who are
cruel coming here — you, with the ugly stain on your life,
coming here to hide it in this innocent household. Would
it not be cruel in a man with the plague poison in him to
steal into a home of harmless women and children, and
give them all the pestilence ? Had I suspected that you
intended making Morwell your retreat and skulking den,
I would never have passed my promise to keep silence. I
would have taken the hateful evidence of what you are in
my hand, and gone to the first constable and bid him
arrest you in your bed.'

* No,' said Jasper, * you would not have done it. I
know you better than you know yourself. Are you lost to
all humanity? Surely you feel pity in your gentle bosom,
notwithstanding your bitter words.'

* No,' she answered, with flushed cheeks and sparkling
eyes, * no, I have pity only for myself, because I was weak
enough to take pains to save your worthless life.'

* Miss Jordan,' he said, looking sorrowfully at her —
and her eyes fell — * surely I have a right to ask some pity
of you. Have you considered what the temptations must
be that beset a young man who has been roughly handled
at home, maltreated by his father, reared without love — a
young man with a soul bounding with hopes, ambition,
love of life, with a heart for pleasure, all which are beaten
back and trampled down by the man who ought to direct
them ? Can you not understand how a lad who has been
thwarted in every way, without a mother to soothe him in
trouble, and encourage him in good, driven desperate by a
father's harshness, may break away and transgress ? C3n-
sider the case of one who has been taught that everything
beautiful — laughter, delight in music, in art, in nature,
a merry gambol, a joyous v/arble — is sinful ; is it not likely
that the outlines of right and wrong would be so blurred
in his conscience, that lie might lapse into crime without
criminal intent ? '

flf-i

1
i

!-lh'

EVE

i|i';i!jrii"

' Are you speaking of yourself, or are you excusing
another ? '

* I am putting a case.'

Barbara sighed involuntarily. Her own father had
been unsympathetic. He had never been actually severe,
he had been indifferent.

* I can see that there were temptations to one so situ-
ated to leave his home,' she answered, 'but this is not a
case of truancy, but of crime.'

* You judge without knowing the circumstances.'

' Then tell me all, that I may form a more equitable
judgment.'

* I cannot do that now. You shall be told — later.'
' Then I must judge by what I know '

* By what you guess,' he said, correcting her.

' As you will.' Her eyes were on the ground. A
white spar was there. She turned it over with her foot,
and turned it again.

She hesitated what to say.

' Should you favour me so far as to visit my father,'
said Jasper, • I beg of you one thing most earnestly. Do
not mention the name of my companion — Martin.'

* Why not ? '

* He may siiHpect him of having robbed me. My father
is an energetic, resolute man. He might pursue him, and
I alone am to blame. I lost the money.'

* Who was that Martin ? '

* Uo told you — that I was nothing to him.'
' Then why do you seek to screen him ? '

* Can I say that he took the money ? If my father gets
him arrested — I shall be found.'

Barbara laughed bitterly.

* Of course, the innocent must not be brought into sus-
picion because he has ridden an hour alongside of the
guilty. No ! I will say nothing of Martin.'

She was still turning over the piece of spar with her
foot. It sparkled in the sun.

r|: %

CALLED AWAY

* How are you going to Ashburton, Miss Jordan ? '

* I ride, and little John Ostler rides with me, conveying
my portmanteau.'

Then she trifled with the spar again. There was some
peacock copper on it that glistened with all the colours of
the rainbow. Abruptly, at length, she turned away and
went indoors.

Next morning early she came in her liiibit to the gate
where the boy who was to accompany her held the horses.
She had not seen Jasper that morning, but sli' knew where
ho was. He had gone along the lane toward the common
to set the men to repair fences and hedges, as the cattle
that strayed on the waste-land had broken into the wheat
field.

She rode along the lane in meditative mood. She saw
Jasper awaiting her on the down, near an old quarry, the
rubble heap from which was now blazing with gorse in full
bloom. She drew rein, and said, ' I am going to Ash-
burton. I will take your message, not because you asked
me, but because I doubt the truth of your story.'

* Very well. Miss Jordan,' he said respectfully ; * I
thank you, whatever your motive may be.'

* I expect and desire no thanks,' she answered, and
whipped her horse, that started forward.

* I wish you a favourable journey,' he said. ' Good-
bye.'

She did not turn her head or respond. She was very
angry with him. She stooped over her pommel and
buckled the strap of the little pocket in the leather for her
kerchief. But, before she had ridden far, an intervening
gorse bush forced her to bend her horse aside, and then she
looked back, without appearing to look, looked back out of
her eye-corners. Jasper stood where she had left him,
with his hat in his hand.

f .'■ t

EVE

i'iier

CHAPTER Xin.

MR. BABB AT HOME.

A LOVELY July day in the fresh air of Dartmoor, that
seems to sparkle as it enters the lungs : fresh, but given a
sharpness of salt : pure, but tinged with the sweetness of
heather bloom and the honey of gorse. Human spirits
bound in this air. The scenery of Dartmoor, if bare of
trees, is wildly picturesque with granite masses and bold
mountain peaks. Barbara could not shake off the anxiety
that enveloped her spirits like the haze of a valley till she
rose up a long ascent of three miles from the wooded valley
of the Tavy to the bald, rock- strewn expanse of Dartmoor.
She rode on, attended by her little groom, till she reached
Prince's Town, the highest point attained by the road,
where, in a desolate plain of bog, but little below the cresta
of some of the granite tors, stands a prison surrounded by
a few mean houses. From Prince's Town Barbara would
have a rough moor-path, not a good road, before her ; and,
as the horses were exhausted with their long climb, she
halted at the little inn, and ordered some dinner for herself,
and required that the boy and the horses should be attended
to.

Whilst ham and eggs — nothing else was procurable — •
were beirj^ fried, Barbara walked along the road to the
prison, and looked at the gloomy, rugged gate built of un-
trimmed granite blocks. The unbroken desolation swept
to the very walls of the prison.* At that height the wind
moans among the rocks and rushes mournfully ; the air is
never still. The landlady of the inn came to her.

* That is the jail,' she said. * There was a prisoner
broke out not long ago, and he has not yet been caught.

1 The author has allowed himself a slight anachronism. The
prison was not a convict establishment at the period of this tale.

MR. BABB AT HOME

ITow he managed it none can tell. Where ho now is no
one knows. He may be still wandering on the Tiioor.
Every road from it is watched. Porhaps he miiy ^ivo him-
self up, finding escape impossible. If not, he ^\ill die of
hunger among the rocks.'

* What was the crime for which hu was here ? ' asked
Barbara ; but she spoke with an effort.

' He was a bad man ; it was no ordinary wickedness he
committed. He robbed his own father.'

' His own father ! ' echoed Barbara, starting.

•Yes, lu robbed him of nigh on two thousand pounds.
The father acted sharp, and had him caught before he had
spent all the money. The assizes were next week, so it
was quick work ; and here he was for a few days, and then
— he got away.'

* 1 iobbed his own father ! ' murmured Barbara, and
now she thought she saw more ck\.rly than before into a
matter that looked blacker the more she saw.

' There's a man in yonder who set fire to his house to
get the insurance. Folks say his house was but a rum-
magy old place. 'Tis a pity. Now, if he had got away it
would not have mattered ; but, a rascal who did not re-
spect his own father ! — not that I hold with a man prose-
cuting his own son. That was hard. Still, if one was to
escape, I don't see why the Lord blessed the undertaking
of the man who robbed his father, and turned His face
away from him who only fired his house to get the
insurance.'

The air ceased to sparkle as Miss Jordan rode the
second stage of her journey ; the sun was less bright, the
fragrance of the gorse less sweet. She did not spealf to
her young groom the whole way, but rode silently, with
compressed lips and moody brow. The case was worse
than she had anticipated. Jasper had robbed his father,
and all that story of his coming as a messenger from Mr.
Babb with the money was false.

One evening, unattended, Barbara Jordan rode to

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33 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

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EVE

Buckfastleigh, asked for the house of Mr. Babb, and dis-
mounted at the door. The house was a plain, ugly, square
modem erection, almost an insult to the beauty of the
surroundings. The drive from the entrance gate was
grass-grown. There was a stucco porch. The door was
painted drab, and the paint was blistered, and had flaked
off. The house also was mottled. It had been painted
over plaster and cement, and the paint had curled and
come off in patches. The whole place had an uncared-for
look. There were no flower beds, no creepers against the
walls ; the rain-shoots to the roof were choked, and the
overflowing water had covered the walls where it reached
with slime, black and green. At the back of tlie house
was a factory, worked by a water-wheel, for cloth, and a
gravel well-trodden path lod from the back door of the
house to the factory.

Barbara had descended from her cob to open the gate
into the drive ; and she walked up to the front door, lead-
ing her horse. There she rang the bell, but had doubts
whether the wire were sound. She waited a long time,
and no one responded. She tried the bell agam, and then
rapped with the handle of her whip against the door.

Then she saw a face appear at a side window, observe
her and withdraw. A moment after, a shuffling tread
sounded in the hall, chains and bolts were undone, the
door was cautiously opened, and in it stood an old man
with whito hair, and black b^ady eyes.

' What do you want ? Who are you ? ' he asked.

' Am I speaking to Mr. Babb ? '

* Yes, you are.'

* May I have a few words with you in private ? *

' Oh, there is no one in the house, except my house-
keeper, and she is deaf. You can say what you want
here.'

' Who is there to take my horse ? ' •

* You can hold him by the bridle, and talk to me where
you stand. There's no occasion for you to come in.'

MR. BABB AT HOME

«9

Barbara saw into the hall ; it was floored with stone,
the Buckfastleigh marble, but unpolished. The walls had
been papered with glazed imitation panelling, but the
paper had peeled off, and hung in strips. A chair with
wooden seat, that had not been wiped Tor weeks, a set of
coat and hat pegs, some broken, on one a very discoloured
great coat and a battered hat. In a corner a bulging green
umbrella, the silk detached from the whalebone.

' You Eee,' said the old man grimly, half turning, as
he noticed that Barbara's eyes were observing the interior ;
'you see, this is no place for ladies. It is a weaving
spider's web, not a gallant's bower.'

< But ' the girl hesitated, ' what I have to say is

very particular, and I would not be overheard on any
account.'

' Ah I ah ! ' he giggled, ' I'll have no games played with
me. I'm no longer susceptible to fascination, and jI ain't
worth it ; on my sacred word I'm not. I m very poor,
very poor now. You can see it for yourself. Is this house
kept up, and the garden ? Does the hall look like a lap of
luxury ? I'm too poor to be a catch, so you may go away.'

Barbara would have laughed had not the nature of her
visit been so serious.

' I am Miss Jordan,' she said, ' daughter of Mr. Jordan
of Morwell, from whom you borrowed money seventeen
years ago.'

' Oh t ' he gave a start of surprise. ' Ah, well, I have
sent back as much as I could spare. Some was stolen. It
is not convenient to me after this reverse to find all now.'

* My father has received nothing. What you sent was
lost or stolen on the way.'

The old man's jaw fell, and he stared blankly at her.
' It is as I say. My father has received nothing.'

* I sent it by my son.'

* He has lost it.'

* It is false. He has stolen it*

* What is to be done ? '

><•, .

I. '

EVE

* Oh, that is for your father to decide. When my son
robbed me, I locked him up. Now let your father see to it.
I have done my duty, my conscience is clear.'

Barbara looked steadily, with some curiosity, into his
face. The face was repulsive. The strongly marked fea-
tures which might have been handsome in youth, were ex-
aggerated by age. His white hair was matted and un-
combed. He had run his fingers through it whilst engaged
on his accounts, and had divided it into rat's-tails. His
chin and jaws were frouzy with coarse white bristles. In
his black eyes v/as a keen twinkle of avarice and cunning.
Old age and the snows of the winter of life soften a harsh
face, if there be any love in it ; but in this there was none.
If a fire had burnt on the hearth of the old man's heart,
not a spark remained alive, the hearth was choked with
grey ashes. Barbara traced a resemblance between the
old man and his son. From his father, Jasper had derived
his aquiline nose, and the shape of mouth and chin. But
the expression of the faces was different. That of Jasper
was noble, that of his father mean. The eyes of the son
were gentle, those of Mr. Babb hard as pebbles that had
been polished.

As Barbara talked with and observed the old man she
recalled what Jasper had said of ill-treatment and lack of
love. There was no tenderness to be got out of such a
man as that before her.

•Now look you here,' said Mr. Babb. 'Do you see
that stretch of field yonder where the cloth is strained in
the sun ? Very well. That cloth is mine. It is woven in
my mill yonder. That field was purchased seventeen years
ago for my accommodation. I can't repay the money now
without selling the factory or the field, and neither is worth
a shilling without the other. No — we must all put up with
losses. I have mine ; the Lord sends your father his. A
wise Providence orders all that. Tell him so. His heart
has been hankering after mammon, and now Heaven has
deprived him of it. I've had losses too. I've learned to

MR. BABB AT HOME

bear them. So must he. What is your name ? — ^I mean
your Christian name ? *

* Barbara.'

' Oh ! not Eve — dear, no. You don't look as if that
were your name.'

' Eve is my sister — my half-sister.' ,

' Ah» ha! the elder daughter. And what has become of
the little one ? '

' She is well, at home, and beautiful as she is good.
She is not at all like me.'

* That is a good job — for you. I mean, that you are not
like her. Is she lively ? '

* Oh, like a lark, singing, dancing, merry.'

' Of course, thoughtless, Hght, a feather that flies and
tosses in the breath.'

* To return to the money. It was to have been my
sister's.'

* Well,' said the old man with a giggle, ' let it so re-
main. It was to have be^a. Now it cannot be. Whose
fault is that? Not mine. I kept the money for your
father. I am a man of my word. When I make a cove-
nant I do not break it. But my son — my son! '

* Your son is now with us.'

* You say he has stolen the money. Let your father
not spare him. There is no good in being lenient. Be
just. When my son robbed me, I did not spare him. I will
not lift a little finger to save Jasper, who now, as you say,
has robbed your father. Wait where you are ; I will run
in, and write something, which will perhaps satisfy Mr.
Jordan ; wait here, you cannot enter, or your horee would
run away. What did you give for that cob ? not much.
Do you want to sell him ? I don't mind ten pounds. He's
not worth more. See how he hangs his o£f hind leg. That's
a blemish that would stand in your way of selling. Would
you like to go. over the factory ? No charge, you can tip
the foreman a shilling. No cloth weaving your way, only
wool growing ; and— judging from what I saw of your

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EVE

father — wool-gathering.' With a cackle the old maD slipped
in and shut the door in Barbara's face.

Miss Jordan stood patting the neck of her disparaged
horse. ' You are not to be parted with, are yon, Jock, to
an old skinflint who would starve you ? '

• The cob put his nose on her shoulder, and rubbed it.
She looked round. Everything spoke of sordidness, only
the factory seemed cared for, where money was made.
None was wasted on the adornment, even on the decencies,
of life.

The door opened. Mr. Babb had locked it after him
as he went in. He came out with a folded letter in his
hand.

' Here,' he said, ' give that to your father.'

' I must tell you, Mr. Babb, that your son Jasper is
with us. He professes to have lost the money. He met
with an accident and was nearly killed. He remains wioh
us, as a sort of steward to my father, for a while, only for
a while.' '

* Let him stay. I don't want him back, I won't have
him back. I dare say, now, it would do him good to have
his Bible. I'll give you that to take to him. He may read
and come to repentance.'

' It h possible that there may be other things of his he
will want. If you can make them up into a bundle, I will
send for them. No,' she said after a pause, ' I will not
send for them. I will take them myself.'

* You will not mind staying there whilst I fetch them?'
said Mr. Babb. ' Of course you won't. You have the
horse to hold. If you like to take a look round the garden
you may, but thtre is nothing to see. Visit the mill if you
like. You can give twopence to a boy to hold the horse.'
Then he slipped in again and relocked the door.

Barbara was only detained ten minutes. Mr. Babb
came back with a jumble of clothes, a Bible, and a violin,
not tied together, but in his arms anyhow. He threw
everything on the doorstep.

.I'jsesa-..

MR, BABB AT HOME

. ' There,* he said, ' I will hold the bridle, whilst yon
make this into a bundle. I'm not natty with my fingers.'
He took the horse from her. Barbara knelt under the por-
tico and folded Jasper's clothes, and tied all together in an
old table cover the father gave for the purpose. ' Take
the fiddle,' he said, ' or I'll smash it.'

She looked up at him gravely, whilst knotting the ends.

' Have you a message for your son — of love and for-
giveness ? '

' Forgiveness ! it is your father he has robbed. Love
There is no lo^e lost between us.'

' He is lonely and sad,' said Barbara, not now looking
up, but busy with her hands, tightening the knots and
intent on the bundle. ' I can see that his heart is ach-
ing ; night and day there is a gnawing pain in his breast.
No one loves him, and he seems to me to be a man who
craves for love, who might be reclaimed by love.'

' Don't forget the letter for your father,' said Mr.
Babb.

* What about your son ? Have you no message for
him?'

* None. Mind that envelopis. What it contains is pre-
cious.'

' Is it a cheque for fifteen hundred pounds ? '

* Oh, dear me, no I It is a text of scripture.'

Then, hastily, Mr. Babb stepped back, shut the door,
and bolted and chained it.

CHAPTER XIV.

A SINE QUA NGN.

Babbaba was on her way home from Ashburton. She had
attended her aunt's funeral, aud knew that a little sum of
about fifty pounds per annum was hers, left her by her
aunt. She was occupied with her thoughts, Was there

EVE

,111

il!

II!

i ill

any justification for Jasper? The father was hateful.
She could excuse his leaving home ; that was nothing ;
such a home must he intolerable to a young man of spirit
— but to rob his father was another matter. Barbara could
not quite riddle the puzzle [out in her mind. It was clear
that Mr. Babb had confided the fifteen hundred pounds to
Jasper, and that Jasper had made away with them. He
had been taken and sent to prison at Prince's Town.
Thence he had escaped, and whilst escaping had met with
the accident which had brought him to become an inmate
of Morwell House. Jasper's story that he had lost the
money was false. He had himself taken it. Barbara could
not quite make it out ; she tried to put it from her. What
mattered it how the robbery had been committed ? — suffi-
cient that the man who took tl\e money was with her
father. What had he done with the money ? That no one
but himself could tell, and that she would not ask him.

It was vain crying over spilt milk. Fifteen hundred
poimds were gone, and the loss of that money might affect
Eve's prospects. Eve was already attracting admiration,
but who would take her for her beauty alone ? Eve, Bar-
bara said to herself, was a jewel that must be kept in a
velvet and morocco case, and must not be put to rough
usage. She must have money. She must marry where
nothing would be required of her but to look and be —
charming.

It was clear to Barbara that Mr. Coyshe was struck with
her sister, and Mr. Coyshe was a promising, pushing man,
sure to make his way. If a man has a high opinion of him-
self he impresses others with belief in him. Mr. Jordan
was loud in his praises; Barbara had sufficient sense to
dislike his boasting, but she was influenced by it. Though
his manner was not to her taste, she was convinced that
Mr. Coyshe was a genius, and a man wlic ^ name would
be known through England.

What was to be done ? The only thing she could think
of was to insist on her father making over Morwell to Eve

A SINE QUA NON

on his death ; au for herself— she had her fifty pounds, and
she could go as housekeeper to some lady ; the Duchess of
Bedford would recommend her. She was was not likely
to be thought of by any man with only fifty pounds, and
with a plain face.

When Barbara reached this point she laughed, and
then she sighed. She laufhed because the idea of her
being married was so absu .'d. She sighed because she
was tired. Just then, quite uncalled for and unexpected,
the form of Jasper Babb rose up before her mind's eye, as
she had last seen him, pale, looking after her, waving his
hat.

She was returning to him without a word firom his
father, of forgiveness, of encouragement, of love. She was
scheming a future for herself and for Eve ; Jasper had no
future, only a horrible past, which cast its shadow forward,
and took all hope out of the present, and blighted the
future. If she could but have brought him a kind message it
would have inspired him to redeem his great fault, to per-
severe in well-doing. She knew that she would find him
watching for her return with a wistful look in his dark full
eyes, asking her if she brought him consolation.

Then she reproached herself because she had left his
parting farewell unacknowledged. She had been ungra-
cious ; no doubt she had hurt his feelings.

She had passed through Tavistock, with her groom riding
some way behind her, when she heard the sound of a trot-
ting horse, and almost immediately a well-known voice
called, < Glad to see your face turned homewards. Miss
Jordan.'

* Good evening, Mr. Coyshe.'

' Our roads run together, to my advantage. What is
that you are carrying ? CJan I relieve you ? '

' A violin. The boy is careless, he might let it fall.
Besides he is burdened with my vaUse and a bundle.'

* What ? has your aunt bequeathed a viohn to you? *
A Uttle colour came into Barbara's cheeks, and she

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EVE

answered, ' I am bringing it homq from over the moor.*
She blushed to have to equivocate.

' I hope you have had something more substantial left
you than an old fiddle,' said the surgeon.

' Thank you, my poor aunt has been good enough to
leave me something comfortable, which will enable my
dear father to make up to Eve for the sum that has been
lost.'

' I am glad to bear it,' said Mr. Goyshe. ' Charmed ! *

* By the way,' Barbara began, • I wanted to say some-
thing to you, but I have not had the opportunity. You
were quito in the wrong about the saucer of sour milk,
though I admit there was a stocking — but how you saw
that, passes my comprehension.'

' I did not see it, I divined it,' said the young man, with
his protruding light eyes staring at her with foa. odd mis-
chievous expression in them. ' It is part of the mysteries
of medicine — a faculty akin to inspiration in some doctors,
that they see with their inner eyes what is invisible to the
outer eye. For instance, I can see right into your heart,
and I see there something tliat looks to me very much like
the wound I patched up in Mr. Jasper's pate. Whilst his
has been healing, yours has been growing worse..'

Barbara turned cold and shivered. ' For heaven's sake,
Mr. Coyshe, do not say such things ; you frighten me.'

He laughed.

She remained silent, uneasy and vexed. Presently she
said, ' It is not true ; there is nothing the matter with me.'

' But the stocking was under the sofa-cushion, and you
said, Not true, at first. Wait and look.'

' Doctor, it is not true at all. That is, I have a sort of
trouble or pain, but it is all about Eve. I have been very
mihappy about the loss of her money, and that has fretted
me greatly.' *

* I foresaw it would be lost.'

* Yes, it is lost, but Eve shall be no loser.'

*Look hero, Miss Jordan, a beautiful face is like a

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A SINE QUA NON ^

beautifiil song, oharming in itself, but infinitely better with
an accompaniment.'

' What do you mean, Mr. Coyshe ? '

*A sweet girl may have beauty and amiability, but
though these may be excellent legs for the matrimonial
stool, a third must be added to prevent an upset, and that
— metallic'

Barbara made no reply. The audacity and impudence
of the young surgeon took the power to reply from her.

' You have not given me that fiddle,' said Ooyshe.

' I am not sure you will carry it carefully,' answered
Barbara ; nevertheless she resigned it io him. ' When you
part from me let the boy have it. I will not ride into Mor-
well cumbered with it.'

' A doctor,' said Coyshe, ' if he is to succeed in his pro-
fession, must be endowed with instinct as well as science.
A cat does not know what ails it, but it knows when it is
out of sorts ; instinct teaches it to swallow a blade of grass.
Instinct with us discovers the disorder, science points out
the remedy. I may say without boasting that I am brim-
ming with instinct — ^you have had a specimen or two — and
I have passed splendid examinations, so that testifies to my
science. Beer Alston cannot retain me long, my proper
sphere is London. I understand the Duke has heard of
me, and said to someone whom I will not name, that if I
come to town he will introduce me. If once started on the
rails I must run to success. Now I want a word with you
in confidence. Miss Jordan. That boy is sr.fjciently in the
rear not to hear. You will be mum, I trust ? '

Barbara slightly nodded her assent.

* I confess to you that I have been struck with your
sister. Miss Eve. Who could fail to see her and not be-
come a worshipper ? She is a radiant star ; I have never
Seen anyone so beautiful, and she is as good as she is
beautiful.'

' Indeed, indeed she is,' said Barbara, earnestly.

* MontecucuUi said,' continued the surgeon, ' that in

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EVE

war three things are necessary : money; secondly, money;
thirdly, money. In love it is the same. We may regret
it, but it is undeniable.'

Barbara did not know what to say. The assurance of
the young man imposed on her ; she did not like him par-
ticularly, but he was superior in culture to most of the
young men she knew, who had no ideas beyond hunting
and shooting.

After a little while of consideration, she said, ' Do you
think you would make Eve happy ? '

' I am sure of it. I have all the instincts of the family-
man in me. A man may marry a score of times and be
father of fifty children, without instinct developing the
special features of domesticity. They are bom in a man,
not acquired. Pater-familias nascitur, nonfit.'

* Have you spoken to my father ? '

' No, not yet ; I am only feeling my way. I don't mind
telling you what brought me into notice with the Duke.
He was ill last autumn when down at Endsleigh for the
shooting, and his physician was sent for. I met the doctor
at the Bedford Inn at Tavistock ; some of us of the faculty
had an evening together, and his Grace's condition was
discussed, casually of course. I said nothing. We were
smoking and drinking rum and water. There was some-
thing in his Grace's condition which puzzled his physician,
and he clearly did not understand how to treat the case. I
knew. I have instinct. Some rum had been spilled on
the table ; I dipped the end of my pipe in it, and scribbled
a prescription on the mahogany. I saw the eye of the
doctor on it. I have reason to believe he used my remedy.
It answered. He is not ungrateful. I say no more. A
city set on a hill cannot be hid. Beer Alston is a bushel
covering a light. Wait.'

Barbara said nothing. She rode on, deep in thought.
The surgeon jogged at her side, his protruding water-blue
eyes peering in all directions.

' You think your sister will not be penniless ? ' he said.

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A SINE QUA NO IV

' I am certain she will not. Now thaw my aunt has
provided for me, Eve will have Morwell after my father's
death, and I am sure she is welcome to what comes to me
from my aunt till then.'

' Halt ! ' exclaimed the surgeon.

Barbara drew rein simultaneously with Mr. Coyshe.

' Who are you there, watching, following us, skulking
behind bushes and hedges ? ' shouted Coyshe.

'What is it?' asked Miss Jordan, surprised and
alarmed.

The surgeon did not answer, but raised to his shoulder
a stick he carried.

' Answer I Who are you? Show yourself, or I fire I '

' Doctor Coyshe,' exclaimed Barbara, ' forbear in pity I '

' My dear Miss Jordan,' he said in a low tone, ' set your
mind at rest. I have only an umbrella stick, of which all
the apparatus is blown away except the catch. Who is
there ? ' he cried, again presenting his stick.

' Once, twice 1 ' — click went the catch. ' If I call three
and fire, your blood be on your own head 1 '

There issued in response a scream, piercing in its shrill-
ness, inhuman in its tone.

Barbara shuddered, and her horse plunged.

A mocking burst of laughter ensued, and then forth
from the bushes into the road leaped an impish boy, who
drew a bow over the catgut of a fiddle under his chin, and
ran along before them, laughing, leaping, and evoking un-
couth and shrill screams from his instrument.

' A pixy,' said the surgeon. ' I knew by instinct one
was dodging us. Fortunately I could not lay my hand on
a riding whip this morning, and so took my old umbrella
stick. Now, farewell. So you think Miss Eve will have
Morwell, and the matrimonial stool its golden leg ? That
is right.'

'..•»v

\'\

'iii

IliiWl

100

EVE

CHAPTER XV.

AT THE QUAT.

On the day of Barbara's departure Eve attended diligently
to, the duties of the house, and found that everything was
in such order that she was content to believe that all would
go on of its own accord in the old way, without her super-
vision, which declined next day, and was pretermitted on
the third.

Jasper did not appear for mid-day dinner ; he was busy
on the old qua^. He saw that it must be put to rights.
The woods could be thinned, the coppice shredded for bark,
and bark put on a barge at the bottom of the almost pre-
cipitous slope, and so sent to the tanyards at Devonport.
There was waste of labour in carrying the bark up the hills
and then carting it to Beer Ferris, some ten miles.

No wonder that, as Mr. Jordan complained, the bark
was unremunerativa. The profit was eaten up by the
wasteful transport. It was the same with the timber.
There was demand for oak and pine at the dockyards, and
any amount was grown in the woods of Morwell.

So Jasper asked leave to have the quay put to rights,
and Mr. Jordan consented. He must supervise proceed-
ings himself, so he remained the greater part of the day
by the river edge. The ascent to Morwell House was
arduous if attempted directly up the steep fall, long if he
went by the zigzag through the wood. It would take him
a stiff three-quarters of an hour to reach the house and
half-an-hour to return. Accordingly he asked that his
dinner might be sent him.

On the third day, to Eve's dismay, she found that she
had forgotten to let him have his food, both that day anl
the preceding. He had made no remark when l\e came

AT THE dUAY

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ise was
ig if he
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day anl
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back the day before. Eve's conscience smote her — a con-
valescent left for nine or ten hours without food.

When she recalled her promise to send it him she
found that there was no one to send. In shame and self-
reproach, she packed a little basket, and resolved to carry
it to him. The day was lovely. She put her broad-
brimmed straw hat, trimmed with forget-me-not bows, on
her head, and started on her walk.

The bank of the Tamar falls from high moorland many
hundreds of feet to the water's edge. In some places the
rocks rise in sheer precipices with gullies of coppice and
heather between them. Elsewhere the fall is less abrupt,
and allows trees to grow, and the richness of the soil and
the friable nature of the rock allows them to grow to con-
siderable dimensions. From Morwell House a long ditour
through beautiful forest, affording peeps of mountains and
water, gave the easiest descent to the quay, but Eve
reserved this road for the ascent, and slid merrily down
the narrow corkscrew path in the brushwood between the
crags, which afforded the quickest way down to the water's
edge.

'Oh, Mr. Jasper!' she exclaimed, *I have sinned,
through my forgetfulness ; but see, to make amends, I
have brought you a little bottle of papa's Burgundy and a
wee pot of red currant jelly for the cold mutton.'

' And you have come yourself to overwhelm me with a
sense of gratitude.'

* Oh, Mr. Jasper, I am so ashamed of my naughtiness.
I assure you I nearly cried. Bab— I mean Barbara —
would never have forgotten. She remembers everything.
Her head is a perfect store-closet, where all things are in
place and measured and weighed and on their proper
shelves. You had no din.!ier yesterday.'

' To-day's is a oanqutit that makes up for all defi-
ciencies.'

Eve liked Jasper ; she had few to converse with, very
few acquaintances, no friends, and she was delighted to be

■s

.11

102

EVE

able to have a chat with anyone, especially if that person
flattered her — and who did not? Everyone naturally
offered incense before her ; she almost demanded it as a
right. The Tamar formed a little bay under a wall of
rock. A few ruins marked the site of the storehouses and
boatsheds of the abbots. The sun glittered on the water,
forming of it a blazing mirror, and the dancing light was
reflected back by the flower- wreathed rocks.

* Where are the men ? ' asked Eve.

'Gone into the wood to fell some pines. We must
drive piles into the bed of the river, and lay beams on
them for a basement.'

' Oh,' said Eve listlessly, ' I don't understand about
basements and all that.' She seated herself on a log.
' How pleasant it is here with the flicker of the water in
one's face and eyes, and a sense of being without shadow !
Mr. Jasper, do you believe in pixies ? '

* What do you mean, Miss ? '

*The httle imps who live in the mines and on the
moors, and play mischievous tricks on mortals. They
have the nature of spirits, and yet they have human
shapes, and are like old men or boys. They watch trea-
sures and veins of ore, and when mortals approach the
metal, they decoy the trespassers away.'

* Like the lapwing that pretends to be wounded, and
so lures you from its precious eggs. Do yov, believe in
pixies V '

Eve laughed and shook her pretty head. ' I think so,
Mr. Jasper, for I have seen one.'

« What was he like ? '

' I do not know, I only caught glimpses of him. Do
not laugh satirically. I am serious. I did see something,
but I don't know exactly what I saw.'

' That is not a very convincing reason for the existence
of pixies.'

Eve urew her little feet together, and folded her
arms in her lap, and smiled, and tossed her head. She

AT THE QUAY

103

had taken off her hat, and the sun glorified her shining
head.

Jasper looked admiringly at her.
' Are you not afraid of a sunstroke, Miss Eve ? '
' dear no ! The sun cannot harm me. I love him
so passionately. Mr. Jasper ! I wish sometimes I
lived far away in another country where there are no wet
days and grey skies and muggy atmospheres, and where
the hedges do not drip, and the lanes do not stand ankle
deep in mud, and the old walls exude moisture mdocrs,
and one's pretty shoes do not go mouldy if not wiped over
daily. I should hke to he in a land hke Italy, where all
the people sing and dance and keep hoUday, and the hells
in the towers are ever ringing, and the lads have bunches
of gold and silver flowers in their hats, and the girls have
scarlet skirts, and the village musicians sit in a cart
adorned with birch branches and ribands and roses, and
the trumpets go tu-tui and the drums bung-bung I — I
have read about it, and cried for vexation that I was not
there.*

* But the pixy ? '

* I would banish all pixies and black Oopplestones and
Whish hounds ; they belong to rocks and moors and
darkness and storm. I hate gloom and isolation.'

' You are happy at Morwell, Miss Eve. One has but
to look m your fietce and see it. Not a crabbed hne of care,
not the track of a tear, all smoothness and smUes.'

The girl twinkled with pleasure, and said, ' That is
because we are in midsummer ; wait till winter and see
what becomes of me. Then I am sad enough. We are
shut in for five months — six months — seven almost, by
mud and water. 0, how the winds howl ! How the trees
toss and roar! How the rain r?.'^'^^s! That is not plea-
sant. I wish, I do wish, I were a squirrel ; then I would
coil myself in a corner lined with moss, and crack nuts in
a doze till the sun came again and woke me up with the
flowers. Then I would throw out all my cracked nut-

104

EVE

shells with both {>aws, and leap to the foot of a tree, run
up it, and skip from branch to branch, and swing in the
summer sunshine on the topmost twig. 0, Mr. Jasper,
how much wiser than we the swallows are ! I would
rather be a swallow than a squirrel, and sail away when I
felt the first frost to the land of eternal summer, into the
blazing eye of the sun.*

• But as you have no wings '

' I sit and mope and talk to Barbara about cows and
cabbages, and to father about any nonsense that comes
into my head.'

• As yet you have given me no description of the pixy.'

• How can I, when I scarce saw him ? I will tell you
exactly what happened, if you will not curl up the comer
of your lips, as though mocking me. That papa never
does. I tell him all the rhodomontade I can, and he
listens gravely, and frightens and abashes me sometimes
by swallowing it whole.'

' Where did you see, or not see, the pixy ? '
' On my way to you. I heard something stirring in
the wood, and I half saw what I took to be a boy, or a
little man the size of a boy. When I stood still, he stood;
when I moved, I fancied he moved. I heard the crackle
of sticks and the stir of the bushes. I am sure of nothing.'

• Were you frightened ? '

' No ; puzzled, not frightened. If this had occurred at
night, it would have been different. I thought it might
have been a red-deer ; they are here sometimes, strayed
from Exmoor, and have such pretty heads and soft) eyes ;
but this was not. I fancied once I saw a queer Uttle face
peering at me &om behind a pine tree. I uttered a feeble
cry and ran on.'

' I know exactly what it was,' said Jasper, with a grave
smile. ' There is a pixy lives in the Baven Bock ; he has
a smithy far down in the heart of the chff, aiid there he
works all winter at a vein of pure gold, hammering and
turning the golden cups and marsh marigolds with which

AT THE QUAY

105

to strew the pastures and watercourses in spring. But it
is dull for the pixy sitting alone without light ; he has no
one to love and care for him, and, though the gold glows
in his forge, his little heart is cold. He has heen dream-
ing all winter of a sweet fairy he saw last sun. ''r wearing
a crown of marigold, wading in cuckoo floweiu, and now
he has come forth to capture that fairy and draw her down
into his stony palace.'

* To waste her days,' laughed Eve, ' in sighii\g for the
sun, whilst her roses wither and her eyes grow dim, away
from the twitter of the birds and the scent of the gorse.
He shan't have me.' Then, after a pause, during which
she gathered ecrr.e marigolds and put them into her hat,
she said, half seriously, half jestingly, ' Do you believe in
pixies ? '

' You must not ask me. I have seen but one fairy in
all my life, and she now sits before me.'

* Mr. Jasper,' said Eve, with a dimple in her cheek, in
recognition of the compliment, — * Mr. Jasper, do you know
my mother is a mystery to me as much as pixies and
fairies and white ladies ? '

* No, I was not aware of that.'

' She was called, like me, Eve.'

' I had a sister of that name who is dead, and my
mother's name was Eve. She is dead.'

' I did not think the name was so common,' said the
girl. * I fancied we were the only two Eves that ever
were. I do not know what my mother's other name was.
Is not that extraordinary ? '

Jasper Babb made no reply.

* I have been reading ** Undine." Have you read that
story ? 0, it has made me so excited. The writer says
that it was founded on what he read in an old author, and
that author, Paracelsus, is one papa believes in. So, I
suppose, there is some truth in the tale. The story of my
mother is quite like that of Undine. One night my father
heard a cry on the moor, ^!^ he went to the place, and

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106

El^E

found my mother all alone. She was with him for a year
and a day, and would have stayed longer if my father could
have refrained from asking her name. When he did that
she was forced to leave him. She was never seen again.'

' Miss Eve, this cannot be true.'

' I do not know. That is what old Betsy Davy told
me. Papa never speaks of her. He has been an altered
man since she left him. He put up the stone cross on the
moor at the spot where he found her. I like to fancy
there was something mysterious in her. I can't ask papa,
and Bab was — I mean Barbara — was too young at the
time to remember anything about it.'

* This is very strange.'

' Betsy Davy says that my father was not properly
married to her, because he could not get a priest to per-
form the ceremony without knowing what she was.'

' My dear Miss Eve, instead of Ustening to the cock-
and-bull storiep '

* Mr. Jasper I How can you — how can you use such
an expression ? The story is very pretty and romantic,
and not at all like things of this century. I dare say
there is some truth in it.'

' I am far from any intention of o£Fending you, dear
young lady ; but I venture to offer you a piece of advice.
Do not Usten to idle tales ; do not encourage people of a
lower class to speak to you about your mother ; ask your
father what you want to know, he will tell you ; and tako
my word for it, romance there always must be in love, but
there will be nothing of what you imagine, with a fancy
set on fire by " Undine." *

Her volatile mind had flown elsewhere.

'Mr. Jasper,' she said, 'have you ever been to a
theatre?'

'Yes.'

' 0, 1 should hke it above everything else. I dream of
it. We have Inchbald's " British Theatre " in the library,
and it is my dearest reading. Barbara like? a cookery

AT Tlik QUAY

107

book or a book on fiarming ; I cannot abide them. Do
you know what Mr. Goyshe said the other day when I was
rattling on before him and papa ? He said I had missed
my vocation, and ought to have been on the stage. What
do you think ? '

' I think a loving and merciful Providence has done
best to put such a precious treasure here where it can
beat be preserved.'

' I don't agree with you at all,' said Eve, standing up.
'I think Mr. Goyshe showed great sense. Anyhow, I
should like to see a theatre— 0, above everything in the
world 1 Papa thinks of Home or the Holy Land ; but I
say — a theatre. I can't help it ; I think it, and must say
it. Good-bye ! I have things my sister left that I must
attend to. I wish she were back. Oh, Mr. Jasper, do
not you ? '

* Everyone will be pleased to welcome her home.'

' Because I have let everything go to sixes and sevens,
eh?'

' For her own sake.'

' Well, I do miss her dreadfully, do not you ? *

He did not answer. She cast him another good-bye,
and danced off into wLe wood, swinging her hat by the blue
ribands.

CHAPTER XVL

WATT.

Thb air under the pines was balmy. The hot July sun
brought out their resinous fragrance. Gleams of fire fell
through the boughs and dappled the soil at intervals, and
on these sun-flakes numerous fritillary butterflies with
silver under- wings were fluttering, and countless flies were
humming. The pipes grew only at the bottom of the
crags, and here and there in patches on the slopes. The

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woods were composed for the most part of oak, now in its
richest, fullest foliage, the golden hue of early spring
changing to the duller green of summer Beech also
abounded with their clean stems, and the soil beneath
them bare of weed, and here and there a feathery birch
with erect silver stem struggled up in the overgrowth to
the light. The wood was full of foxgloves, spires of pink
dappled bells, and of purple columbine. Wild roses grew
wherever a rock allowed them to wreath in sunshine and
burst into abundant bloom over its face. Eve carried her
straw hat on her arm, hung by its blue ribands. She
needed its shelter in the wood no more than in her father's
hall.

She came to a brook, dribbling and tinkling on its way
through moss and over stone. The path was fringed with
blazing marigolds. Eve had already picked some, she now
halted, and brimmed the extemporised basket with more of
the golden flowers.

The gloom, the fragrant air, the flicker of colour made
her think of the convent chapel at Lanherne, whither she
had been sent for her education, but whence, having pined
under the restraint, she had been speedily removed. As
she walked she swung her hat like a censer. From it rose
the fresh odour of flowers, and from it dropped now and
then a marigold Uke a burning cmder. Scarce thinking
what she did. Eve assumed the slow and measured pace of
a religious procession, as she had seen one at Lanherne,
still swinging her hat, and letting the flowers fall from it
whilst she chanted meaningleae words to a sacred strain.
Then she caught her straw hat to her, and holding it be-
fore her in her left arm, advanced at a quicker pace, still
singing. Now she dipped her right hand in the crown and
strewed the blossoms to left and right, as did the little
girls in the Corpus Ghristi procession round the convent
grounds at Lanherne. Her song quickened and brightened,
and changed its character as her flighty thoughts shifted
to other topics, and her changeful mood assumed another

H^ATT

too

complexion. Her tune became that of the duet Ld ci darcm
la mano, in ' Don Giovanni/ which she hud often sung
with her sister. She sang louder and more joyously, and
her feet moved in rhythm to this song, as they had to the
ecclesiastical chant ; her eyes sparkled, her cheeks flushed.

It seemed to her that a delicate echo accompanied her
— very soft and spiritual, nr v in snatches, then low, roll-
ing, long-drawn-out. She stopped and listened, then went
on again. What she heard was the echo from the rocks
and tree boles.

But presently the road became steeper, and she could
no longer spare breath for her song ; now the sacred chant
was quite forgotten, but the sweet air of Mozart clung to
her memory, as the scent of pot-pourri to a parlour, and
there it would linger the rest of the day.

As she walked on she was in a dream. What must it
be to hear these songs accompanied by Instruments, and
with light and scenery, and acting on the stage P Oh, that
she could for once in her life have the supreme felicity of
seeing a real play i

Suddenly a flash of vivid golden light broke before her,
the trees parted, and she stood on the Baven Bock, a preci*
pice that shoots high above the Tamar and commands a wide
prospect over Cornwall — Kingston Hill, where Athelstan
fought and beat the Cornish in the last stand the Britons
made, and Kitt Hill, a dome of moorclad mountain. As
she stepped forth on the rock to enjoy the light and view
and air, there rushed out of the oak and dog-wood bushes
a weird boy, who capered and danced, brandished a fiddle,
clapped it under his chin, and still dancing, played Ld ci
darem fast, faster, till his Httle arms went faster than 'Eve
could see.

The girl stood still, petrified with terror. Here was the
Pixy of the Baven Bock Jasper had spoken of. The
maHcious boy saw and revelled in her fear, and gambolled
round her, grimacing and still fiddling till his tune led up
to and finished in a shriek.

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* There, there,' said he, at length, lowering the violin
and bow ; ' h'ow I have scared you. Eve I *

Eve trembled in every limb, and was too alarmed to
speak. The scenery, the rock, the boy, swam in a blue
haze before her eyes.

' There, Eve, don't be frightened. You led me on with
your singing. I followed in your flowery traces. Doii't
you know me ? '

Eve shook her head. She could not speak.

' You have seen me. You saw me that night when I
came riding over your downs at the back of Martin, when
poor Jasper fell — ^you remember me. I smashed your
rattle-trap gig. What a piece of good luck it was that
Jasper's horse went down and not ours. I might have
broken my fiddle. I'd rather break a leg, especially that
of another person.'

Eve had not thought of the boy since that eventful
night. Indeed, she had seen little of him then.

' I remember,' she said, ' there was a boy.'

* Myself. Watt is my name, or in full, Walter. If you
doubt my humanity touch my hand ; feel, it is warm.'
He grasped Eve and drew her out on the rocky plat-
form.

' Sit down. Eve. I know you better than you know
me. I have heard Martin speak of you. That is how I
know about you. Look me in the face.*

Eve raised her eyes to his. The boy had a strange
countenance. The hair was short-cropped and black, the
skin ohve. He had protruding and large oars, and very
black keen eyes.

* What do you think is my age ? ' asked the boy. * I
am nineteen. I am an ape. I shall never grow into a
man.' He began again to skip and make grimaces. Eve
shrank away in alarm.

' There ! Put your fears aside, and be reasonable,' said
Watt, coming to a rest. ' Jasper is below, munching his
dinner. I have seen him. He would not eat whilst you

IVATT

lit

jve

were by. He did not saspect I was lying on the rock
overhead in the heath, peering down on you both whilst
you were talking. I can skip about, I can scramble any-
where, I can almost fly. I do not wish Jasper to know I
am here. No one must know but yourself, for I have come
here on an errand to you.'

' To me ! ' echoed Eve, hardly recovered from her
terror.

' I am come from Martin. You remember Martin ?
Oh ! there are not many men like Martin. He is a king
of men. Imagine an old town, with ancient houses and a
church tower behind, and the moon shining on it, and in
the moonlight Martin in velvet, with a hat in which is a
frhite feather, and his violin, under a window, thinking
you are there, and singing Deh, vieni alia finestra. Do
you know the tune? Listen.' The boy took his fiddle,
and touching the strings with his fingers, as though play-
ing a mandolin, he sang that sweet minstrel song.

Eve's blue eyes opened wonderingly, this was all so
strange and incomprehensible to her.

' See here. Miss Zerlina, you were singing LA ci darem
just now, try it with me. I can take Giovanni's part and
you that of Zerlina.'

' I cannot. I cannot, indeed.'

' You shall. I shall stand between you and the wood.
Yon cannot escape over the rock, you would be dashed to
pieces. I wiU begin.'

Suddenly a loud voice interrupted him as he began to
play— 'Watt!'

Standing under the shadow of the oaks, with one foot
on the rocky platform, was Jasper.

* Watt, how came you here ? '

The boy lowered his violin and stood for a moment
speechless.

* Miss Eve,' said Jasper, ' please go home. After all,
you have encountered the pixy, and that a malicious and
dangerous imp. Stand aside, Watt.'

a-.

I «

tI2

EVE

The boy did not venture to resist. He stood back near
the edge of the rock and allowed Eve to pass him.

When she was quite gone, Jasper said gravely to the
boy, * What has brought you here ? '

' That is a pretty question tc ask me, Jasper. We left
you here, broken and senseless, and naturally Martin and
I want to know what condition you are in. How could we
tell whether you were alive or dead ? You know very well
that Martin could not come, so I have run here to obtain
information.'

' I am well,' answered Jasper, ' you may tell Martin,
everywhere but here,' he laid his hand on his heart.

' With such a pretty girl near I do not wonder,' laughed
the boy. ' I shall tell poor Martin of the visits paid you at
the water's edge.'

' That will do,' said Jasper ; ' this joking offends me.
Tell Martin I am here, but with my heart aching for
him.'

'No occasion for that, Jasper. Not a cricket in the
grass is lighter of spirit than he.'

' I dare say,' said the elder, < he does not feel matters
acutely. Tell him the money must be restored. Here I
stay as a pledge that the debt shall be paid. Tell him
that I insist on his restoring the money.'

' Christmas is coming, and after that Easter, and then,
all in good time, Christmas again ; but money once passed,
returns no more.'

' I expect Martin to restore what he took. He is good
at heart, but inconsiderate. I know Martin better than
you. You are his bad angel. He loves me and is generous.
He knows what I have done for him, and when I tell him
that I must have the money back he will return it if he
can.'

' If he can ! ' repeated the boy derisively. * It is well
you have thrown in that proviso. I once tossed my cap
into the Dart and ran two miles along the bank after it. I
saw it for two miles bobbing on the ripples, but at last it

••^^...

IVATT

went over the weir above Totnes and disappeared. I be-
lieve that cap was fished up at Dartmouth and is now worn
by the mayor's son. It is so with money. Once let it out
of your hands and it avails nothing to run after it. It
disappears and comes up elsewhere to profit others.'

• Where is Martin now ? '

* Anywhere and everywhere.*

' He is not in this county, I trust.'

' Did you never hoar of the old lady who lost the store
closet key and hunted everywhere except in her own
pocket ? What is under your nose is overlooked.'

' Go back to Martin. Tell him, as he values his safety
and my peace of mind, to keep out of the country, certainly
out of the county. Tell him to take to some honest work
and stick to it, and to begin his repentance by '

' There ! if I carry a preachment away with me I shall
never reach Martin. I had a surfeit of this in the olden
days, Jasper. I know a sailor lad who has been fed on
salt junk at sea till if you put but as much as will sit on
the end of your knife under his nose when he is on land
he will upso^ the table. It is the same with Martin and
me. No sermons for us, Jasper. So — see, I am off at the
first smell of a text.'

He dbited into the wood and disappeared, singing at
the top of his voice ' Life let us cherish.'

CHAPTEB XVn.

POEGBT-ME-NOT !

That night Eve could not sleep. She thought of her
wonderful adventure. Who was that strange boy ? And
who was Martin ? And, what was the link between these
two and Jasper ?

Towards morning, when she ought to have been stir-
ring, she fell asleep, and laughed in her dreams. She

1 <i

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114

EVE

f ii 111

woke with the sun shining in on her, and her father stand-
ing by her bed, watching her.

After the visions in which she had been steeped full of
fair forms and brilliant colours, it was a shock to her to
unclose her eyes on the haggard face of her father, with
sunken eyes.

' What is it, papa ? '

'My dear, it is ten o'clock. I have waited for my
breakfast. The tea is cold, the toast has lost its crispness,
and the eggs are like the tea — cold.'

* papa ! ' she said sorrowfully, sitting up in bed ; ' 1
have overslept myself. But, you will not begrudge me the
lovely dreams I have had. Papa*! I saw a pixy yesterday.'

'Where, child?'

* On the Eaven Eock.'

He shut his eyes, and put his hand over his mouth.
Then he heaved a deep sigh, said nothing, turned, and
went out of the room.

Eve was the idol of her father's heart. He spoiled her,
by allowing her her own way in everything, by relieving
her of every duty, and heaping all the responsibilities on
the shoulders of his eldest daughter.

Eve was so full of love and gaiety, that it was im-
possible to be angry with her when she made provoking
mistakes ; she was so penitent, so pretty in her apologies,
and so sincere in her purpose of amendment.

Eve was warmly attached to her father. She had an
affectionate nature, but none of her feelings Tiere deep.
Her rippling conversation, her buoyant spirits, enlivened
the prevailing gloom of Mr. Jordan. His sadness did not
depress her. Indeed, she hardly noticed it. Hers was not
a sympathetic nature, bhe exacted the sympathy of others,
but gave nothing more in return than prattle and laughter.

She danced down the stairs when dressed, without any
regret for having kept her father waiting. He would eat a
better breakfast for a little delay, she said to herself, and
satisfied her conscience.

FORGET-ME-NOT!

JiJ

IX stand-
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She oame into the breakfast-room in a white muslin
dress, covered with little blue sprigs, and with a blue
riband in her golden hair. The lovely roses of her com-
plexion, the sparkling eyes, the dimple in her cheeks, the
air of perfect content with herself, and with all the world,
disarmed what little vexation hung in her father's mood.

* Do you think Bab will be home to-day ? ' she asked,
seating herself at the tea-tray without a word of apology
for the lateness of her appearance.

' I do not know what her movements are.'

* I hope she will. I want her home.' ^

* Yes, she must return, to relieve you of your duties.'

* I am sure the animals want her home. The pigeons
find I am not regular in throwing them barley, and I
sometimes forget the bread-crumbs after a meal. The
little black heifer always runs along the paddock when
Bab goes by, and she is indifferent to me. She lows when
I appear, as much as to say. Where is Miss Barbara?
Then the cat has not been himself for some days, and the
little horse is in the dumps. Do you think brute beasts
have souls ? '

* I do not know.' Then after a pause, * What was that
you said about a pixy ? '

' papa ! it was a dream.' She coloured. Something
rose in her heart to check her £rom confiding to him what
in her thoughtless freedom she was prepared to tell on first
awaking.

He pressed her no further. He doubtless beUeved she
had spoken the truth. She had ever been candid. Now,
however, she lacked courage to speak. She remembered
that the boy had said ' I come to you with a message.'
He had disappeared without giving it. What was that
message ? Was he gone without delivering it ?

Mr. Jordan slowly ate his breakfast. Every now and
then he looked at his daughter, never steadily, for he could
look fixedly long at nothing.

* I will tell you all, papa,' said Eve suddenly, shaking

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her head, to shake off the temptation to he untrue. Her
hetter nature had prevailed. ' It was not a dream, it was
a reality. I did see a pixy on the Baven Bock, the mad-
dest, merriest, ugliest imp in the world.'

* We are surrounded by an unseen creation,' said Mr.
Jordan. ' The microscope reveals to us teeming hfe iu a
drop of water. Another generation will use an instrument
that will show them the air full of living things. Then the
laugh will be no more heard on earth. Life will be grave,
if not horrible. This generation is sadder than the last
because less ignorant.'

* papa ! ' He was not a pixy at all. I have seen him
before, when Mr. Jasper was thrown. Then he was
perched like an ape, as he is, on the cross you set up,
where my mother first appeared to you. He was making
screams with his fiddle.'

Mr. Jordan looked at her with flickering, frightened
eyes. * It was a spirit — the horse saw it and started — ^that
was how Jasper was thrown,' he said gravely.

* Here Jasper comes,' said Eve, laughing ; ' ask him.'
But instead of waiting for her father to do this, she sprang
up, and danced to meet him with the simplicity of a child,
and clapping her palms, she asked, ' Mr. Jasper ! My
father will have it that my funny little pixy was a spirit of
the woods or wold, and will not believe that he is flesh
and blood.'

' My daughter,' said Mr. Jordan, ' has told me a strange
story. She says that she saw a boy on the — the Baven
Bock, and that you know him.'

* Yes, I do.'

* "Whence comes he ?•

* That I cannot say.'

* Where does he live ? *

* Nowhere.'

* Is he here still ? '

* I do not know.'

' Have you seen him before ? *

FORGE T-ME-NOT/

117

* Yes — often.'

* That will do.' Mr. Jordan jerked his head and
waved his hand, in sign that he did not wish Jasper io
remain.

He treated Jasper with rudeness ; he resented the loss
of Eve's money, and being a man of narrow mind and vin-
dictive temper, he revenged the loss on the man who was
partly to blame for the loss. He brooded over his mis-
fortune, and was bitter. The sight of Jasper irritated
him, and he did not scruple at meals to make allusions to
the lost money which must hurt the young man's feelings.
When Barbara was present, she interposed to turn the
conversation or blunt the significance of her father's words.
Eve, on the other hand, when Mr. Jordan spoke iii a way
she did not like to Jasper or Barbara, started up and left
the room, because she could not endure discords. She
sprang out of the way of harsh words as she turned from a
brier. It did not occur to her to save others, she saved
herself.

Barbara thought of Jasper and her father. Eve only of
herself.

When Jasper was gone, Mr. Jordan put his hand to
his head. * I do not understand, I cannot think,' he said,
with a vacant look in his eyes. * You say one thing, and
he another.' y

'Pardon me, dearest papa, we both say the same,
that the pixy was nothing but a real boy of flesh and
blood, but — there, let us think and talk of something
else.'

' Take care ! ' said Mr. Jordan gloomily ; * take care !
There are spirits where the wise see shadows ; the eye of
the fool sees farther than the eye of the sage. My dear
Eve, beware of the Raven Rock.'

Eve began to warble the air of the serenade in ' Don
Giovanni ' which she had heard the boy Watt sing.

Then she threw her arms round her father's neck.
' Po not look 9Q miserable, papa, J am the happiest little

t i

ii8

EVE

being in the world, and I will kiss your cheeks till they
dimple with laughter.' But instead of doing so, she
dashed away to pick flowers, for she thought, seeing her-
self in the glass opposite, that a bunch of forget-me-not in
her bosom was what lacked to perfect her appearance in
the blue-sprigged muslin.

She knew where wild forget-me-noid grew. The Ab-
bot's Well sent its littlo silver rill through rich grass
towards the wood, where it spilled down the steep descent
to the Tamar. She knew that forget-me-not grew at the
border of the wood, just where the stream left the meadow
and the glare of the sun for its pleasant shadow. As she
approached the spot she saw the imp-like boy leap from
behind a tree.

He held up his finger, put it to his lips, then beckoned
her to follow him. This she would not do. She halted
in the meadow, stooped, and, pretending not to see him,
picked some of the blue flowers she desired.

He cajme stealthily towards her, and pointed to a stone
a few steps farther, which was hidden from the house by
the slope of the hill. * I will tell you nothing unless you
come,* he said.

She hesitated a moment, looked round, and advanced
to the place indicated.

* I will go no farther with you,' said she, putting her
hand on the rock. ' I am afraid of you.'

* It matters not,' answered the boy ; ' I can say what I
want here.'

* What is it ? Be quick, I must go home.'

' Oh, you httle puss ! Oh, you came out full of busi-
ness ! I can tell you, you came for nothing but the chance
of hearing what I forgot to tell you yesterday. I must
give the message I was commissioned to bear before I can
leave.' u

'Who from?'

* Can you ask ? From Martin.'

* But who is Martin ? '

FORGET-ME-NOT/

119

* Sometimes be is one thing, then another ; he is Don
Giovanni. Then he is a king. There — he is an actor.
Will that content you ? '

* What is his surna'ne ? '

' Eve ! daughter of Eve I ' jeered the boy, ' all in-
quisitiveness ! What does that matter ? An actor takes
what name suits him.'

' What is his message ? I must run home.'

* He stole something from you — wicked Martin.*
*Yes; a ring.'

* And you — ^you stole his heart away. Poor Martin
has had no peace of mind since he saw you. His con-
science has stung him like a viper. So he has sent me
back to you with the ring.'

' Where is it ? '

' Shut your blue eyes, they dazzle me, and put out your
finger.'

' Give me the ring, please, and let me go.'

*Only on conditions — not my conditions— those of
Martin. He was very particular in his instructions to
me. Shut your eyes and extend your dear little finger.
Next swear never, never to part with the ring I put on
your finger.*

* That I never will. Mr. Martin had no right to take
the ring. It was impertinent of him ; it made me very
angry. Once I get it back I will never let the ring go
again.' She opened her eyes.

* Shut 1 shut I ' cried the boy ; • and now swear.'

* I promise,' said the girl. * That sufl&ces.'

' There, then, take the ring.' He thrust the circlet on
her finger. She opened her eyes again and looked at her
hand.

* Why, boy ! * she exclaimed, ' this is not my ring. It
is another.'

* To be sure it is, you little fool. Do you think that
Martin would return the ring you gave him? No, no.
He sends you this in exchange for yours. It is prettier.

%m-i

V:m'

t I A

Mil I'ltJil

120

£V£

Look at tbe blue flower on it, formed of turquoise. For-
g'et-me-not.'

' I cannot keep this. I want my own,' BfM Eve, pout-
ing, and her eyes filling.

' You must abide Martin's time. Meanwhile retain
this pledge.'

*I cannot! I will not!' she stamped her foot petu-
lantly on the oxalis and forget-me-not that gr*. t' beneath
the rock, tears of vexation brimming in her eyes. ' l^ou
have not dealt fairly by me. You have cheated me.*

' Listen to me, Miss Eve,' said the boy in a coaxing tone.
' You are a child, and have to be treated as such. Look at
the beautiful stones, observe the sweet blue flower. You
know what that means — Forget-me-not. Our poor Martin
has to ramble through the world with a heart-ache, yearn-
ing for a pair of sparkling blue eyes, and for two wild
roses blooming in the sweetest cheeks the sun ever kissed,
and for a head of hair like a beech tree touched by frost in
a blazing autumn's sun. Do you think he can forget these ?
He carries that face of yours ever about with him, and now
he sends you this ring, and that means — " Miss, you have
made me very unhappy. I can never forget the little maid
with eyes of blue, and so I send her this token to bid her
forget me not, as I can never forget her." '

And as Eve stood musing with pouting lips, and trou-
bled brow, looking at the ring, ^he boy took his violin, and
with the fingers plucked the sti .igs to make an accompani-
ment as he sang : —

A maiden stood beside a river,
And with her pitcher seemed to play ;

Then sadden stooped and drew up water.
But drew my heart as well away.

And nov/ 1 sigh beside the river,

I dream about that maid I saw,
I wait, I watch, am restless, weeping,
' Until she come again to draw.

A flower is blooming by the river,

A floweret with a petal blue.
Forget me not, my love, my treasure !

My flower and heart are both for you.

pouget-mE'Noti

lit

He played and sang a sweet, simple and plaintive air.
It touched Eve's heart ; always susceptible to music. Her
lips repeated after the boy, • My flower and heart are both
for you.'

She could not make up her mind what to do. "While
she hesitated, the opportunity of returning the ring was
gone. Watt had disappeared into the bushes.

CHAPTER XVIII.

DISCOVERIES.

A BEAUTIFUL summer evening. Eve from her window
saw Jasper in the garden ; he was trimming the flower-
beds which had been neglected since Christopher Davy
had been ill. The men were busy on the farm, too busy to
be taken off for flower gardening. Barbara had said one
day that it was a pity the beds were not put to rights ; and
now Jasper was attending to her wishes during her absence.
Mr. Jordan was out. He had gone forth with his hammer,
and there was no telling when he would return. Eve dis-
liked being alone. She must talk to someone. She
brushed her beautiful hair, looked in the glass, adjusted a
scarf round her shoulders, and in a coquettish way tripped
into the garden and began to pick the flowers, peeping at
Jasper out of the corners of her eyes, to see if he were
observing her. He, however, paid no attention to what
she was doing. In a fit of impatience, she flung the auri-
culas and polyanthus she had picked on the path, and
threw herself pouting into the nearest garden seat.

' Mr. Jasper ! ' she called ; * are you so mightily busy
that you cannot afford me a word ? '

' I am always and altogether at your service, dear Miss
Eve.'

* Why have you taken to gardening ? Are you fond of
flowers ? •

' i

I 1

I " 1

*IK

1 i' ^

..If?

.1 ,•

£y£

* I am devoted to flowers.'
' So am I. I pick them.'

' And throw them away,' said Jasper, stooping and ool-
bcting those she had strewn on the path.

' Well — I have not the patience to garden. I leave all
that to Barbara and old Christopher. I wish things gene-
rally, gardens included, would go along without giving
trouble. I wish my sister were home.'

' To relieve you of all responsibility and trouble.'

' I hate trouble,' said Eve frankly, ' and responsibility
is like a burr in one's clothes— detestable. There I you
are laughing at me, Mr. Jasper.'

' I am not laughing, I am sighing.'

* Oh, you are always sad.'

' I do not like to hear you talk in this manner. You
cannot expect to have your sister at your elbow throughout
life, to fan off all the flies that tease you.'

' If I have not Bab, I shall have someone else.'

* Miss Barbara might marry — and then '

' Barbara marry I ' exclaimed Eve, and clapped her
hands. * The idea is too absurd. Who would marry her ?
She is a dear, darling girl, but -'

* But what, missie ? '

' I dare say I shall marry.*

' Miss Eve ! listen to me. It is most likely that you
will be married some day, but what then ? You will have
a thousand more cares on your shoulders than you have
now, duties you will be forced to bear, troubles which will
encompass you on all sides.'

' Do you know,' said Eve, with a twinkling face, and a
sly look in her eyes, * do you know, Mr. Jasper, I don't
think I shall marry for ever so long. But I have a glorious
scheme in my head. As my money is gone, if anything
should happen to us, I should dearly like to go on the
stage. That would be simply splendid ! '

' The young crows,' said Jasper gravely, * live on the
dew of heaven, and then they are covered with a soft shining

hHii:

DISCOVERIES

123

down. After a while the old birds bring them carrion, and
when they have tasted flesh, they no longer iiave any liking
for dew. Then the black feathers sprout, then only.' He
raised his dark eyes to those of Eve, and said in a deep,
vibrating voice, ' I would have this sweet fledgling sit still
in her beautiful Morwell nest, and drink only the sparkling
drops that fall into her mouth from the finger of God. I
cannot bear to think of her growing black feathers, and
hopping about — a carrion crow.'

Eve fidgeted on her seat. Sho had thrust her pretty
feet before her, clad in white stockings and blue leather
slippers, one on the other ; she crossed and recrossed them
impatiently.

' I do not hke you to talk to me like this. I am tired of
living in the wilds where one sees nobody, and where I can
never go to theatre 6r corcert or baJl. I should — oh, I
should like to live in a town.'

' You are a child. Miss Eve, and think and talk like a
child. But the time is coming when you must put away
childish things, and face life seriously.'

' It is not wicked to \^ant tago to a town. There is no
harm in dreaming that I am an actress. Oh I ' she ex-
claimed, held up her hands, and laughed, ' that would be
too delightful ! '

* "What has put this mad fancy into your head ? *

* Two or three things. I will confide in you, dear Mr.
Jasper, if you can spare the time to listen. This morning
as I had nothing to do, and no one to talk to, I thought I
would search the garrets here. I have never been over
them, and they are extensive. Barbara has always dis-
suaded me from going up there because they are so dusty
and hung with cobwebs. There is such a lot of rubbish
heaped up and packed away in the attics. I don't believe
that Barbara knows what is there. I don't fancy papa does.
Well ! I went up to-day and found treasures.'

* Pray, what treasures ? '

'Barbara is away, and there is no one to scold.

»/> j.i '•*

*'tt

fi ■

124

EVE

There are boxes there, and old chairs, all kinds of things,
some are so heavy I could hardly move them. I could not
get them back into their places again, if I were to try.'
' So you threw the entire garret into disorder ? *
' Pretty well, but I will send up one of the men or
maids to tidy it before Barbara comes home. Behind
an old broken winnowing machine — fancy a winnowing
machine up there! — and under a pile of old pans and
bottomless crocks is a chest, to which I got with infinite
trouble, and not till I was very hot and dirty. I found it
was lockeii, but the rust had eaten through the hinges, or
the nails fastening them ; and after working the lid about
awhile I was able to lift it. What do you suppose I found
inside ? *

* I cannot guess.'

* No, I am sure you cannot. Wait — go on with your
gardening. I will bring you one of my treasures.*

She darted into the hou&d, and after a few minutes,
Jasper heard a tinkling as of brass. Then Eve danced out
to him, laughing and shaking a tambourine.

* I suppose it belonged lo you or Miss Jordan when you
were children, and was stowed away under the mistaken
impression that you had outgrown toys.'

* No, Mr. Jasper, it never belonged to either Barbara
or me. I never had one. Barbara gave me everything of
her own I wanted. I could not have forgotten this. I
would have played with it till I had broken the parchment,
and shaken out all the little bells.'

' Give it to me. I will tighten the parchment, and
then you can drum on it with your fingers.' He took the
instrument from her, and strained the cover. *Do you
know, Miss Eve, how to use a tambourine ? '

' No. I shake it, and then all the little bells tingle.'
' Yes, but you also tap the drum. You want music
as an accompaniment, and to that you dance with this toy.'

* How do you mean ? '

* I will show you how X have seen it played by Italian

DISCOVERIES

135

and gipsy girls.' He took the tambourine, and singing a
lively dance air, struck the drum and clmked the brasses.
He danced before Eve gravely, with graceful movements.

* That is it 1 ' cried Eve, with eyes that flashed with
delight, and with feet that itched to dance. ' Oh, give
it me back. I understand thoroughly now, thank you,
thank you so heartily, dear Mr. Jasper. And now — I have
not done. Gome up into the garret when I dall.'

' What for ? To help you to make more rummage, and
find more toys ? '

* No ! I want you to push the winnowing machine back,
and to make order in the litter I have created.'

Jasper nodded good-humouredly.

Then Eve, rattling her tambourine over her head, ran
in ; and Jasper resumed his work at the flower-beds.
Barbara's heliotrope, from which she so often wore a frag-
rant flower, had not been planted majiy weeks. It was
straggling, and needed pinning down. Her seedling asters
had not been pricked out in a bed, and they were crowding
each other in their box. He took them out and divided
their interlaced roots.

* Mr. Jasper ! ' A little face was peeping out of the
small window in the gable that lighted the attic. He
looked up, waved his hand, and laid down the young asters
with a sigh, but covered their roots with earth before leav-
ing them.

Then he washed his hands at the Abbot's Well, and
slowly ascended the stair to the attic. It was a newel
stone flight, very narrow, in the thickness of the wall.

When he reached the top he threw up a trap in the
floor, and pushed his head through.

Then, indeed, he was surprised. The inconsiderate
Eve had taken some candle end£ and stuck them on the
binding beam of the roof, and lighted ihem. They cast a
yellow radiance through the vast space, without illumining
its recesses. All was indistinct save within the radius
of a few feet around the candles, In the far-off blackness

'tfi

j'- ■■

!.;■ ■■

:iU

■sa

196

EVE

was one silvery grey square of light — the little gable win-
dow. On the floor the rafter cast its shadow as a bar of
ink.

Jasper was not surprised at the illumination, though
vexed at the careless manner in which Eve had created it.
What surprised him was the appearance of the young girl.
She was transfigured. She was dressed in a saffron-
yellow slcirt with a crimson lattice of ribbon over it, fas-
tened with bows, and covered with spangles. She wore a
crimson velvet bodice, glittering with gold lace and bullion
thread embroidery. But her eyes sparkled brighter than
the tarnished spangles.

The moment Jasper's head appeared through the trap
in the floor, she struck the timbrel, and clattered the
jingles, and danced and laughed. Then seeing how
amazed he was she skipped ooquettishly towards him,
rattled her drum in his ear, and danced back again under
her row of candles. She had caught the very air he had
sung recently, when showing her how to manage the in-
strument. She had heard it that once, but she had seized
the melody, and she sang it, and varied it after her own
caprice, but without losing the leading thread, and always
coming back to the burden with a similar set gesture of
arms and feet, and stroke of drum and clash of bells
Then, all at once, one of the candles fell over on the rafter
and dropped to . le floor. Eve brought her tambourine
down with a cra>sh and jangle; Jasper sprang forward,
and extinguished the candle with his foot.

* There I Is not this witchcraft ? ' exclaimed Eve.
* Go down through the trap again, Mr. Jasper, and I will
rejoin you. Not a word to papa, or to Barbie when she
returns.'

' I will not go till the candles are put out and the risk
of a fire is past. You can see by the window to take off
this trumpery.'

* Trumpery ! Oh, Mr. Jasper I Trumpery I ' she ex-
claimed in an injured, disappointed tone.

DISCOVER rES

127

* Call it what you will. WlieiG did you find it ? *

' In yonder box. There is more in it. Do go now,
Mr. Jasper; I will put out the candles, I will, honour
bright.'

The bailiff descended, and resumed his work with the
asters. He smiled and yet was vexed at Eve's giddiness.
It was impossible to be angry with her, she was but a
child. It was hard not to look with apprehension to her
future.

Suddenly he stood up, and listened. He heard the
clatter of horse's hoofs in the lane. Who could be coming ?
The evening had closed in. The sun was set. It was not
dark so near midsummer, but dusk. He went hastily from
the garden into the lane, and saw the young groom urging
on his fagged horse, and leading another by the, bridle,
with a lady's saddle on it.

' Where is your mistress ? Is anything the matter ? *

'Nothing,' answered the lad. 'She is behind. In
taking off her glove she lost her ring, and now I must get
a lantern to look for it.'

' Nelly,' that was the horse, ' is tired. I will get a
light and run back. Whereabouts is she ? '

' Oh, not a thousand yards from the edge of the moor.
The doctor rode with us part of the way from Tavistock.
After he left. Miss Barbara took off her glove and lost her
ring. She won't leave the spot till it be found.'

' Go in. I will take the light to her. Tell the cook
to prepare supper. Miss Jordan must be tired and
hungry.'

-isk
off

ex-

OHAPTER XIX.

s babbaba's bing.

Jaspeb quickly got the lantern out of the stable, and
lighted the candle in the kitchen. Then he ran with it

i
I ■:■

.1 -

128

EVE

along the rough, stone-strewn lane, between walls of moor-
stone, till he came to the moor. He followed the track
rather than road which traversed it. With evening, clouds
had gathered i nd much obscured the light. Nevertheless
the north was full of fine silvery haze, against which stood
rp the curious conical hill of Brent Tor, crowned with its
little church.

When suddenly Jasper came up to Miss Jordan, he
took her unawares. She was stooping, searching the
ground, and, in her dark-green riding habit, he had mis-
taken her for a gorse hush. When he arrived with the
lantern she arose abruptly, and on recognising the young
man the riding-whip dropped from her hand.

' Mr. Jasper ! ' she exclaimed.

* Miss Barbara ! '

They stood still looking at each other in the twilight.
One of her white hands was gloveless.

* What has brought you here ? * asked Barbara, stoop-
ing and picking up her whip with one hand, and gathering
her habit with the other.

' I heard that you had lost something.'

* Yes ; I was thoughtless. I was warm, and I hastily
whisked off my glove that I might pass my hand over my
brow, and I felt as I plucked the glove away that my aunt's
ring came off. It was not a good fit. I was so foolish, so
unnerved, that I let drop the glove — and now can find
neither. The ring, I suspect, is in the glove, but I cannot
find that. So I sent on Johnny Ostler for the lantern. I
supposed he would return with it.'

* I took the liberty of coming myself. He is a boy and
tired with his long journey ; besides, the horses have to be
attended to. I hope you are not displeased.'

* On the contrary,' she replied, in her frank, kindly
tone, ' I am glad to see you. When one has been from
home a long distance, it is pleasant to meet a messenger
from home to say how all are.'

' And it is pleasant for the messenger to bring good

BARBARA'S RING

129

tidings. Mr. Jordan is well ; Miss Eve happy as a butter-
fly in summer over a clover field.'

If it had not been dusk, and Barbara had not turned her
head aoide, Jasper would have seen a change in her face.
She suddenly bowed herself and recommenced her search.

' I am very, very sorry,' she said, in a low tone, • I am
not able to be a pleasant messenger to you. I am— — '
she half raised herself, her voice was full of sympathy. ' I
am more sorry than I can say.'

He made no reply; he, had not, perhaps, expected
much. He threw the light of the lantern along the ground,
and began to search for the glove.

' You are carrying something,' he said ; * let me relieve
you. Miss Jordan.'

* It is — your vioKn.'

' Miss Barbara ! how kind, how good t You have
carried it all the way ? '

' Not at all. Johnny Ostler had it most part. Then
Mr. Coyshe carried it. The boy could not take it at the
same time that he led my horse ; you understand that ? '
Her voice became cold, her pride was touched ; she did not
choose that he should know the truth.

* But you thought of bringing it.'

* Not at all. Your father insisted on its being taken
from his house. The boy has the rest of your ibings, as
many as could be carried.'

Nothing further was said. They searched together for
the glove. They were forced to search closely togethor be-
cause the lantern cast but a poor light round. Where the
glare did fall, there the tiny white clover leaves, fine moor
grass, small delicately- shaped flowers oi the mUkwort,
white and blue, seemed a newly-discovered little world of
loveliness. But Barbara had other matters to consider,
and scarcely noticed the beauty. She was not susceptible
as Eve to the beautiful and picturesque. She was looking
for her glove, but her thoughts were not wholly concerned
with the glove and ring.

'9;

130

EVE

* Mr. Jasper, I saw your father.' She spoke in a low
voice, their heads were not far asunder. ' I told him where
you were.'

* Miss Barbara, did he say anything to you about me ?
Did he say anything about the — the loss of the money ? '

* He refused to hear about you. He would hardly
listen to a word I said.'

* Did he tell you who took the money?'

' No.' She paused. ' Why should he ? I know — it

was you ' • ' .

Jasper sighed.

* I can see,' pursued Barbara, * that you were hard
tried. I know that you had no happy home, that you had
no mother, and that your father may have been har?!: :.:.i
exacting, but — ^but — ' her voice shook. * Excuse me, I am
tired, and anxious about my ring. It is a sapphire sur-
rounded with diamonds. I cannot speak much. I ought
not to have put the ring on my finger till the hoop had
been reduced. It was a very pretty ring.'

Then the search was continued in silence, without
result.

' Excuse me,' she said, after a while, * I may seem en-
grossed in my loss and regardless of your disappointment.
I expected that your father would have been eager to for-
give you. The father of the prodigal in the Gospel ran to
meet his repentant son. I am sure— I am sure you are re-
pentant.'

* I will do all in my power to redress the wrong that
has been done,' said Jasper calmly.

' I entreated Mr. Babb to be generous, to relax his
severity, and to send you his blessing. But I could not win
a word of kindness for you, Mr. Jasper, not a word of hope
and love ! '

' Oh, Miss Jordan, how good and kind you are 1 '

* Mr. Jasper,' she said in a soft tremulous voice, • I
would take the journey readily over again. I would ride
back at once, and alone over the moor, if I thought that

BARBARA'S RING

131

would win the word for you. I believe, I trust, you are re-
pentant, <'Tid I would do all in my power to strengthen
your good resolution, and save your soul.'

Then she touched a gorse bush and made her hand
smart with the prickles. She* put the ungloved hand within
the radius of the light, and tried to see and remove the
spines.

' Never mind,' she said, forcing a laugh. ' The ring,
not the prickles, is of importance now. If I do not find
it to-night, I shall send out all the men to-morrow, and
promise a reward to quicken their interest and sharp ^^n
their eyes.'

She put her fingers where most wounded to her lips.
Then, thinking that she had said too much, shown too great
a willingness to help Jasper, she exclaimed, ' Our holy reli-
gion requires us to do our utmost for the penitent. There
is joy in heaven over one sinner that is contrite.'

* I have found your glove,' exclaimed Jasper joyously.
He rose and held up a dog-skin riding-glove with
gauntlet.

* Feel inside if the ring bo there,' said Barbara. * I
cannot do so myself, one hand is engaged with my whip
and skirt.'

* I can feel it — the hoop — through the leather.'

' I am so glad, so much obhged to you, Mr. Jasper.'
She held out her whi^e hand with the ring-finger extended.
* Please put it in place, and I will close my fist till I reach
home.'

She made the request without thought, considering
only that she had her whip and gathered habit in her
right, gloved hand.

Jasper opened the lantern and raised it. The diamonds
sparkled. ' Yes, that is my ring,' said Barbara.

He set the lantern on a stone, a slab of white felspar
that lay on the grass. Then he lightly held her hand with
his left, and with the right placed the ring on her finger.

But the moment it was in place and his fingers held it

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EVE

there, a shock of terror and shame went to Barbara's
heart. What inconsiderateness had she been guilty of!
The reflection of the light from the white felspar was
in their faces. In a moment, unable to comiol herself,
Barbara burst into tears. Jasper stooped and kissed the
fingers he held.

She started back, snatched her hand from him, clenched
her fist, and struck her breast with it. ' How dare you !
You — ^you — the escaped convict I Go on ; I will follow.
You have insulted me.'

He obeyed. But as he walked back to MorweU ahead
of her, he was not cast down. Eve, in the garret, had
that day opened a coffer and made a discovery. He, too,
on the down, had wrenched open for one moment a fast-
closed hearts had looked in, and made a discovery.

When Barbara reached her home she rushed to her
room, where she threw herself on her bed, and beat and
beat again, with her fists, her head and breast, and said,
'I hate — I hate and despise myself! I hate — oh, how I
hate myself! '

CHAPTER XX.

PERPLEXITY.

Babbara was roused early next morning by Eve ; Eve had
overslept herself when she ought to be up ; she woke and
rose early when another hour of rest would have been a
boon to poor Barbara. The sisters occupied adjoining
rooms that communicated, and the door was always open
between them. When Eve was awake she would not suffer
her sister to sleep on. She stooped over her and kissed
her closed eyes till she woke. Eve had thrown open the
window, and the sweet freuh air blew in. The young girl
was not more than half dressed. She stood by Barbara's
bed with her lovely hair dishevelled about her head, form-

P^kPLEXlTY

133

ing a halo of red-gold glory to her face. That face was
lovely with its delicate roses of health and happiness, and
the blue eyes twinkling in it full of life and fun. Her neck
was exposed. She folded her slender arms round Bar-
bara's head and shook it, and kissed again, fill the tired,
sleep-stupefied girl awoke.

' I cannot sleep this lovely morning,' said Eve ; then,
with true feminine non-Bequitwr'^ 'So you must get up.
Barbie.'

' Oh, Eve, is ij; time ? ' Barbara sat up in bed instantly
wide awake. Her sister seated herself on the side of the
bed and laid her hand in her lap.

* Eve I ' exclaimed Barbara suddenly, ' what have you
there — on your finger ? Who gave you that ? '

' It is a ring, Bab. Is it not beautiful, a fcrget-me-not
of turquoise set in a circlet of gold ? '

* Who gave it you, Eve ? '

' A pixy gift ! ' laughed the girl carelessly.
' This will not do. You must answer me. Where did
you get it ? •

' I found it, Barbie.'

* Found it — where ? '

' Where are forget-me-nots usually found ? * Then
hastily, before her sister could speak, ' But what a lovely
ring you have got on your pincushion, Bab ! Mine cannot
compare with it. Is that the ring I heard the maids say
you lost ? *

* Yos, dear.'

* How did you recover it? Who found it for you ? *

* Jasper.'

Eve turned her ring on her finger.

' My darling,' said Barbara, ' you have not been candid
with me about that ring. Did Dr. Coyshe give it to
you?'

' Dr. Coyshe ! Oh, Barbara, that ever you should think
of me as aspiring to be Mrs. Squash t '

* When did you get the ring ? '

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EVE

'Yesterda}.'

* Who gave it to you ? You must tell me/

' I have already told you — I found it by the wood, as
truly as you found yours on the down.'

Suddenly Barbara started, and her heart beat fast.

* Eve ! — where is the ribbon and your mother's ring ?
You used to have that ring always in yo'ir bosom. Where
is it ? Have you parted with thi t ? '

Eve's colour rose, flushing face and throat and bosom.

* Oh, darling ! ' exclaimed Barbara, ' answer me truly.
To whom have you given that ring ? *

* I have not given it ; I have lo»t it. You must not be
angry with me, Bab. You lost yours.' Eve's eyes sank
as she spoke, and her voice faltered.

The elder sister did not speak for a moment ; she looked
hard at Eve, who stood up and remained before her in a
pretty penitential attitude, but unable to meet her eye.

Barbara considered. Whom could her sister have met ?
There was no one, absolutely no one she could think of, if
Mr. Coyshe ""^re set aside, but Jasper. Now Barbara had
disapproved of the way in which Eve ran after Jasper be-
fore she departed for Ashburton. She had remonstrated,
but she knew that her remonstrances carried small weight.
Eve was a natural coquette. She loved to be praised,
admired, made much of. The life at Morwell was dull,
and Eve sought society of any sort where she could chatter
and attract admiration and provoke a compliment. Eve
had not made any secret of her liking for Jasper, but Bar-
bara had not thought there was anything serious in the
liking. It was a child's fancy. But then, she considered,
would any man's heart be able to withstand the pretty
wiles of Eve? Was it possible for Jasper to be daily
associated with this fairy creature and not love her? '

*Eve,' said Barbara gravely, *it is of no use trying
concealment with me. I know who gave you the ring. I
know more than you suppose.'

* Jasper has been telUng tales,' exclaimed Eve.

PERPLEXITY

135

Barbara winced but did not speak.
Eve supposed that Jasper had informed her sister about
the meeting with Watt on fcne Raven Rock.

* Are you going to sleep again ? ' asked Eve, as Barbara
had cast herself back on her pillow with the face in it.
The elder sister shook her head and made a sign with her
hand to be left alone.

When Barbara was nearly dressed, Eve stole on tiptoe
out of her own room into that of her sister. She was
uneasy at Barbara's silence ; she thought her sister was
hurt and offended with her. So she stepped behind her,
put her arms round her waist, as Barbara stood before the
mirror, and her head over her sister's shoulder, partly that
she might kiss her cheek, partly also that she might see
her own face in the glass and contrast it with that of Bar-
bara. ' You are not cross with me ? * she said coaxingly.

* No, Eve, no one can be cross with you.' She turned
and kissed her passionately. * Darling ! you must give back
the Httle ring and recover that of your mother.'

' It is impossible,' answered Eve.

' Then I must do what I can for you,' said Barbara.
Barbara was resolved what to do. She would speak to her
father, if necessary ; but before that she must have a word
on the matter with Jasper. It was impossible to tolerate
an attachment and secret engagement between him and
her sister.

She sought an opportunity of speaking privately to the
yoimg man, and easily found one. But when they were
together alone, she discovered that it was not easy to
approach the topic that was uppermost in her mind.

'I was very tired last night, Mr. Jasper,' she said,
' over-tired, and I am hardly myself this morning. The
loss of my aunt, the funeral, the dividing of her poor little
treasures, and then the lengthy ride, upset me. It was very
ridiculous of me last night to cry, but a girl takes refuge in
tears when overspent, it relieves and even refreshes her.'

Then she hesitated and looked down. But Barbara had

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136

EVE

a strong will, and when she had made up her mind to do
what she believed to be right, allowed no weakness to in-
terfere with the execution.

' And now I want to speak about something else. I
must beg you will not encourage Eve. She is a child,
thoughtless and foolish.'

' Yes ; she should be kept more strictly guarded. I
do not encourage her. I regret her giddiness, and give
her good advice, which she casts to the winds. Excuse
my saying it, but you and Mr. Jordan are spoiling the
child.'

' My father and I spoil Eve t That is not possible.'

' You think so ; I do not. The event will prove which
is right. Miss Jordan.'

Barbara was annoyed. What right had Jasper to dic-
tate how Eve was to be treated ?

' That ring,' began Barbara, and halted.

' It is not lost again, surely ! ' said Jasper.

Barbara frowned. 'I am not alluding to my ring
which you found along with my glove, but to that which
you gave to Eve.'

' I gave her no ring ; I do not understand you.'

' It is a pretty little thing, and a toy. Of course you
only gave it her as such, but it was unwise.'

' I repeat, I gave her no ring, Miss Jordan.'

' She says that she found it, but it is most improbehle.'

Jasper laughed, not cheerfully; there was alwFi.ys a
sadness in his laughter. ' You have made a great mistake.
Miss Jordan. It is true that your sister found the ring.
That is, I conclude she did, as yesterday she found a chest
m the garret fall of old masquerading rubbish, and a tam-
bourine, and I know not what besides.'

A load was taken off Barbara's mind. So Eve had not
deceived her.

' She showed me a number of her treasures,' said Jasper.
' No doubt whatever that she found the ring along with the
other trumpery,'

PERPLEXITY

137

Barbara's face cleared. She drew a long breath.
' Why did not Eve tell me all ? ' she said.
• ' Because,' answered the young man, * she was aft'aid
you would be angry with her for getting the old tawdry
stuff out of the box, and she asked me not to tell you
of it. Now I have betrayed her confidence, I must
leave to you, Miss Jordan, to make my peace with Miss
Eve.'

' She has also lost something that hung round her
throat.'

' Vory likely. She was, for once, hard at work in the
ganet, moving boxes and hampers. It is lying somewhere
on the floor. If you wish it I will search for her ornament,
and hope my success will be equal to th|it of last night.'
He looked down at her hand. The ring was not on it.
She observed his glance and said coldly, ' My ring does
not fit me, and I shall reserve it till I am old, or till I
find some young lady friend to whom I must make a wed-
ding present.' Then she turned away. She walked across
the Abbot's Moadow, through which the path led to the
rocks, because she knew that Eve had gone in that direc-
tion. Before long she encountered her sister returning
with a large bunch of foxgloves in her hand.

' Do look, Bab ! ' exclaimed Eve, ' is not this a splendid
sceptre? A wild white foxglove with thirty-seven bells
on it.'

' Eve ! ' said Barbara, her honest face alight with plea-
sure ; ' my dearest, I was wrong to doubt you. I know
now where you found the ring, and I am not in the least
cross about it. There, kiss and make peace.'

' I wish the country folk had a prettier name for the
foxglove thfc.n _/Zop-a-doc A;,' said Eve.

' My dear,' said Barbara, * you shall show me the pretty
things you have found in the attic'

'What— Bab?'

' I know all about it. Jasper hes proved a traitor.*

* What has he told you ? '

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EVE

' He lias told me where you found the turquoise ring,
together with a number of fancy ball dresses.*

Eve was silent. A struggle went on in her innocent
heart. She hated falsehood. It pained her to deceive her
sister, who had such perfect faith in her. She felt inclined
to tell her all, yet she dared not do so. In her heart
she longed to hear more of Martin. She remembered
his handsome face, his flattering and tender words,
the romance of that night. No ! she could not tell
Barbara.

'We will go together into the garret,' said Barbara,
' and search for your mother's ring. It will easily be found
by the blue ribbon to which it is attached.'

Then Eve kughed, held her sister at arms' length,
thrusting the great bunch of purple and white foxgloves
against her shoulder, so that their tall heads nodded by
her cheek and ear. ' No, Bab, sweet, I did not find the
ring in the chest with the gay dresses. I did not lose the
ring of my mother's in the loft. I tell you the truth, but
I tell you no more.'

' Oh, Eve I ' Barbara's colour faded. ' Who was it? I
implore you, if you love me, tell me.'

*I love you dearly, but no,' She curtsied. 'Find
out if you can.' Then she tripped away, waving her
foxgloves.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE SOTTHE OF TIME.

' Mt papa I my darling papa 1 ' Eve burst into her father's
room. * I want you much to do something for me. Mr.
Jasper is so kind. He has promised to have a game of
bowls with me this evening on the lawn, and the grass is
not mown.'

' Well, dear, get it mown,' said Mr. Jordan dreamily.

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THE SCYTHE OF TIME

13^

*■ But there is no man about, and old Davy is in bed.
What am I to do ? '

* Wait till to-morrow.'

' I cannot ; I shall die of impatience. I have set my
heart on a game of bowls. Do you not see, papa, that the
weather may change in the night and spoil play for to-
morrow ? ' •*

* Then what do you wish ? *

* Oh ! my dear papa,' Eve nestled into his arms, * I
don't want much, only that you would cut the grass for
me. It really will not take you ten minutes. I will
promise to sweep up what is cut.'

' I am engaged, E\ e, on a very delicate test.'

' So am I, papa.'

Mr. Ignatius Jordan looked up at her with dull sur-
prise in his eyes.

' I mean, papa, that if you really love me you will
jump up and mow the grass. If you don't love me you
will go on muddling with those minerals and chemicals.'

The gaunt old man stood up. Eve knew her power
over him. She could make him obey her slightest caprice.
She ran before him to the gardener's tool-house and
brought him the scythe.

In the quadrangle was a grass plat, and on this Eve
had decided to play her game.

' All the balls are here except the Jack,' said she. ' I
shall have to rummage everywhere for the black-a-moor ;
I can't think where he can be.' Then she ran into the
house in quest of the missing ball.

The grass had been left to grow all spring and had not
been cut at all, so that it was rank. Mr. Jordan did not
well know how to wield a scythe. He tried and met with
so little success that he suspected the blade was blunt.
Accordingly he went to the tool-house for the hone, and,
standing the scythe up with the handle on the swath,
tried to sharpen the blade.

The grass was of the worst possible quality. The

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140

EVR

quadrangle was much in shadow. The plots were 60
exhausted that little grew except daisy and huttercup.
Jasper had already told Barhara to have the wood-ashes
thrown on the plots, and had promised to see that they
were limed in wiLter. Whilst Mr. Jordan was honing
the scythe slowly and clumsily Barhara came to him. She
was surprised to see him thus engaged. Lean, haggard,
with deep- sunken eyes, and hollow cheeks, he lacked but
the hour-glass to make him stand as the personification of
Time. He was in an ill-humour at having been disturbed
and set to an uncongenial task, though his ill-humour was
not directed towards Eve. Barbara was always puzzled
by her father. That he suffered, she saw, but she could
not make out of what and where he suffered, and he re-
sented inquiry. There were times when his usually dazed
look was exchanged for one of keenness, when ^^*s eyes
glittered with a feverish anxiety, and he seen to be
watching and expecting with eye and ear somt>uxixng or
some person that never came. At table he was without
conversation ; he sat morose, lost in his own thoughts till
roused by an observation addressed to him. His temper
was uncertain. Often, as he observed nothing, he took
offence at nothing ; but occasionally small matters roused
and unreasonably irritated him. An uneasy apprehension
in Barbara's mind would not be set at rest. She feared
that her father's brain was disturbed, and that at any time,
without warning, he might break out into some wild, un-
reasonable, possibly dreadful, act, proclaiming to everyone
that what she dreaded in secret had come to pass — total
derangement. Of late his humour had been especially
changeful, but his eldest daughter sought to convince her-
self that this could be accounted for by distress at the loss
of Eve's dowry.

Barbara asked her father why he was mowing the grass
plot, and when he told her that Eve had asked him to do
so that she might play bowls that evening on it, she re-
monstrated, * Whom is she to play with ? '

V.e .■■

THE SCYTHE OF TIME

141

* Jasper Babb has promised her a game. I suppose
you and I will be dragged out to make up a party.'

* papa, there is no necessity for your mowing 1 You
do not understand a scythe. Now you are honing the
wrong way, blunting, not sharpening, the blade.'

' Of course I am wrong. I never do right in your eyes.'
' My dear father,' said Barbara, hurt at the injustice of
the remark, ' that is not true.'

* Then why are you always watching me ? I cannot
walk in the garden, I cannot go out of the door, I cannot
eat a meal, but your eyes are on me. Is there anything
very frightful about me ? Anything very extraordinary ?
No — it is not that. I can read the thoughts in your head.
You are finding fault with me. I am not doing useful
work. I am. wasting valua' ie hours over empty pursuits.
I am eating what disagrees with me, too much, or too
little. Understand this, once for all. I hate to be
watched. Here is a case in point, a proof if one were
needed. I came out here to cut this grass, and at once
yon are after me. You have spied my proceedings. I
must not do this. If I sharpen the scythe I am all in the
wrong, blunting the blade.'

The tears filled Barbara's eyes.

* I am told nothing,' continued Mr. Jordan. ' Every-
thing I ought to know is kept concealed from me, and you
whisper about me behind my back to Jasper and Mr.
Coyshe.*

* Indeed, indeed, dear papa '

' It is true. I have seen you talking to Jasper, and I
know it was about me. What were you trying to worix-
out of him about me? And so with the doctor, fou
rode with him aU the way from Tavistock to the Down the
other day ; my left ear was burning that afternoon. What
did it bum for ? Because I was being discussed. I object
to being made the topic of discussion. Then, when you
parted with the doctor, Jasper Babb ran out to meet you,
that you might learn from him how I had behaved, what I

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had done, whilst you were away. I have no rest in my
own house because of your prying eyes. Will you go now,
and leave me.*

' I win go now, certainly,' said Barbara, with a gulp in
her throatj, and swimming eyes.

' Stay I ' he said, as she turned. He stood leaning his
elbow on the head of the scythe, balancing it awkwardly.
' I was told nothing of your visit to Buckfastleigh. You told
Eve, and you told Jasper — but I who am most concerned
only heard about it by a side-wind. You brought Jasper
• his fiddle, and when I asked how he had got it, Eve told
me. You visited his father. Well I am I nobody that I
am to be kept in the dark ? '

'I have nothing of importance to tell,' said Barbara.
' It is true I saw Mr. Babb, but he would not let me inside
his house.'

' Tell me, what did that man say about the money ? '

' I do not think there is any chance of his paying un-
less he be compelled. He has satisfied his conscience. He
put the money away for you, and as it did not reach you
the loss is yours, and you must bear it.'

' But good heavens ! that is no excuse at all. The base
hypocrite ! He is a worse thief than the man who stole
the money. He should sell the fields he bought with my
loan.'

* They were fields useful to him for the stretching of
the cloth he *vova in his factory.'

' Are you trying to justify him for withholding pay-
ment ? ' asked Mr. Jordan. ' He is a hypocrite. What
was he to cry out against the strange blood, and to curse
it? — ^he, Ezekiel Babb, in whose veins ran fraud and
guile?'

Barbara looked wonderingly at him through the veil of
tears that obscured her sight. What did he mean ?

' He is an old man, papa, but hard as iron. He has
white hair, but none of the reverence which clings to age
attaches to him.'

THE SCYTHE OF TIME

143

* White hair ! ' Mr. Jordan turned the scythe, and
with the point aimed at, missed, aimed at again, and cut
down a white-seeded dandelion in the grass. 'That in
white, but the neck is soft,' even if the head be hard,' said
Mr. Jordan, pointing to the dandeHon. * I wish that were

his head, and I had cut through his neck. But then '

he seemed to fall into a bewildered state — ' the blood should
run red — ^run, run, dribble over the edge, red. This is
milky, but acrid.' He recovered himself. *I have only
cut down a head of dandelion.' lie reversed the scythe
again, and stood leaning his arm (fii the back of the blade,
and staying the handle against his knee.

* My dear father, had you not better put the scythe
away ? '

* Why should I do that ? I have done no harm with it.
No one can set on me for what I have cut with it — only a
white old head of dandelion with a soft neck. Think — if
it had been Ezekiel Babb's head sticking out of the grass,
with the white hair about it, and the sloe-black wicked
eyes, and with one cut of the scythe — swish, it had tumbled
over, with the stalk upwards, blr ding, bleeding, and the
eyes were in the grass, and winking because the daisies
teased them and made them water.'

Barbara was distressed. She must change the current
of his thoughts. To do this she caught at the first thing
that came into her head.

' Papa ! I will tell you what Mr. Coy she was talking
to me about. It is quite right, as you say, that you
should know all ; it is proper that nothing should be kept
irom you.'

' It is hardly big enough,' said Mr. Jordan.

* What, papa ? '

' The dandelion. I can't feel towards it as if it were
Mr. Babb's head.'

* Papa,' said Barbara, speaking rapidly, and eager to
divert his mind into another channel, * papa dear, do you
know that the doctor is much attached to our pet ? '

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144

EVE

' It could not be otherwise. Everyone loves Eve ; if
they do not, they deserve to die.'

'Papa! He told me as much as that. He admires
her greatly, and would dearly like to propose for her, but,
though I do not suppose he is bashful, he is not quite sure
that she cares for him.'

' Eve shall have whom she will. If she does not like
Goyshe, she shall have anyone else.'

Then he hinted that, though he had no doubt he
would make himself a great name in his profession, and in
time be very wealthy, ttiat yet he could not afford as he is
now circumstanced to marry a wife without means.

* There 1 there ! ' exclaimed Mr. Jordan, becoming
again excited. * See how the wrong done by Ezekiel Babb
is beginning to work. There is a future, 9. fine future
offering for my child, but she cannot accept it. The gate
is open, but she may not pass through, because she has
not the toll-money in her hand.'

* Are you sure, papa, that Mr. Coy she would make Eve
happy ? '

* I am sure of it. What is this place for her ? She
should be in the world, be seen and received, and shine.
Here she is like one hidden in a nook. She must be
brought out, she must be admired by all.'

* I do not think Eve cares for him.'

But her father did not hear her ; he went on, and as
he spoke his eyes flashed, and spots of dark red colour
flared on his cheek-bones. * There is no chance for poor
Eve ! The money is gone past recovery. Her future is
for ever blighted. I call on heaven to redress the wrong.
I went the other day to Plymouth to hear Mass, and I had
but one prayer on my lips, Avenge me on my enemy !
When the choir sang ** Gloria in JExcelsis, Deo" I heard
my heart sing a bass, " On earth a curse on the man of ill-
wHl." When they sang the Hosanna I I muttered. Cursed
is he that conleth to defraud the motherless ! I could not
hear the Benedictus. My heart roared out ** Imprecatui t

THE SCYTHE OF TIME

145

Im'precatus sit/" I can pray nothing else. All my
prayers turn sour in my throat, and I taste them like gall
on my tongue.'

' papa ! this is horrible ! '

Now he rested both his elbows on the back of the blade
and raised his hands, trembling with passion, as if in
prayer. His long thin hair, instead of hanging lank about
his head, seemed to bristle with electric excitement, his
cheeks and lips quivered. Barbara had never seen him so
greatly moved as now, and she did not know what to do to
pacify him. She feared lest any intervention might exas-
perate him further.

* I pray,' he began, in a low, vibrating monotone, * I
pray to the God of justice, who protecteth the orphan and
the oppressed, that He may cause the man that sinned to
suffer ; that He will whet his gleaming sword, and smite
and not spare — smite and not spare the guilty.' His voice
rose in tone and increased in volume. Barbara looked
round, in hopes of seeing Eve, trusting that the sight of
her might soothe her father, and yet afraid of her sister
seeing him in this condition.

, * There was a time, seventeen years ago,' continued
Mr. Jordan, not noticing Barbara, looking before him as
if he saw something far beyond the boundary walls of the
house, * there was a time when he hfted up his hand and
voice to curse my child. I saw the black cross, and the
shadow of Eve against it, and he with his cruel black
hands held her there, nailed her with his black fingers to
the black cross. And now I lift my soul and my hands to
God against him. I cry to Heaven to avenge the innocent.
Raise Thy arm and Thy glittering blade, Lord, and
smite I '

Suddenly the scythe slipped from under his elbows.
He uttered a sharp cry, staggered back and foil.

As he lay on the turf, Barbara saw a dark red stain
ooze from his right side, and spread as ink on blotting-
paper. The point of the scythe had entered his side. Hei

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EVE

put his hand to the wound, and then looked at his palm.
His face turned livid. At that moment, just as Barbara
sprang to her father, having recovered from the momen-
idixy po-ralysis of terror, Eve bounded from the hall-door,
holding a ball over her head in both her hant^s, and shout-
ing joyously, ' I have the Jack ! I have the Jack ! '

CHAPTER XXII.

THE BED STBEAE.

Babbaba was not a girl to allow precious moments to be
lost ; instead of giving way to emotion and exclamations,
she knelt and tore off her father's waistcoat, ripped his
shirt, and found a gash under the rib ; tearing off her
kerchief she ran, sopped it in cold water, and held it
tightly to the wound.

* Run, Eve, run, summon help ! ' she cried. But Eve
was powerless to be of assistance ; she had turned white
to the lips, had staggered back to the door, and sent the
Jack rolling over the turf to her father's feet.

' I am faint,' gasped poor Eve. * I cannot see blood.'

* You must,' exclaimed Barbara, • command yourself.
Ring the alarm bell : Jasper — someone— will hear.'

' The power is gone from my arms,' sobbed Eve,
shivering.

' Call one of the maids. Bid her ring,' ordered the
elder.

Eve, holding the sides of the door to prevent herself
from falling, deadly white, with knees that yielded under
her, staggered into the house.

Presently the old bell hung in a pent-house over the
roof of the chapel began to give tongue.

Barbara, kneeling behind her father, raised his head
on her bonom, and held her kerchief to his side. The
first token of returning consciousness was given by his

THE RED STRBAtC

147
Then

hands, which clutched at some grass he had cut.
he opened his eyes.

'Why is the beU tolling?'

' Dear papa ! it is calling for help. You must
moved. You are badly hurt.'

* I feel it. In my side. How was it ? I do not re-
member. Ah ! the scythe. Has the blade cut deep ? '

' I cannot tell, papa, till the doctor comes. Are you
easier now ? '

* You did it. Interfering with me when I was mowing.-
Teasing me. You will not leave me alone. You are
always watching me. You wanted to take the scythe
from me. If you had left me alone this would not have
happened.'

' 'Never mind, darling papa, how it happened. Now
we must do our best to cure you.'

' Am I badly hurt ? What are these women coming
crowding round me for ? I do not want the maids here.
Drive them back, Barbara.'

Barbara made a sign to the cook and house and kitchen
maids to stand back.

* You must be moved to your room, papa.'

* Am I dying, Barbara ? '

* I hope and trust not, dear.'

* I cannot die without speaking ; but I will not speak
till I am on the point of death.'

* Do not speak, father, at all now.'

He obeyed and remained quiet, with his eyes looking
up at the sky. Thus he lay till Jasper arrived breathless.
He had heard the bell, and had run, suspecting some
disaster.

'Let me carry him, with one of the maids,' said
Jasper,

' No,' answered Barbara. ' You shall take his sho alders,
I his feet. We will carry him on a mattress. Cook and
Jane have brought one. Help me to raise him on to it.'

Jasper was the man she wanted. He did not lose his

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head. He did not ask questions, how the accident had
happened ; he did net waste words in useless lamentation.
He sent a maid at once to the stable to saddle the horse.
A girl, in the country, can saddle and bridle as well as a boy.
' I am oflf for the doctor,' he said shortly, a,- soon as
he had seen Mr. Jordan removed to the same downstairs
room in which he had so recently lain himself.

* Send for the lawyer,' said Mr. Jordan, who had lain
with his eyes shut.

' The lawyer, papa I '

* I must mflke my will. I might die, and then what
would become of Eve ? '

* Eide on to Tavistock after you have summoned Mr.
Coy she,' said Barbara.

When Jasper was gone. Eve, who had been fluttering
about the door, came in, and threw herself sobbing on
her knees by her father's bed. He put out his hand,
stroked her brow, and called her tender names.

She was in great distress, reproaching herself for
having asked him to mow the grass for her ; she charged
herself with having wounded him.

* No— no. Eve ! ' said her father. • It was not your
fault. Barbara would not let me alone. She interfered,
and I lost my balance.'

' I am so glad it was not I,' sobbed Eve.

' Let me look at you. Stand up,' he said.

She rose, but averted her face somewhat, so as not to
see the blood on the sheet. He had been caressing her.
Now, as he looked at her, he saw a red streak across her
forehead.

* My child 1 what is that ? You are hurt I Barbara,
help ! She is bleeding.'

Barbara looked.

* It is nothing,' she said ; * your hand, papa, has left
some of its stains on her brow. Come with me, Eve, and
I will wash it clean.'

The colour died completely out of Eve's face, and she

THE RED STREAK

149

seemed again about to faint. Barbara hastily bathed a
napkin in fresh water, and removed all traces of blood
from her forehead, and then kissed it.

' Is it gone ? ' whispered Eve.

' Entirely.'

'I feel it still. I cannot remain here.' Then the
young girl crept out of the room, hardly able to subti.in
herself on her feet.

When Barbara was alone with her father, she said to
him, in her quiet, composed tones, ' Papa, though I do not
in the least think this wound will prove fatal, I am glad
you have sent for Lawyer Knig'hton, because you ought
to make your will, and provide for Eve. I made up my
mind to speak to you when I was on my way home from
Ashburton.'

' Well, what have you to say ? *

* Papa I I've been thinking that as the money laid by
for Eve is gone for ever, and as my aunt has left me a
little more than sixteen hundred pounds, you oughv; to
give Morwell to Eve— tnat is, for the rest of your term of
it, some sixty-three years, I think. If you like to make a
little charge on it for me, do so, b; t do not let it be much.
I shall not require much to n.'.ake xae happy. I shall never
marry. If I had a good deal of money it is possible some
man would be base enough to want to marry me for it ;
but if I have only a little, no one will think of asking me.
There is no one whom I care for whom I would dream of
taking — under no circumstances — nothing would move me
to it — nothing. And as an old maid, what could I do with
this property ? Eve must marry. Indeed, she can have
almost anyone she likes. I do not think she cares Tor the
doctor, but there must be some young squ' e about here
who would suit her.'

• Yes, Barbara, you are right.'

' I am glad you think so,' she said, smiled, and
coloured, pleased with his commendation, so rarely won.
* J^O one can see Dve without Joving her. I have my littlQ

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ISO

EVE

scheme. Captain Cloberry is coming home from the army
this ensuing autumn, and if he is af^ nice as his sisters
say — then something may come of it. But 1 4o not know
"whether Eve cares or does not care for Mr. Coyshe. He
has not spoken to her yet. I think, papa, it would be well
to let him and everyone know that Morwell is not to come
to me, but is to go to Eve. Then everyone will know what
to expect.

' It shall be so. If Mr. Knighton comes, I will get the

doctor to be in the room when I make my will, and Jasper
Babb also.' He considered for a while, and then said,
* In spite of all — there is good in you, Barbara. I forgive
you my wound. There — you may kiss me.'

As Barbara wished, and Mr. Jordan intended, so was
the will executed. Mr. Knighton, the solicitor; arrived at
the same time as the surgeon ; he waited till Mr. Coyshe
had bandaged up the wound, and th "^ he entered the sick
man's roomf summoned by Barbai

* My second daughter,' said Mr. Jordan, ' is, in the eye
of the law, illegitimate. My elder daughter has urged me
to do what I likewise feel to be right— to leave my title to
Morwell estate to Eve.*

' What is her surname — I mean her mother's name ? '
'That you need not know. I leave Morwell to my

daughter Eve, commonly called Eve Jordan. That is

Barbara's wish.'

* I urged it on my father,' said Barbara.

Jasper, who had been called in, looked into her face
with an expression of admiration. She resented it, frowned,
and averted her head.

When the will had been properly executed, the doctor
left the room with Jasper. He had already given his in-
structions to Barbara how Mr. Jordan was to be treated.
Outside the door he found Eve fluttering, nervous, alarmed,
entreating to be reassured as to her father's condition.

•Dear Barbie disturbed him whilst he was mowing,'
she said, ' and he let the scythe slip, and so got hurt.' She

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THE RED STREAK

1S«

was readily consoled when assured that the old gentleman
lay in no immediate danger. He must, however, be kept
quiet, and not allowed to leave his bed for some time.
Then Eve bounded away, light as a roe. The reaction set
in at once. She was like a cork in water, that can only
be kept depressed by force ; remove the pressure and the
cork leaps to the surface again.

Such was her nature. She could not help it.

* Mr. Jasper,' said the surgeon, ' I have never gone
over this property. If you have a- spare hour and would
do me a favour, I should like to look about me. The
quality of the land is good ? '

•Excellent.'

* Is there anywhere a ma^ of the property that I could
run my eye over ? '

' In the study.'

' "What about the shooting, now ? *

* It is not preserved. If it were it would be good, the
cover is so fine.'

' And there seems to be a good deal of timber.'
After about an hour Mr. Coyshe rode away. ' Some
men are Cyclopses, as far as their own interesrts are con-
cerned,' said he to himself ; ' they carry but a single eye.
I invariably use two.'

In the evening, when Barbara came to her sister's
room to tell her that she intended to sit up during the
night with her father, she said : ' Mr. Jasper is vpry kind.
He insists on taking half the wft*-ch, he will relieve me at
two o'clock. What is the matter 'vith you, Eve ? '

* I can see nothing, Barbie, but it is there still.*

* What is ? '

* That red mark. I have been rubbing, and washing,
and it burns like fire.'

* I can see, my dear Eve, that where you have rubbed
your pretty white deUcate skin, you have made it red.'

* I have rubbed it in. I feel it. I cannot get the feel
away. It stains me. It hurts me. It bums me.'

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CHAPTER XXm.

A BUNCH OF BOSES.

Mb. Jobdan's wound was not dangerous, but the strictest
rest was enjoined. He must keep his bed for some days.
As when Jasper was ill, so now that her father wa^ an
invalid, the principal care devolved on Barbara. No
reliance could be placed on Eve, who was willing enough,
but too thoughtless and forgetful to be trusted. When
Barbara returned from Ashburton she found her store
closet in utter confusi'>n: bags of groceries opened and
not tied up again, bottles of sauces upset and broken,
coffee berries and rice spilled over the floor, lemons with
the sugar, become mouldy, and dissolving the sugar. The
linen cupboard was in a similar disorder: sheets pulled
out and thrust back unfolded in a crumpled heap, pillow-
cases torn up for dusters, blankets turned out and left in a
damp place, where the moth had got to them. Now,
rather than give the keys to Eve, Barbara retained them,
and was kept all day engagad without a moment's cessa-
tion. She was not able to sit much with her father, but
Eve could do that, and her presence soothed the sick man.
Eve, however, would not remain long in the room with
her father. She was restless, her spirits flagged, and Mr.
Jordan himself insisted on her going out. Then she would
run to Jasper Babb, if he were near. She had taken a
great fancy to him. He was kind to her ; he treated her
as a child, and accommodated himself to her humours.
Barbara could not now be with her. Besides, Barbara
had not that craving for colour and light, and melody and
poetry, that formed the very core of Eve's soul. The elder
sister was severely practical. She liked what was beauti-
ful, as a well-educaied young lady is required by society
to have such a liking, but it was not instinctive in her,

A BUNCH OF ROSES

tS3

it was in no way a passion. Jasper, on the other hand,
responded to the testhetic longings of Eve. He could
sympathise with her raptures ; Barbara laughed at them.
It is said that everyone sees his own rainbow, but there
are many who are colour-blind and see no rainbows, only
raindrops. Wherever Eve looked she saw rainbows.
Jasper had a strong fibre of poetry in him, and he was
able to read the girl's character and understand the un-
certain aspirations of her heart. He thought that Bar-
bara was mistaken in laughing down and showing no
interest in her enthusiasms, and he sought to give her
vague aspirations some direction, and her cravings some
satisfaction.

Eve appreciated his efforts. She sftw that he under-
stood her, which Barbara did not ; she and Jasper had a
world of ideas in common from which her sister was shut
out. Eve took great delight in talking to Jasper, but her
chief delight was in listening to him when he played the
violin, or in accompanying him On the piano. Old violin
music was routed out of the cupboards, fresh was ordered.
Jasper introduced her to a great deal of very beautiful
classical music of which she was ignorant. Hitherto she
had been restrained to a few meagre collections : the
' Musical Treasury,' the ' Sacred Harmonist,' and the like.
Now, with her father's consent, she ordered the operas of
Mozart, Beethoven's sonatas, Bossini, Boieldieu, and was
guided, a ready pupil, by Jasper into this new and en-
chanted world. By this means Jasper gave Eve an
interest, which hitherto she had lacked — a pursuit which
she followed with eagerness.

Barbara was dissatisfied. She thought Jasper was
encouraging Eve in her frivolity, was diverting her from
the practical aims of life. She was angry with Jasper,
and misinterpreted his motives. The friendship subsist-
ing between her sister and the young steward was too
warm. How far would it go ? How was it to be arrested ?
Eve was inexperienced and wilful. Before she knew

A\ if'.,

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f! r

»54

EVE

where she was, Jasper would have gained her young heart.
She was so headstrong that Barbara doubted whether a
word of caution would avail anything. Nevertheless, con-
vinced that it was her duty to interfere, she did speak,
and, of course, gained nothing by so doing. Barbara
lacked tact. She spoke to Eve plainly, but guardedly.

'Why, Bab! what are you thinking of? Why should
I not be with Mr. Jasper ? ' answered Eve to her sister's
expostulation. ' I like him vastly ; he talks delightfully,
he knows so much about music, he plays and sings the
tears into my eyes, and sets my feet tingling to dance.
Papa does not object. When we are practising I leave the
parlour door open for papa to hear. He says he enjoys
listening. Oh, Barbie ! I wish you loved music as I do.
But as you don't, let me go my way with the music, and
you go your way with the groceries.'

' My dearest sister,' said Barbara, ' I do not think it
looks well to see you running after Mr. Jasper.'

* Looks well ! ' repeated Eve. * Who is to see me ?
Morwell is quite out of the world. Besides,' she screwed
up her pretty mouth to a pout, ' I don . run after him, he
runs after me, of course '

' My dear, dear Evb,' said Barbara earnestly, * you
must not suffer him to do so.'

* Why not ? ' asked Eve frankly. • You like Ponto and
puss to run after you, and the little black calf, and the
pony in the paddock. What is the difference ? You care
for one .^ort of animals, and I for another. I detest dogs
and cats and bullocks.'

' Eve, sweetheart * — poor Barbara felt her powerlessness
to carry her point, even to make an impression, but in her
conscientiousness believed herself bound to go on — • your
conduct is indiscreet. We must never part with our self-
respect. That is the guardian angel given to girls by God.'

' Oh, Bab I ' Eve burst out laughing. * What a dear,
grave old Mother Hubbard you are ! I am always doing,
and always will do, exactly opposite to what you intend

A BUNCH OF HOSES

IJS

and expect. I know why you are lecturing me now. I
will tell Mr. Jasper how jealous you have become.'

* For heaven's sake ! ' exclaimed Barbara, springing to
her feet— she had been sitting beside Eve — ' do nothing
of the sort. Do not mention my name to him. I
am not jealous. It is an insult to me to make such a
suggestion. Do I ever seek his company ? Do I not shun
it? No, Eve, I am moved only by uneasiness for you.
You are thoughtless, and are playing a dangerous game
with that man. When he sees how you seek his society,
it flatters him, and his vanity will lead him to think of
you with more warmth than is well. Understand this,
Eve — there is a bar between him and you which should
make the man keep his distance, and he shows a wicked
want of consideration when he draws near you, relying on
your ignorance.'

* What are you hinting at ? '

* I cannot speak out as I wish, but I assure you of this.
Eve, unless you are more careful of your conduct, I shall
be forced to take steps to get Jasper Babb dismissed.'

Eve laughed, clapped her hands on her sister's cheeks,
kissed her lips and said, * You dear old Mother Hubbard,
you can't do it. Papa would not listen to you if I told
him that I wanted Jasper to stay.'

Barbara was hurt. This was true, but it was unkind
of Eve to say it. The young girl was herself aware that
she had spoken unfeelingly, was sorry, and tried to make
amends by coaxing her sister.

'I want you to tell me,' said Barbara, very gravely,
* for you have not told me yet, who gave you the ring ? '

' I did not tell you because you said you knew. No one
carries water to the sea or coals to Newcastle.'

'Be candid with me. Eve.'

*Am not I open as the day? Why should you com-
plain?'

*Eve, be serious. Was it Mr. Jasper who gave you
the turquoise ring ? '

I I'M 1

n 1

156

EVE

t:-K

* Jasper ! ' Eve held out her skirts daintily, and danced
and made curtsies round her sister, in the prettiest, most
coquettish, laughing way. 'Yea dearest, you best, you
most jealous of sisters ; we will not quarrel over poor good
Jasper. I don't mind how much you pet the black calf.
How absurd you are ! You make me laugh sometimes at
your density. There, do not cry. I would tell you all if
I dared.' Then warbling a strain, and still holding her
skirts out, she danced as in a minuet, slowly out of the
room, looking back over her shoulder at her distressed
sister

That was all Barbara had got by speaking— nothing,
absolutely nothing. She knew that Eve would not be one
wit more guarded in her conduct for what had been said
to her. Barbara revolved in her mind the threat she
had rashly made of driving Jasper away. That would
necessitate the betrayal of his secret. Could she bring
herself to this? Hardly. No, the utmost she could do
was to threaten him that, unless he voluntarily departed,
she would reveal the secret to her father.

A day or two after this scene, Barbara was again put
to great distress by Eve's conduct.

She knew well enough that she and her sister were
invited to the Cloberrys to an afternoon party and dance.
Eve had written and accepted before the accident to Mr.
Jordan. Barbara had let her write, because she was
herself that day much engaged and could not spare time.
The groom had ridden over from Bradstone manor, and
was waiting for an answer, just whilst Barbara was
weighing out sago and tapioca. When Mr. Jordan was hurt,
Barbara had wished to send a boy to Bradstone with a letter
declining the party, but Mr. Coyshe had said that her father
was not in danger, had insisted on Eve promising him a
couple of dances, and had so strictly combated her desire
to withdraw that she had given way.

In the afternoon, when the girls were ready to go, they
came downstairs to ki^s their father, and let him see them

A BUNCH OF ROSES

157

in their pretty dresses. The little carriage was at the
door.

In the hall they met Jasper Babh, also dressed for the
party. He held in his hands two lovely bouquets, one of
yellow tea-scented roses, which he handed to Barbara, the
other of Malmaison, delicate white, with a soft inner blush,
which he offered to Eve. Whence had he procured them?
No doub J he had been for them to a nursery at Tavistock.

Eve was in raptures over her Malmaison ; it was a new
rose, quite recently introduced, and she had never seen it
before. She looked at it, uttered exclamations of deUght,
smelt at the flowers, then ran off to her father that she
might show him her treasures.

Barbara thanked Jasper somewhat stiffly; she was
puzzled. Why was he dressed?

'Are you going to ride, or to drive us?' asked Eve,
skipping into the hall again. She had put her bunch in
her girdle. She was charmingly dressed, with rose satin
ribands in her hair, about her throat, round her waist.
Her face was, in colour, itself like a souvenir de la
Malmaison rose.

* Whom are you addressing ? ' asked Barbara seriously.
*I am speaking to Jasper,' answered Eve.

* Mr. Jasper,' said Barbara, * was not invited to Brad-
stone.' \p

' Oh, that doen not matter ! ' said the ready Eve. ' I ac-
cepted for him. You know, dear Bab — I mean Barbie —
that I had to write, as you were up to your neck in tapioca.
Well, at these parties there are so many girls and so few
gentlemen, that I thought I would give the Cloberry girls
and Mr. Jasper a pleasure at once, so I wrote to say that
you and I accepted and would bring with us a young gentle-
man, a friend of papa, who was staying in the house.
Mr. Jasper ought to know the neighbours, and get some
pleasure.'

Barbara was aghast.

* I think, Miss Eve, you have been playing tricks with

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EVE

me,' said Jasper. ' Surely I understood you that I had
been specially invited, and that you had accordingly ac-
cepted for me.'

* Did I? ' asked Eve carelessly; 'it is all the same. The
Cloberry girls will be delighted to see you. Last time I
was there they said they hoped to ha,ve an afternoon dance,
but were troubled how to find gentlemen as partners for
all the pretty Misses.'

* That being so,' said Barbara sternly, turning as she
spoke to Jasper, * of course you do not go ? '

* Not go ! ' exclaimed Eve ; ' to be sure he goes. We
are engaged to each other for a score of dances.' Then,
seeing the gloom gathering on her sister's brow, she ex-
plained, * It is a plan between us so as to get free from
Doctor Squash. When Squash asks my hand, I can say I
am engaged. I have been booked by him for two dances,
and he shall have no more.'

' You have been inconsiderate,' said Barbara. * Unfor-
tunately Mr. Babb cannot leave Morwell, as my father is
in his bed — it is not pdfesible.'

* I have no desire to go,' said Jasper.

* I do not suppose you have,' said Barbara haughtily,
turning to him. ' You are judge of what is right and fit-
ting — in every way.'

Then Eve's temper broke out. Irier cheeks flushed, her
lips quivered, and the tears started into her eyes. * I will
not allow Mr. Jasper to be thus treated,' she exclaimed.
* I cannot understand you, Barbie ; how can you, who are
usually so ccEisiderate, grudge Mr. Jasper a little pleasure ?
He has been working hard for papa, and he has been kind
to me, and he has made your garden pretty, and now you
are mean and ungrateful, and send him back to his room
when he is dressed for the party. I'll go and ask papa to
interfere.'

Then she ran off to hor father's room.

The moment Eve wa out of hearing, Barbara's anger
blazed forth. * You are not acUng right. You forget your

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Ev<

Win

A BUNCH OF ROSES

'59

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position ; you forget who you are. How dare you allow '

my sister ? If you had a spark of honour, a grain of

good feeling in your heart, you would keep her at arm's
length. She is a child, inconsiderate and confiding ; you
are a man with such a foul stain on your name, that you
must not come near those who are clean, lest you smirch
them. Keep to yourself, sir ! Away ! '

* Miss Jordan,' he answered, with a troubled expression
on Li'^ face and a quiver in his voice, ' you are hard on me.
I had no desire whatever to go to this dance, but Miss Eve
told me it was arranged that I was to go, and I am obedi-
ent in this house. Of course, now I withdraw.'

* Of course you do. Good heavens ! In a few days
some chance might bring all to light, and then it would
be the scandal of the neighbourhood that we had intro-
duced — that Eve had danced with — an escaped jail-bird —
a vulgar thief.*

She walked out through the door, and threw the bunch
of yellow roses upon the plot of grass in the quadrangle.

CHAPTEE XXIV.

w:heee they withered.

Babbaba did not enjoy the party at the Cloberrys, She
was dull and abstracted. It was otherwise with Eve.
During the drive she had snlked ; she was in a pet with
Barbara, who was a stupid, tiresome marplot. But when
she arrived at Bradstone and was surrounded by admirers,
when she had difficulty, net in getting partners, but in
selecting among those who pressed themselves on her,
Eve's spirits were elated. She forgot about Jasper, Bar-
bara, her &ther, about everything but present delight.
"With sparkling eyes, heightened colour, and dimples that
came and went in her smiling face, she sailed past Barbara

i6o

EVE

'without observing her, engrossed in the pleasure of the
dance, and in playing with her partner.

Barbara was content to be unnoticed. She sat by her-
self in a corner, scarce noticing what went on, so wrapped
up was she in her thoughts. Her mood was observed by
her hostess, and atrributed to anxiety for her father. Mrs.
Cloberry went to her, seated herself at her side, and talked
to her kindly about Mr. Jordan and his accident. ,

* You have a friend staying with you. We rather ex-
pected him,' said Mrs. Cloberry.

*0h! ' Barbara answered, 'that was dear Eve's non-
sense. She is a child, and does not think. My father has
engaged a steward ; of course he could not come.'

' How lovely Eve is ! ' said Mrs. Cloberry. * I think I
never saw so exquisite a creature.*

* And she is as good and sweet as she is lovely,' an-
swered Barbara, always eager to sing her sister's praises.

Eve's roses were greatly admired. She had her posy
out of her waistband showing the roses, and many a com-
pliment was occasioned by them. * Barbara had a beauti-
fuU bouquet also,' she said, and looked round. * Oh, Bab !
where are your yellow roses ? '

' I have dropped them,' answered Barbara.

Besides daiicing there was singing. Eve required little
pressing.

* My dear Miss Jordan,' said Mrs. Cloberry, ' how your
sister has improved in style. Who has been giving her
kssons ? '

The party was a pleasant one ; it broke up early. It
began at four o'clock and was over when the sun set. As
the sisters drove home, Kvc prattled as a brook over stones.
She had perfectly enjoyed herself. She had outshone every
girl present, had been much courted and greatly flattered.
Eve was not a vain girl ; she knew she was pretty, and
accepted homage as her right. Her father and sister had
ever been her slaves ; and she expected to find everyone
wear chains before her. But there was no vulgar conceit

WHERE THEY WITHERED

i6i

about her. A queen born to wear the crown grows up to
expect reverence and devotion. It is her due. So with
Eve ; she had been a queen in Morwell since infancy.

Barbara listened to her talk and answered her in mono-
syllables, but her mind was not with the subject of Eve's
conversation. She was thinking then, and she had been
thinking at Bradstone, whilst the floor throbbed with danc-
ing feet, whilst singers were performing, of that bouquet of
yellow roses which she had flung away. Was it still lying
on the grass in the quadrangle ? Had Jane, the housemaid,
seen it, picked it up, and taken it to adorn the kitchen
table ?

She knew that Jasper must have taken a long walk to
procure those two bunches of roses. She knew that he
could ill afford the expense. When he was ill, she had put
aside his little purse containing his private money, and had
counted it, to make sure that none was lost or taken. She
knew that he was poor. Out of the small sum he owned
he must have paid a good deal for these rosSs,-

She had thrown her bunch away in angry scorn, under
his eyes. She had been greatly provoked ; but — had she
behaved in a ladyhke and Christian spirit ? She might
have left her roses in a tumbler in the parlour or the hall.
That would have been a courteous rebuff — but to fling
them away !

There are as many conflicting currents in the human
soul as in the ocean ; some run from east to west, and
some from north to south, some are sweet and some bitter,
some hot and others cold. Only in the Sargasso Sea are
there no currents — and that is a sea of weeds. What we
believe to-day we reject to-morrow; we are resentful at
one moment over a wrong inflicted, and are repentant the
next for having been ourselves the wrong-doer. Barbara
had been in fiery indignation at three o'clock against
Jasper ; by five she was cooler, and by six reproached
herself.

As the sisters drove into the little quadrangle, Barbara

■>. If

t I

1 62

EVE

turned her head aside, and whilst she made as though she
were unwinding the knitted shawl that was wrapt about
her head, she looked across the turf, and saw lying, where
she had cast it, the bunch of roses.

The stable-boy came with his lantern to take the horse
and carriage, and the sisters dismounted. Jane appeared
at the hall door to divest them of their wraps.

' How is papa ? ' asked Eve ; then, without waiting for
an answer, she ran into her father's room to kiss him and
tell him of the party, and show herself again in her pretty
dress, and again receive his words of praise and love.

But Barbara remained at the door, leisurely folding
her cloak. Then she put both her own and her sister's
parasols together in the stand. Then she stood brushing
her soles on the mat — quite unnecessarily, as they were
not dirty.

* You may go away, Jane,* said Barbara to the maid,
who lingered g^t the door.

* Please, Miss, I'm waiting for you to come in, that I
may lock up.'

Then Barbara was obHged to enter.

* Has Mr. Babb been with my father ? * she asked.

* No, Miss. I haven't seen him since you left.'

*You may go to bed, Jane. It is washing-day to-
morrow, and you will have to be up at four. Has not
Mr. Babb had his supper ? '

' No, Miss. He has not been here at all.'

* That will do.' She signed the maid to leave.

She stood in the hall, hesitating. Should she unbar
the door and go out and recover the roses ? Eve would
leave her father's room in a moment, and ask questions
which it would be inconvenient to answer. Let them He.
She went upstairs with her sister, after having wished her
father good-night.

* Barbie, dear ! ' said Eve, ' did you observe Mr,
Squash ? '

' Do not, Eve. That is not his name.*

ml
cal

drl
brj

WHERE THEY WIZHERED

163

' I think he looked a little disconcerted. I repudiated.*

* What do you mean ? '

' I refused to be bound by the engagements we had
made for a quadrille and a waltz. I did not want to dance
with him, and I did not.'

* Run back into your room, darling, and go to bed.'
When Barbara was alone she went to her window and

opened it. The window looked into the court. If she
leaned her head out far, she could see where the bunch of
roses ought to be. But she could not see them, though
she looked, for the grass lay dusk in the shadows. The
moon was rising, and shone on the long roof like steel, and
the light was creeping down the wall. That long roof was
over the washhouse, and next morning at early dawn the
maids would cross the quadrangle with the linen and carry
fuel, and would either trample on or pick up and appro-
priate the bunch of yellow roses.

Barbara remembered every word that she 'had said to
Jasper. She could not forget — and now could not forgive
herself. Her words had been cruel ; how they must have
wounded him ! He had not been seen since. Perhaps he
was gone and would not return again. They and she
would see him no more. That would be well in one way,
it would relieve her of anxiety about Eve; but, on the
other hand, Jasper had proved himself most useful, and,
above all — he was repentant. Her treatment of him might
make him desperate, and cause him to abandon his reso-
lutions to amend. Barbara knelt at the window, and
prayed.

The white owls were flying about the old house. They
had their nests in the great bam. The bats were squeak-
ing as they whisked across the quadrangle, hunting gnats.

When Barbara rose from her knees her eyes were
moist. She stood on tipto6 and looked forth from the
casement again. The moonlight had reached the sward,
drawing a sharp line of hght across it, broken by one
brighter speck — ^the bunch of roses.

1 64

EVE

Then Barbara, without her shoes, stole downstairs.
There was sufficient light in the hall for her to find her
way across it to the main door. She very softly unbarred
it, and still in her stockings, unshod, went out on the
doorstep, over the gravel, the dewy grkss, and picked up
the cold wet bunch.

Then she slipped in again, refastened the door, and
with beating heart regained her room.

Now that she had the roses, what should she do with
them? She stood in the middle of her room near the
candle, looking at them. They were not much faded.
The sun had not reached them, and the cool grass had
kept them fresh. They were very delicately formed, lovely
roses, and fireshly sweet. What should she do with them?
If they were put. in a tumbler they would flourish for a few
days, and then the leaves would fall off, and leave a dead
cluster of seedless rose-he'^rts.

Barbara had a desk that had belonged to her mother,
and this desk had in it a secret drawer. In this drawer
Barbara preserved a few special treasures ; a miniature of
her mother, a silver cold-cream capsule with the head of
Queen Anne on it, that had belonged to her grandmother,
the ring of brilliants and sapphire that had come to her
from her aunt, and a lock of Eve's hair when she was a
baby. Barbara folded the roses in a sheet of white paper,
wrote in pencil on it the date, and placed them in the
secret drawer, there to wither along with the greatest
treasures she possessed.

Barbara's heart was no Sargasso Sea. In it ran cur-
rents strong and contrary. What she cast away with
scorn in the afternoon, she sought and hid as a treasure in
the night.

I6S

CHAPTER XXV.

LEAH AND BAGHEL.

SuNDAT was a quiet day at Morwell. As the Jordans were
Catholics they did not attend their parish church, which
"^Vas Tavistock, some four miles distant. The servants
went, or pretended to go. Morwell was quiet on all days,
it was most quiet of all on a bright Sunday, for then there
were fewest people about the old house.

Jasper Babb had not run away, offended at Barbara's
rudeness. He went about his work as usual, was as little
seen of the sisters as might be, and silent when in their
company.

On Sunday evening Barbara and Eve scrolled out to-
gether ; it was their wont to do so on that day, when the
weather permitted. Jane, the housemaid, was at home
with their father.

They directed their steps as usual to the Baven Bock,
which commanded so splendid a view to the west, was so
airy, and so sunny a spot that they liked to sit there and
talk. It was not often that Barbara had the leisure for
such a ramble ; on Sundays she made a point of it. As
the two girls emerged from the wood, and came out on the
platform of rock, they were surprised to see Jasper seated
there with a book on his knee. He rose at once on hear-
ing their voices and seeing them. If he had wished to
escape, escape was impossible, for the rock descends on
all sides sheer to great depths, except where the path leads
to it.

* Do not let us disturb you,' said Barbara ; ' we will
withdraw if we interrupt your studies.'

* What is the book ? ' asked Eve. * If it be poetry, read
us something from it.'

i66

EVE

He hesitated a moment, then with a smile said, ' It
contains the noblest poetry — it is my Bible.'

* The Bible I ' exclaimed Barbara. She was pleased.
He certainly was sincere in his repentance. He would not
have gone away to a private spot to read the sacred volume
unless he were in earnest.

' Let us sit down, Barbie f ' said Eve. * Don't run
away, Mr. Jasper.'

* As Mr. Jasper was reading, and you asked him to give
you something from the boo^, I will join in the request.'

* I thought it was perhaps — Byron,' said Eve.

' As it is not Byron, but something better, we shall be
all the better satisfied to ha^ ' it read to us,' said Barbara.

' Well, then, some of the .tory part, please,' asked Eve,
screwing up her mouth, ' and not much of it.'

* I should prefer a Psalm,' said Barbara ; • or a chapter
&om one of the Epistles.'

' I do not know what to read,' Jasper said smiling, 'as
each of you asks for something different.'

' I have an idea,' exclaimed Eve. ' He shall hold the
book shut. I will close my eyes and open the volume at
hap-hazard, and point with my finger. He shall read that,
and we can conjure from it, or guess our characters^ or
read our fate. Then you dhall do the same. Will that
please you ? '

' I do not know about guessing characters and reading
our fate ; our characters we know by introspection, and
the future is hidden from our eyes by the same Hand that
se»t the book. But if you wish Mr. Jasper to be guided
by this method what to read, I do not object.'

* Very well,' said Eve, in glee ; * that will be fun ! You
will promise. Barbie, to shut your eyes when you open and
put your finger on a page ? And, Mr. Jasper, you promise
to read exactly what my sister and I select ? '

' Yes,' answered both to whom she appealed.

* But mind this,' pursued the hvely girl ; * you must
as soon as I am tired.'

LEAH AND RACHEL 167

Then first, eager in all she did that promised entertain^
ment or diversion, she took the Bible from Mr. Babb's
liands, and closed her eyes ; a pretty smile played about
her flexiMe lips as she sat groping with her finger among
the pages. Then she opened the book and her blue orbs
together.

' There ! ' she exclaimed, ' I have made my choice ;
yet — wait 1 I will mark my place, and then pass the book
to Bab — I mean, Barbie.' She had a wild summer rose
in her bosom. She pulled off a petal, touched it wit her
tongue, and put the leaf at the spot she had selected.

Then she shut the Bible with a snap, laughed, and
handed it to her sister.

' I need not shut my eyes,* said Barbara ; ' I will look you
full in the face. Eve.' Then she took the book and felt for
the end pages that she might light on an Epistle ; just as
she saw that Eve had groped for an early part of the book
that she might have a story from the times of the patri-
archs. She did not know that Eve in handing her the
book had not turned it ; consequently she held the Bible
reversed. Barbara held a buttercup in her hand. She was
so accustomed to use her fingers, tliat it was strange to her
to have nothing to employ them. As they came through the
meadows she had picked a few flowers, broken the stalks
and thrown them away. There remained in her hand but
one buttercup.

Barbara placed the Bible on her lap; she, like Eve,
had seated herself on the rocky ledge. Then she opened
near what she believed to be the end of tho book, and laid
the golden cup on a page.

Eve leaned towards her and looked, and uttered an ex-
clamation.

' What is it ? * asked Barbara, and looked also.

Behold ! the golden flower of Barbara was shining on
the pink petal of Eve's rose.

* We have chosen the same place. Now, Barbie, what
do you say to this ? Is it a chance, or are we going to

K ■ .■■..

;
- ^1

jijiiji^

■'

i68

EVE

learn our fate, which is bound up together, from the
passage Mr. Jasper is about to read ? '

' There is no mystery in the matter,' said Barbara
quietly ; ' you did not turn the book when you gave it to
me, and it naturally opened where your flower lay.'

* Go on, Mr. Jasper,' exhorted Eve. But the young
man seemed ill-disposed to obey.

* Yes,' said Barbara ; * begin. We are ready.'
Then Jasper began to read : —

' Jacob went on his journey, and came into the land of
the people of the east. And he looked, and behold a well
in a field, and, lo, there were flocks of sheep lying by it.'

' I am glad we are going to have this story,' said Eve ;
' I like it. It is a pretty one. Jacob came to that house
of Laban just as you, Mr. Babb, have come to Morwell.'

Jasper read on : —

' And Laban had two daughters : now the name of the
elder was Leah, and the name of the younger was Bachel.
Leah was tender eyed ; but Rachel was beautiful and well-
favoured.'

Barbara was listening, but as she listened she looked
away into the blue distance over the vast gulf of the Tamar
valley towards the Cornish moors, the colour of cobalt,
with a salmon sky above them. Something must at that
moment have struck the mind of Jasper, for he paused in
his reading, and his eyes sought hers.

She said in a hard tone, ' Go on.'

Then he continued in a low voice, * And Jacob loved
Bachel ; and said, I will serve thee seven years for Rachel,
thy younger daughter. And Laban said, It is better that
I give her to thee, than that I should give her to another
man : abide with me. And Jacob served seven years for
Rachel ; and they seemed unto him but a few days, for
the love he had to her.'

The reader again paused ; and again with a hard voice
Barbara bade him proceed.

* And Jacob said unto Laban, Give me my wife, for my

•i s .

LEAH AND RACHEL

l69

days are fulfilled. And Laban gathorod together all the
men of the place, and made a feast. And it came to pass
in the evening, that he took Leah his daughter, and
brought her to Jacob.'

* That will do,' said Eve, * I am tired.'

' It seems to me,' said Barbara, in a subdued tonei
* that Leah was a despicable woman, a woman without
self-respect. She took the man, though she knew his
heart was set on Eachel, and that he did not care a rush
for her. No I — I do not like the story. It is odious.'
She stood up and, beckoning to Eve, left the platform of
rock.

Jasper remained where he had been, without closing
the book, without reading further, lost in thought. Then
a small head appeared above the side of the rock where it
jutted out of the bank of underwood, also a pair of hands
that clutched at the projecting points of stone ; and in
another moment a boy had pulled himself on to the plat-
form, and lay on it with his feet dangling over the edge,
his head and breast raised on his hands. He was
laughing.

* What ! dreaming, Master Ju ner Jacob ? Of which ?
Of the weak-eyed Leah or the blue-orbed Rachel ? '

The young man started as if he had been stung.

* What has brought you here, Watt ? No good, I
fear.'

* my dear Jasper, there you are out. Goodness per-
sonified has brought me here — even your own pious self,
sitting Bible-reading to two pretty girls. How happy
could I be with either ! Eh, Jasper ? '

' What do you want with me ? ' asked Jasper, redden-
ing ; • I detest your fun.'

* Which is it ? ' taunted the mischievous boy. * Which
— the elder, plain and dark ; or the younger, beautiful as
dawn ? or — like the patriarch Jacob — both ?

* Enough of this, Watt, What has brought you,
here?'

170

EVE

'MM

* To sec you, of course. I know you think me void of
all Christianity, but I have that in me yet, I like to know
the whereabouts of my brother, and how he is getting on.
I am still with Martin — ever on the move, like the sun,
like the winds, like the streams, like everything that does
not stagnate.'

' It is a hard thing for me to say,' said Jasper, ' but it
is true. Poor Martin would be better without you. He
would be another man, and his life not blighted, had it
not been for your profane and mocking tongue. He was
a generous-hearted fellow, thoughtless, but not wicked;
you, however, have gained complete power over him, and
have used it for evil. Your advice is for the bad, your
sneers for what is good.'

' I do not know good from bad,' said the boy, with a
contemptuous grin.

'Watt, you have scoffed at every good impulse in
Martin's heart, you have drowned the voice of his con-
science by your gibes. It is 'you who have driven him
with your waspish tongue along the road of ruin.'

' Not at all, Jasper ; there you wrong me. It was you
who had the undoing of Martin. You have loved him and
Bc:^eened him since he was a child. You have taken the
^.iinip.hment and blame on you which he deserved by his
misconduct. Of course he is a giddy-pate. It is you who
have let him grow up without dread of the consequences
of wrong-doing, because the punishment always fell on
you. You, Jasper, have spoiled Martin, not I.'

* Well, Watt, this may be sr. Father was unduly
harsh. I had no one else to love at home but my brother
Martin. You were such a babe as to be no companion.
And Martin I did — I do love. Such a noble, handsome,
frank-hearted brother ! All sunshine and laughter ! My
childhood had been charged with grief and shadow, and I
did my best to screen him. One must love something in
this world, or the heart dies, I loved my brother.'

' Love, love ! ' laughed Watt. * Now you have that

LEAH AND RACHEL

171

I, ^

If:

heart so full that it is overflowing towards two nice girls.
I suppose that, enthralled between blue eyes and brown,
you have no thought left for Martin, none for father —
who, by the way, is dying.'

* Dying ! ' exclaimed Jar per, springing to his feet.

' There, now ! ' said the boy ; ' don't in your astonish-
ment topple over the edge of the precipice into kingdom
come.'

' How do you know this, Watt ? ' asked Jasper in great
agitation.

' Because I have been to Buckfastleigh and seen the
beastly old hole, and the factory, and the grey rat in his
hole, curled up, gnawing his nails and squealing with
pain.*

* For shame of you, "Watt I you have no reverence even
for your father.'

* Keverence, Jasper I none in the world for anybody or
anything. Everything like reverence was killed out of me
by my training.'

* What is the matter with father ? '

* How should I tell ? I suw him making contortions
and yowling. I did not approach too near lest he should
bite.'

* I shall go at once,' said Jasper earnestly.

* Of course you will. You are the heir. Eh ! Jasper !
When you come in for the house and cloth mill, you will
extend to us the helping hand. you eaint ! Why don't
you dance as I do ? Am I taken in by your long face ?
Ain't I sure that your heart is beating because now at last
you will come in for the daddy's collected money ? Poor
Martin ! He can't come and share. You won't be mean,
but divide, Jasper ? I'll be the go-between.'

* Be silent, you wicked boy ! ' said Jasper angrily ; * I
cannot endure your talk. It is repugnant to me.'

* Because I talk of sharing. You, the saint I He
sniffs filthy mammon and away he flies like a crow to
carrion. Good-bye, Jasper ! Away you go like an arrow

172

EVE

from tliG bow. Don't let that old housekeeper ru^nmage
the stockings stuffed with guineas out of the chimney
before you get to Buckfastleigh ! '

Jasper left the rock and strode hastily towards Mor-
well, troubled at heart at the news given him. Had he
looked behind him as he entered the wood, he would have
seen the boy making grimaces, capering, clapping his
hands and knees, whistling, screaming snatches of operatic
tunes, laughing, and shouting • Which is it to be, Rachel
or Leah ? '

CHAPTER XXVI

pri

SU|

pa|

bOA

abs
'Ml

AN IMP OP DARKNESS.

Jasper went immediately to Mr. Jordan. He found Eve
with her father. Jane, the housemaid, had exhibited
signs of restlessness and impatience to be off. Joseph
Woodman, the policeman from Tavistock, a young and
sleepy man who was paying her his addresses, had ap-
peared at the kitchen window and coughed. He was off
duty, and Jane thought it hard that she should be on
when he was off. So Eve had let her depart with her
lover.

* Well,' said Mr. Jordan, who was still in bed, ' what is
it ? Do yon want me ? '

* I have come to ask your permission to leave for a few
days. I must go to my father, who is dying. I will re-
turn as soon as I can.'

Eve's great blue eyes opened with amazement. ' You
said nothing about this ten minutes ago.'
' I did not know it then.'

* What ! ' exclaimed Mr. Jordan, trying to rise on his
elbow, and his eyes brightening, ' Ezekiel Babb dying I
Is justice overtaking him at last ? '

* I hear that he is dying,' said Jasper ; * it is my duty
to go to him.'

AN IMP OF DARKNESS

173

'If he dies,' said Mr. Jordan, 'to whom will his
property go ? '

* Probably to me ; but it is premature to inquire.'
' Not at all. My Eve has been robbed '

* Sir ! ' said Jasper gravely, ' I undertook to repay that
sum as soon as it should be in my power to do so, princi-
pal and interest. I have your permission, sir ? ' He
bowed and withdrew.

At supper Barbara looked round, and noticed the
absence of Jasper Babb, but she said nothing,

' You need not look at that empty chair,' said Eve ;
* Mr. Jasper will not be here. He is gone.'

* Gone where ? '

' Called away suddenly. His father is dying.'
Barbara raised her eyebrows. She was greatly puzzled.

She sat playing with her fork, and presently said, * This is

very odd — who brought the news ? '

* I saw no one. He came in almost directly after we
left him on the Raven Rock.'

' But no one came up to the house.'

* Oh, yes — Joseph Woodman, Jane's sweetheart, the
policeman.'

* He cannot have brought the news.'

' I do not think Mr. Jasper saw him, but I cannot say.'

* I cannot understand it. Eve,' mused Barbara. * What
is more, I do not believe it.'

Barbara was more puzzled and disturbed than she
chose to show. How could Jasper have received news of
his father? If the old man had sent a messenger, that
messenger would have come to the house and rested there,
and been refreshed with a glass of cider and cake and cold
heef. No one had been to the house but the policeman,
and a policeman was not likely to be made the vehicle of
communication between old Babb and his son, living in
concealment. More probably Jasper had noticed that a
policeman was hovering about Morwell, had taken alarm,
and absented himself.

174

EVM

Then that story of Jacob semng for Rachel and being
given Leah came back on her. Was it not being in part
enacted before her eyes ? Was not Jasper there acting as
steward to her father, likely to remain there for some
years, and all the time with the love of Eve consuming
his heart ? * And the seven years seemed unto him but a
few days for the love that he had to her.' What of Eve ?
Would she come to care for him, and in her wilfulness
insist on having him ? It could not be. It must not be.
Please God, now that Jasper wt gone, he would not
return. Then, again, her mind s ang back to the per-
plexing question of the reason of J per's departure. He
could not go home. It was out of tlae question his show-
ing his face again at Buckfastleigh. He would be recog-
nised and taken immediately. Why did he invent and
pass off on her father such a falsehood as an excuse for his
disappearance ? If he were made uneasy by the arrival of
the Tavistock poHceman at the house, I might have
found some other excuse, but to deliberately ..ay that his
father was dying and that he must attend his death-bed,
this was monstrous.

Eve remained till late, sitting in the parlour without a
light. The servant maids were all out. Their eagerness
to attend places of worship on Sunday — especially Simday
evenings— showed a strong spirit of devotion ; and the
lateness of the hour to which those acts of worship de-
tained them proved also that their piety was of stubborn
and enduring quality. Generally, one of the maids re-
mained at home, but on this occasion Barbara and Eve
had allowed Jane to go out when she had laid the table for
supper, because her policeman had come, and there was to
be a love-feast at the little dissenting chapel which Jane
attended. The lover having turned up, the love-feast
must follow.

As the servants had not returned, Eaibdj"? remained
below, waiting till she heard their •^'oi- cf Her fatber was
dozing. She looked in at him and th t re^rnwd to her

lii

AN IMP OF DARKNESS

175

the
de-
horn
re-
ive
for
Is to
[ane
iast

[ned
Iwas
I lier

place by the latticed window. The room was dark, but
there was silvery light in the summer sky, becoming verj-
white towards the norti . Outside the window was a jessa-
mine ; the scent it exhaled at night was too strong. Bar-
bara shut the window to exclude the fragrance. It made
her head ache. A light air played with the jessamine,
and brushed some of the white flowers against the glass.
Barbara was usually sharp with the servants when they
returned from their revivals, and love-feasts, and mission-
ary meetings, late; but this evening she felt no impatience.
She had plenty to occupy her mind, and the cime passed
quickly with her. All at once she heard a loud prolonged
hoot ,- an owl, so near and so loud that she felt sure the
bird must be in the house. Next moment she heard her
father's voice calling repeatedly and excitedly. She ran +'
him and found him alarmed and agitated. His winuv, .{
had been left open, as the evening was warm.

* I heard an owl ! ' he said. * It was at my ear ; it
called, and routed me from my sleep. It was not an owl —
I do not know what it was. I saw something, I am not
sure what.'

' Papa dear, I heard the bird. You know there are
several about. They have their nests in the barn and old
empty pigeon-house. One came by the window hooting.
I heard it also.'

* I saw -mething,' he said.

She took his hand. It was cold and trem^iling.

' You were dreaming, papa. The owl loused you, and
dreams mixed with your waking impressions, so that you
cannot distinguish one from another.'

* I do not know,' he said, vacantly, and put his hand to
his head. ' I do see and hear strange things. Do not
leave me alone, Barbara. Kindle a light, and read me one
^f Challoner's Meditations. It may compose me.'

Eve was upstairs, amusing herself with unfolding and
trying on the yellow and crim^ dress she had found in
the garret. She knew that Barbara, would not come up-*

176

EVE

stairs yet. She would have been afraid to masquerade
before her. She put her looking-glass on a chair, so that
she might see herself better in it. Then she took the tim-
brel, and poised herself on one foot, and held the instru-
ment over her head, and lightly tingled the little bells.
She had put on the blue turquoise ring. She looked at it,
kissed it, waved that hand, and rattled the tambourine,
but not so loud that Barbara might hear. Eve was quite
happy thus amusing herself. Her only disappointment
was that she had not more such dresses to try on.

All at orce she started, stood still, turned and uttered
a cry of terror. She had been posturing hitherto with her
back to the window. A noise at it made her look round.
She saw, seated in it, with his short legs inside, and his
hands grasping the stone mullions — a small dark figure.

* Well done, Eve ! Well done, Zerlina I

L^ ci darem la mano,
L^ mi diiai di si 1 '

Then the boy laughed maliciously ; he enjoyed her con-
fusion and alarm.

' The weak-eyed Leah is away, quieting Laban,' he
said ; ' Leah shall have her Jacob, but Rachel shall get
Esau, the gay, the handsome, whose hand is against every
man, or rather one against whom every man's hand is
raised. I am going to jump into your room.'

* Keep away ! ' cried Eve in the greatest alarm.

* If you cry out, if you rouse Leah and bring her here,
I will make such a hooting and howling as will kill the
old man downstairs with fear.'

* In pity go. What do you want ? ' asked Eve, backing
from the window to the farthest wall.

* Take care ! Do not run out of the room. If you at-
tempt it, I will jump in, and make ray fiddle squeal, and
caper about, till even the sober Barbara — Leah I mean —
will believe that devils Lave taken possession, and as for
the old man, he will give up his ghost to them without a
protest,'

at-

1 —
for

it a

AN IMP OF DARKNESS

177

* I entreat you — I implore you— go ! ' pleaded Eve,
with tears of alarm in her eyes, cowering back against the
wall, too frightened even to think of the costume she
wore.

* Ah ! ' jeered the impish boy. * Run along down into
the room where your sister is reading and praying with the
old man, and what will they suppose but that a crazy
opera-dancer has broken loose from her caravan and is
rambling over the country.'

He chuckled, he enjoyed her terror.

* Do you know how I have managed to get this little
talk with you uninterrupted ? i hooted in at the window
of your father, and when he woke madfi faces at him. Then
he screamed for help, and Barbara went to him. Now
here am I ; I scrambled up the old pear-tree trained
against the wall. What is it, a Chaumontel or a Jargo-
nelle ? It can't be a Bon Chretien, or it would not have
borne me.'

Eve's face was white, her eyes were wide with terror, her
hands behind her scrabb^ d at the wall, and tore the paper.
* Oh, what do you want ? Pray, pray go ! '

* I will come in at the window, I will caper and whistle,
and scream and fiddle. I will jump on the bed and kick
all the clothes this way, that way. I will throw your Sun-
day frock out of the window ; I will smash the basin and
water-bottle, and glass and jug. 1 will throw the mirror
against the wall ; I will tear down the blinds and curtains,
and drive the curtain -pole through the windows ; I will
throw your candle into the heap of clothes and linen and
curtain, and make a blaze which will burn the room and
set the house flaming, unless you make me a solemn pro-
raise. I have a message for you from poor Martin. Poor
Martin ! his heart is breaking. He can think only of lovely
Eve. As soon as the sun sets be on the Raven Rock to-
morrow.'

* I cannot. Do leave the window.'

* Very well,' said the boy, * in ten minutes the housq

178

EVE

will be on fire. I am coming in ; you run away. I shall
lock you out, and before you have got help together the
room will be in a blaze.'

* What do you want ? I will promise anything to be
rid of you.'

' Promise to be on the Raven Rock to-morrow even-
ing.'

* Why must I be there ? '

' Because I have a message to give you there.*

* Give it me now.'

* I cannot ; it is too long. That sister of yours will
come tumbling in on us with a Roley-poley, gammon and
spinach, Heigh-ho 1 says Anthony Roley, oh I '

' Yes, yes ! I will promise.'

Instantly he slipped Icai leg out, she saw only the hands
on the bottom of the window. Then up came the boy's
queer face again, that he might make grimaces at her and
shake his fist, and point to candle, and bed, and garments^
and curtains : and then, in a moment, he was gone.

Some minutes elapsed before Eve recovered courage to
leave her place, shut her window, and take off the tawdry
dress in which she had disguised herself.

She heard the voices of the servant maids returning
along the lane. Soon after Barbara came upstairs. She
found her sister sitting on the bed.

' What is it, Eve ? You look white and frightened.'

Eve did not answer.

' What is the matter, dear ? Have you been alarmed
at anything ? '

' Yes, Bab,' in a faint voice.

' Did you see anything from your window ? '

* I think so.'

' I cannot understand,' said Barbara. * I also fancied I
saw a dark figure dart across the garden and leap the wall
whilst I was reading to papa. I can't say, because there
was a candle in our room.'

* Don't you think,' said Eve, in a faltering voice, * it

AN IMP OF DARKNESS

179

may have been Joseph Woodmafi parting with Jane ? '
Eve's cheeks coloured as she said this ; she was false with
her sister.

Barbara shook her head, and went into her own room.

* He has gone,' she thought, • because the house is watched,
his whereabouts has been discovered. I am glad he is
gone. It is best for himself, for Eve ' — aftor a jjaiiyo —

* and for me.*

CHAPTER XXVII.

POOR MAETIN.

Eve was uneasy all next day— at intervals — she could do
nothing continuously — because of her promise. The re-
collection that she had bound herself to meet Watt on the
Raven Rock at sundown came on her repeatedly during
the day, spoiling her happiness. She would not have
scrupled to fail to keep her promise, but that the horrible
boy would be sure to force himself upon her, and in revenge
do some dreadful mischief. She was so much afraid of
him, that she felt that to keep her appointment was the
lesser evil.

As the sun decHned her heart failed her, and just before
the orb set in bronze and gold, she asked Jane, the house-
maid, to accompany her through the fields to the Raven
Rock.

Timid Eve dare not trust herself alone on the dangerous
platform with that imp. He was capable of any devilry.
He might scare her out of her wits.

Jane was a good-natured girl, and she readily obliged
her young mistress. Jane Welsh's mother, who was a
widow, lived not far from Morwell, in a cottage on the
banks of the Tamar, higher up, where a slip of level
meadow" ran out from the cliffs, and the river made a loop
round it.

i8o

EVE

As Eve walked through the fields towards the wood,
and neared the trees and rocks, she began to think that she
had made a mistake. It would nut do for Jane to see
Watt. She would talk about him, and Barbara would
hear, and question her. If Barbara asked her why she
had gone out at dusk to meet the boy, what answer could
she make ?

When Eve came to the gate into the wood, she stood
still, and holding the gate half open, told Jane she might
stay there, for she would go on by herself.

Jane was surprised.

'Please, Miss, I've nothing to take me back to the
house.' Eve hastily protested that she did not want her
to return : she was to remain at the gate — 'And if I call
— come on to me, Jane, not otherwise. I have a headache,
and I want to be alone.'

'Very well. Miss.'

But Jane was puzzled, and said to herself, ' There's a
lover, sure as eggs in April.'

Then Eve closed tho gate between herself and Jane,
and went on. Before disappearing into the shade of the
trees, she looked back, and saw the maid where she had
left her, plaiting grass.

A lover ! A lover is the philosopher's stone that turns
the sordid alloy of life into gold. The idea of a lover was
the most natural solution of the caprice in Miss Eve's
conduct. As every road leads to Eome, so in the servant-
maid mind does every line of life lead to a sweetheart.

</ane, having settled that her young mistress had gone
on to meet a lover, next questioned who that lover could
be, and here she was utterly puzzled. Sure enough Miss
Eve had been to a dance at the Cloberrys', but whom she
had met there, and to whom lost her heart, that Jane did
not know, and that also Jane was resolved to ascertain.

She noiselessly unhasped the gate, and stole along the
path. The burnished brazen sky of evening shonQ,between
the tree trunks, but the foliage had lost its verdure in the

gath
seen

W00(

POOR MARTIN

i8i

gathering dusk. The honeysuckles pound forth their
scent in waves. The air near the hedge and deep into the
wood was honeyed with it. White and yellow speckhd
currant moths were flitting about the hedge. Jane stole
along, stealthily, from tree to tree, fearful lest Eve should
turn and catch her spying. A large Scotch pine dst a
shadow under it like ink. On reaching 'hat, Jane knew
she could see the top of the Kaven Rock.

As she thus advanced on tip-toe she heard a rustling,
as of a bird in the tree overhead. Her heart stood still.
Then, before she had time to recover herself, with a shrill
laugh, a little black figure came tumbling down before her
out of the tree, capered, leaped at her, threw his arms
round her neck, and screamed into her face, • Carry me !
Carry me ! Carry me ! '

Then his arms relaxed, he dropped off, shrieking with
laughter, and Jane fled, as fast as her limbs could bear her,
back to the gate, through the gate and away over the
meadows to Morwell House.

Eve had gone on to the platform of rock ; she stood
there irresolute, hoping that the detosted boy would not
appear, when she heard his laugh and shout, and the
scream of Jane. She would have fainted with terror, had
not at that moment a tall man stepped up to her and laid
his hand on her arm. *Do no' be afraid, sweet fairy Eve !
It is I — your poor slave Martin, — perfectly bewitched,
drawn back by those loadstone eyes. Do not be frightened,
Watt is merely giving a scare to the inquisitive servant.'

Eve was trembling violently. This was worse than
meeting the ape of a boy. She had committed a gross
indiscretion. What would Barbara say? — her father, if
he heard of it, how vexed he would be !

*I must go back,' she said, with a feeble effort at
dignity. 'This is too bad; I have been deceived.' Then
she gave way to weakness, and burst into tears.

*No,' he said carelessly, 'you shall not go. I will not
suffer you to escape now that I have a chance of seeing

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„<f

1 82

EVE

you and speaking witb you. To begin at the beginning—
I love you. There ! you are all of a tremble. Sit down
and listen to what I have to say. You will not ? WeU,
consider. I run terrible risks by being here; I may say
that I place my life in your delicate hands.'

She looked up at him, still too frightened to speak, even
to comprehend his words.

' I do not know you 1 ' she whispered, when she was
able to gather together the poor remnants of her strength.

' You remember me. I have your ring, and you have
mine. We are, in a manner, bound to each other. Be
patient, dear love ; listen to me. I will tell you all my
story.'

He saw that she was in no condition to be pressed. If
he spoke of love she would make a desperate effort to
escape. Weak and giddy though she was, she would not
endure that from a man of whom she knew nothing. He
saw that. He knew he must give her time to recover from
her alarm, so he said, ' I wish, most beautiful fairy, you
would rest a few minutes on this piece of rock. I am a
poor, hunted, suffering, misinterpreted wretch, and I come
to tell you my story, only to entreat your sympathy and
your prayers. I will not say a rude word, I will not lay
a finger on you. All I ask is : listen to me. That cannot
hurt you. I am a beggar, a beggar whining at your feet,
not asking fpr more alms than a tear of pity. Give me
that, that only, and I go away relieved.'

She seemed somewhat reassured, and drew a long
breath.

* I had a sister of your name.'

She raised her head, and looked at him with surprise.

'It* is an uncommon name. My poor sister is gone.
I suppose it is your name that has attracted me to you,
that induces me to open my heart to you. I mean to
confide to you my troubles, You say that you do not
know me. I will tell you all my story, and then, sweet
Eve, you will indeed know me, and, knowing me, will

POOR MARTIN

183

shower tears of precious pity, that will infinitely console
me.'

She was still trembling, but flattered, and relieved
that he asked for nothing have sympathy. That of course
she was at liberty to bestow ou a deserving object. She
was wholly inexperienced, easily deceived by flattery.

'Have I frightened you?' asked Martin. 'Am I so
dreadful, so unsightly an object as to inspire you with
aversion and terror ? ' He drew himself up and paused.
Eve hastily looked at him. He was a strikingly handsome
man, with dark hair, wonderful dark eyes, and finely
chiselled features.

' I said that I put my life in your hands. I spoke the
truth. You have but to betray me, and the police and
the parish constables will come in a_pos56 after me. I will
stand here with folded arms to receive them ; but mark
my words, as soon &s they s<3t foot on this rock, I will
fling myself over the edge and perish. If you sacrifice
me, my life is not worth saving.'

' I will not betray you,' faltered Eve.

' I know it. You are too noble, too true, too heroic to
be a traitress. I knew it when I came here and placed
myself at your mercy.'

* But,' said Eve timidly, ' what have you done ? You
have taken my rmg. Give it back to me, and 1 will not
send the constables after you.'

* You have mine.'

* I will return it.'

'About that hereafter,' said Martin grandly, and he
waved his hsad. 'Now I answer your question, "What
have I done ? I will tell you everything. It is a long
story and a sad one. Certain persons como out badly in it
whom I would spare. But it may not be otherwise. Self-
defence is the first law of nature. You have, no doubt,
heard a good deal about me, and not to my advantage. I
have been prejudiced in your eyes by Jasper. He is narrow,
does not make allowances, has never recovered the strait-

vl.

I- -M

i84

EVE

lacing father gave him as a child. His conscience has not
expanded since infancy.'

Eve looked at Martin with astonishment.

' Mr. Jasper Babb has not said anything — *

* Oh, there I ' interrupted Martin, ' you may spare your
sweet lips the fib. I know better than that. He grumbles
and mumbles about me to everyone who will open an ear
to his tales. K he were not my brother '

Now Eve interrupted him. ' Mr. Jasper your brother ! '

' Of course he is. Did he not tell you so ? ' He saw
that she had not known by the expression of her face, so,
with a laugh, he said, ' Oh dear, no ! Of course Jasper
was too grand and sanctimonious a man to confess to the
blot in the family. I am that blot — look at me ! '

Ho showed his handsome figure and face by a theatrical
gesture and position. ' Poor Martin is the blot, to which
Jasper will not confess, and yet — Martin survives thin
neglect and disrespect.'

The overweening vanity, the mock humility, the assu-
rance of the man passed unnoticed by Eve. She breathed
freely when she heard that he was the brother of Jasper.
There could have been no harm in an interview with
Jasper, and consequently very little in one with his brother.
So she argued, and so she reconciled herself to the situa-
tion. Now she traced a resemblance between the brothers
which had escaped her before ; they had the same large dark
expressive eyes, but Jasper's face was not so regular, his
features not so purely chiselled as those of Martin. He
was broader built ; Martin had the perfect modelling of a
Greek statue. There was also a more manly, self-confi-
dent bearing in Martin than in the elder brother, who
always appeared bowed as with some burden that oppressed
his spirits, and took from him self-assertion and buoyancy,
that even maimed his vigour of manhood.

* I dare say you have had a garbled version of my story,»
continued Martin, seating himself; and Eve, without con-
sidering, seated herself also. Martin let himself down

POOR MARTIN

i8S

not

gracefully, and assumed a position where the evening light,
still lingering in the sky, could irradiate his handsome face.
* That is why I have sought this interview. I desired to
put myself right with you. No doubt yeu have heard that
I got into trouble.'
She shook her head.

* WeU, I did. I was unlucky. In fact, I could stay
with my father no longer. I had already left him for a
twelvemonth, but I came back, and, in Scriptural terms,
such as he could understand, asked him to give me the
portion of goods that fell to me. He refused, so I took it.'

' Took— took what ? '

* My portion of goods, not in stock but in money. For
my part,' said Martin, folding his arms, • it has ever ttruck
me that the Prodigal Son was far the nobler of the brothers.
The eldest was a mean fellow, the second had his faults — I
admit it — but ha was a man of independence of action ; he
would .ot stand being bullyragged by his father, so he
went away. I got into difficulties over that matter. My
father would not overlook it, made a fuss, and so on. My
doctrine is: Let bygones be bygones, and accept what
comes and don't kick. That my father could not see, and
80 I got locked up.'

' Locked up — where ? '

' In a pill-box. I managed, however, to escape ; I am
at large, and at your feet — entreating you to pity me.'

He suited the action to the word. In a moment he
was gracefully kneeling before her on one knee, with his
hand on his heart. *

* Oh, Miss Eve,' he said, ' since I saw your face in the
moonlight I have never forgotten it. Wherever I went it
haunted me. I saw these great beautiful eyes looking
timidly into mine ; by day they eclipsed the sun. What-
everl did I thought only of you. And now— what is it that I
ask of you ? Nothing but forgiveness. The money — the
portion of goods that fell to me — was yours. My father
owed it to you. It was intended for you. But now, hear

•I"..

1 1' A i

i86

EVE

me, you noble, generous-spirited girl ; I have borrowed the
money, it shall be returned — or its equivalent. If you de-
sire it, I will swear.' He stood up and assumed an attitude.

* Oh, no 1 ' said Eve ; * you had my money ?'

' As surely as I had your ring.'

' Much in the same way,' she said, with a little sharp-
ness.

'But I shall return one with the other. Trust me.
Stand up ; look me in the face. Do I bear the appearance
of a cheat, a thief, a robber ? Am I base, villanous I No,
I am nothing but a poor, foolish, prodigal lad, who has got
into a scrape, but will get out of it again. You forgive me.
Hark ! I hear someone calling.'

' It is Barbara. She is looking for me.' ^

' Then I disappear.' He put his hand to his lips,
wafted her a kiss, whispered * When you look at the ring,
remember poor — poor Martin,' and he slipped away among
the bushes.

CHAPTER XXVin.

FATHEB AND SON.

Babbaba was mistaken. Jasper had gone to Buckfastleigh,
gone openly to his father's house, in the belief that his
father was dying. He knocked at the blotched and scaled
door under the dilapidated portico, but received no answer.
He tried the door. It was locked and barred. Then he
went round to the back, noting how untidy the garden was,
how out of repair was the house ; and in the yard of the
kitchen he found the deaf housekeeper. His first question,
shouted into her ear, naturally was an inquiry after his
father. He learned to his surprise that the old man was
not iU, but was then in the factory. Thinking that his
question had been misunderstood, he entered the house,
went into his father's study, then up to his bedroom, and

FATHER AND SON

through the dirty window-panes saw the old man leaving
the mill on his way back to the house.

What, then, had Watt meant by sending him to the
old home on fjalse tidings ? The boy was indeed mischie-
vous, bat this was more than common mischief. He must
have sent him on a fool's errand for some purpose of his
own. That the boy wanted to hear news of his father was
possible, but not probable. The only other alternative
Jasper could suggest to explain Watt's conduct was the
disquieting one that he wanted to be lid of Jasper from
Morwell for some purpose of his own. What could that
purpose be ?

Jasper's blood coursed hot through his veins. He was
angry. He was a forbearing man, ready always to find an
excuse for a transgressor, but this was a transgression too
malicious to be easily forgiven. Jasper determined, now
that he was at home, to see his father, and then to return
to the Jordans as quickly as he could. He had ridden his
own horse, that horse must have a night's rest, but to-
morrow he would return.

He was thus musing when Mr. Babb came in.

' You here ! ' said the old man. ' What has brought
you to Buckfastleigh again? Want money, of course.*
Then snappishly, ' You shan't get it.'

' I am come,' said his son, ' because I had received in-
formation that you were ill. Have you been unwell,
father?' ,

*I — ^nol I'm never ill. No such luck for you. K
I were ill and helpless, you might take the manage-
ment, you think. It I were dead, that would be nuts to
you.'

* My father, you wrong me. I left you because I would
no longer live this wretched life, and because I hate your
unforgiving temper.'

' Unforgiving 1 ' sneered the old manufacturer. ' Martin
was a thief, and he deserved his fate. Is not Brutus ap-
plauded because he condemned his own son? Is not

^~t

1 88

EVE

David held to be weak because he bade Joab ((pare Absa>
lorn ? '

' We will not squeeze old crushed apples. No juice
will run from them,' replied Jasper. * The thing was
done, and might have been forgiven. I would not have
returned now had I not been told that you we e dying.'

* Who told you that lie ? '

* Walter.'

' He ! He was ever a liar, a mocker, a blasphemer !
How was he to know ? I thank heaven he has not shown
his jackanapes visage here since he left. I dying ! I never
was sounder. I am better in health and spirits since I am
quit of my sons. They vexed my righteous soul every day
with their ungodly deeds. So you supposed I was dying,
and came here to see what meat could be picked off your
father's bones ? *

Jasper remembered Watt's sneer. It was clear whence
the boy had gathered his mean views of men's motives.

* I'll trouble you to return whence you came,* said
Ezekiel Babb. 'No blessing has rested on me since I
brought the strange blood into the house. Now that all
of you are gone — you, Eve number one, and Eve number
two, Martin and Walter — I am well. The Son of Peace
has returned to this house ; I can read my Bible and do
my accounts in quiet, without fears of what new bit of mis-
chief or devilry my children have been up to, without any
more squeaking of fiddles and singing of profane songs all
over the house. Come now 1 ' — the eld man raised his
bushy brows and flashed a cunning, menacing glance at
his son — * come now ! if you had found me dead — in
Abraham's bosom — what would you have done ? I know
what Walter would have done : he would have capered
up and down all over the house, fiddling like a devil,
like a devil as he is.' He looked at Jasper again, in-
quisitively. Well, what would' you have done ? — ^fiddled
too?'

* My father, as you desire to know, I will tell you. I

TT'"^^

FATHER AND SON

189

would at once have realised what I could, and have cleared
off the* debt to Mr. Jordan.'

' Well, you may do that when the day comes,' said the
old manufacturer, shrugging his shoulders. ' It is nothing
to me what you do with the mill and the house and the
land after I am ' — he turned up his eyes to the dirty ceil-
ing — * whf re the wicked cease from fiddling and no thieves
break in and steal. I am not going to pay the money
twice over. My obligation ended when the money went
out of this house. I did more than I was required. I
chastised my own son for taking it. What was seven years
on Dartmoor ? A flea-bite. Under the old law the rebel-
lious son was stoned till he died. I suppose, now, you are
hungry. Call the old crab ; kick her, pinch her, till she
understands, and let her give you something to eat. There
are some scraps, I bio's/, of veal-pie and cold potatoes. I
think, by the way, the veal-pie is done. Don't forget to
ask a blessing before you fall-to on the cold potatoes.'
Then he rubbed his forehead and said, ' Stay, I'll go and
rouse the old toad myself; you stay here. You are the
best of my children. All the rest were a bad lot — too
much of the strange blood in them.'

Whilst Mr. Babb is rousing his old housekeeper to pro-
duce some food, we will say a few words of the past history
of the Babb family.

Eve the first, Mr. Babb's wife, had led a miserable life.
She did not run away from him : she remained and poured
forth the fiery love of her heart upon her children, espe-
cially on her eldest, a daughter. Eve, to whom she talked
of her old life — its freedom, its happiness, its attractions.
She died of a broken spirit on the birth of her third son,
Walter. Then Eve, the eldest, a beautiful girl, unable to
endure the bad temper of her father, the depressing atmo-
sphere of the house, and the cares of housekeeping imposed
on her, ran away after a travelling band of actors.

Jasper, the eldest son, grew up to be grave and resigned.
He was of use in the house, managing it as far as he was

I90

EVE

allowed, and helping his father in many ways. But the
old man, who had grumbled at and insulted Ids wife whilst
she was alive, could not keep his tongue from the subject
that still rankled in his heart. This occasioned quarrels ;
the boy took his mother's side, and refused to hear his
father's gibes at her memory. He was passionately at«
tached to his next brother Martin. The mother had
brought a warm, loving spirit into the family, and Jasper
had inherited much of it. He stood as a screen between
his brother and father, warding oil' from the former many
a blow and angry reprimand. He did Martin's school
tasks for him ; he excused his faults ; he admired him for
his beauty, his spirit, his bearing, his Uvely talk. There
was no lad, in his opinion, who could equal Martin ; Watt
was right when he said that Jasper had contributed to his
ruin by humouring him, but Jasper humoured him be-
cause he loved him, and pitied him for the uncongeniality
of his home. Martin displayed a talent for music, and
there was an old musician at Ashburton, the organist of
the parish church, who developed and cultivated his talent,
and taught him both to play and sing. Jasper had also an
instinctive love of music, and he also learned the violin
and surpassed his brother, who had not the patience to
master the first difficulties, and who preferred to sing.

The father, perhaps, saw in Martin a recrudescence of
the old proclivities of his mother ; he tried hard to inter-
fere with his visits to the musician, and only made Martin
more set on his studies with him. But the most implaca-
ble, incessant state of war was that which raged between
the old father and his youngest son, Walter, or Watt as
his brothers called him. This boy had no reverence in
him. He scouted the authority of his father and of Jasper.
He ^coffed at everything the old man held sacred. He ab-
solutely refased to go to the Baptist Chapel frequented by
his father, he stopped his ears and made grimaces at his
brothers and the servants during family worship, and the
devotions were not unfrequently concluded with a raah of

FATHER AND SON

191

the old man at his youngest son and the administration of
resounding clouts on the ears.

At last a quarrel broke out between them of so fierce a
nature that Watt was expelled the house. Then Martin
left to follow Watt, who had joined a travelling dramatic
company. After a year, however, Martin returned, very
thin and woe-begone, and tried to accommodate himself to
home-life once more. But it was not possible ; he had
tasted of the sort of life that suited him — one rambling,
desultory, artistic. He robbed his father's bureau and ran
away.

Then it was that he was taken, and in the same week
sent to the assizes, and condemned to seven years' penal
labour in the convict establishment at Prince's Town.
Thence he had escaped, assisted by Jasper and Watt, whilst
the firmer was on his way to Morwell with the remnant of
the money recovered from Martin.

The rest is known to the reader.

Whilst (Tasper ate the mean meal provided for him, his
father watched him.

' So,' said the old man, and the twinkle was in his
cunning eyes, ' so you have hired yourself to Mr. Ignatius
Jordan at Morwell as his steward ? '

' Yes, father. I remain there as pledge to him that
he shall be repaid, and I am doing there all I can to
put tho estate into good order. It has been shockingly
neglected.'

* Who for ? ' asked Mr. Babb.
' I do not understand.'

* For whom are you thus working ? '

* For Mr. Jordan, as you said ! '
The manufacturer chuckled.
' Jasper,' said he, ' some men look on a pool and so»

nothing but water. I put my head in, open my eyes, and
see what is at the bottom. That girl did not come here for
nothing. I put my head under water and opened my
eyes.'

■■■' »J

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1 \ '

t . «

» 1,

\ A

);

193

EVE

' Well ? ' said Jasper, with an effort controlling his irri-
tation.

* Well 1 1 saw it all under the surface. I saw you. She
came here because she was curious to see the factory and
the house, and to know if all was as good as you had
bragged about. I gave her a curt dismissal ; I do not want
a daughter-in-law thrusting her feet into my shoes till I
cast them off for ever.'

Jasper started to his feet and upset his chair. He was
very angry. 'You utterly wrong her,' he said. 'You
open your eyes in mud, and see only dirt. Miss Jordan
came here out of kindness towards me, whom she dislikes
and despises in her heart.'

Mr. Babb chuckled.

' Well, I won't say that you have not acted wisely.
Morwell will go to that girl, and it is a pretty property.'

' I beg your pardon, you are wrong. It is left to the
second — Eve.'

' So, so ! It goes to Eve ! That is why the elder
girl came here, to see if she could fit herself into Owla-
combe.' •

Jasper's face burnt, and the muscles of his head and
neck quivered, but he said nothing. He dared not trust
himself to speak. He had all his life practised self-control,
but he never needed it more than at this moment.

* I see it all,' pursued the old man, his crafty face con-
tracting with a grin ; ' Mr. Jordan thought to provide for
both his daughters. Buckfast mill and Owlacombe for the
elder, Morwell for the younger — ha, ha I The elder to take
you so as to get this pretty place. And she came to look
at it and see if it suited her. Well 1 It is a pretty place
— only,' he giggled, ' it ain't vacant and to be had just
yet.'

Jasper took his hat ; his face was red as blood, and his
dork eyes flashed.

' Don't go,' said the old manufacturer ; ' you did not
see their little trap and walked into it, eh ? One word of

have
that

FATHER AND SON

193

warning I must give you. Don't run after the younger ;
Eve is your niece.'

• Father 1 '

' Ah 1 that surprises you, does it ? It is true. Eve's
mother was your sister. Did Mr. Jordan never tell you
that ? '

• Never I *

' It is true. Sit down again to the cold potatoes. You
shall know all, but first ask a blessing.'

CHAPTER XXIX.

HUSH-MONEY.

' Yes,* said Mr. Babb, settling himself on a chair ; then
finding he had sat on the tails of his coat, he rose, held a
tail in each hand, and reseated himself between them ;
' yes.'

' Do you mean seriously to tell me that Mr. Jordan's
second wife was my sister ? '

' Well — ^in a way. That is, I don't mean your sister in
a way, but his wife in a way.'

' I have heard nothing of this ; what do you mean ? '

< I mean that he did not marry her.'

Jasper Babb's face darkened. 'I have been in his
house and spoken to him, and not known that. What be-
came of my sister ? '

The old man fidgeted on his chair. It was not com-
fortable. ' I'm sure I don't know,' he said.

'Did she die?'

* No,' said Mr. Babb, ' she rap off with a play-actor.*

* Well— and after that ? '

* After what ? After the play-actor ? I do not know, I
have not heard of her since. I don't want to. Was not
that enough ? '

* And Mr. Jordan— does he know nothing ? •

■v.^Si

f .1

'■■■i

i '^ii

V ;f;-.^

. uX.

■ ■ ^i
■;., It,;

194

EVE

* I cannot tell. If you are curious to know you can
ask.'

* This is very extraordinary. Why did not Mr. Jordan
tell me the relationship ? He knew who I was.'

The old man laughed, and Jasper shuddered at hie
laugh, there was something so base and brutal in it.

* He was not so proud of how he behaved to Eve as to
care to boast of the connection. You might not have liked
it, might have lizzed and gone pop.'

Jasper's brow was on fire, his eyebrows met, and a
sombre sparkle was in his eye.

* You have made no eifort to trace her ? *
Mr. Babb shrugged his shoulders.

' Tell me,' said Jasper, learning his elbow on the table,
and putting his hand over his eyes to screen them from the
light, and allow him to watch his father's face — ' tell me
everything, as you undertook. Tell me how my poor sister
came to Morwell, and how she left it.'

* There is not much to tell,' answered the father ; ' you
know that ^he ran away from home after her mother's
death ; you were then nine or ten years old. She hated
work, and lusted after the pomps and vanities of this
wicked world. After a while I heard where she was, that
she was ill, and had been taken into Morwell House to be
nursed, and that there she remained after lier recovery.'

' Strange,' mused Jasper ; ' she fell ill and was taken to
Morwell, and I — ^it was the same. Things repeat them-
selves; the world moves in a circle.'

, ' Everything repeats itself. As in Eve's case the sick-
ness led np to marriage, or something like it, so will it be
in your case. This is what Mr. Jordan and Eve did : they
went into the httle old chapel, and took each other's hands
before the altar, and swore fidelity to each other ; that was
all. Mr. Jordan is a Catholic, and would not have the
knot tied by a church parson, and Eve would not confess
to her name, she had that sense of decency left in her.
They satisfied their consciences, but it was no legal mar-

gnm

utmo

siek-

itbe

they

lands

it was

i^e the

jnfess

her.

mar-

HUSH-MONEY

195

nage. I believe he would have done what wa? right, but
8he was perversa, and refused to give her name, and say
both who she was and whence she came.'

' Go on,' said Jasper.

' Well, then, about a year after this I heard where she
was, and I went after her to Morwell, but I did not go
openly — I had no wish to encounter Mr. Jordan. I tried
to persuade Eve to return with me to Buckfastleigh. Who
can lay to my charge that I am not a forgiving father ?
Have I not given you cold potato, and would have furnished
yon with veal pie if the old woman had not finished the
scraps ? I saw Eve, and I told her my mind pretty freely,
both about her running away and about her connection
with Jordan. I will say this for her — she professed to be
sorry for what she had done, and desired my forgiveness.
That, I said, I would give her on one condition only, that
she forsook her hiisband and child, and came back to keep
house for me. I could not bring her to a decision, so I
appointed her a day, and said I would take her final answer
on that. But I was hindered going ; I forget just now
what it was, but I couldn't go that day.'

* Well, father, what happened ? '

* As I could not keep my appointment — I remember
now how it was, I was laid up with a grip of lumbago at
Tavistock — I sent one of the actors there, from whom I
had heard about her, with a message. I had the lumbago
in my back that badly that I was bent double. When I
was able to go, on the morrow, it was too latt ; she was
gone.'

'Gone! Whither?'

* Gone off with the play-actor,' answered Mr. Babb,
grimly. * It runs in the blood.'

* You are sure of this ? '
*Mr. Jordan told me so.'

* Did you not pursue her ? '

* To what end ? I had done my duty. I had tried my
utmost to recover my daughter, and when for the second

*> !;

1-^1

* 'a

Ijfl

i 1 J;

I ,

si*-

'f1

196

EVE

time she played me false, I wiped off the dust of my feet as
a testimony against her.'

•She left her child?'

' Yes, she deserted her child as well as her husband —
that is to say, Mr. Ignatius Jordan. She deserted the house
that had sheltered her, to run after a homeless, bespangled,
bepainted play-actor. I know all about it. The life at
Morwell was too dull for her, it was duller there than at
Buckfastleigh. Here she could see something of the world;
she could watch the factory hands coming to their work
and leaving it; bul: there she was as much out of the world
as if she were in Lundy Isle. She had a hankering after
the glitter and paint of this empty world.'

'I cannot believe this. I cannot believe that she would
desert the man who befriended her, and forsake her
child.'

' You say that because you did not know her. You
know Martin ; would he not do it ? You know Watt ; has
he any scruples and strong domestic affections? She
was like them ; had in hei veins the same boiling, giddy,
wanton blood.'

Jasper knew but too well that Martin and Watt were
unscrupulous, and followed pleasure regardless of the calls
of duty. He had been too young when his sister left home
to know anything of her character. It was possible that
she had the same light and careless temperament as
Martin.

' A horse that shies once will shy again,' said the old
man. ' Eve ran away from home once, and she ran away
from the second home. If she did not run awaj from
home a third time it probably was that she had none to
desert.'

* And Mr. Jordan knows nothing of her ? *

' He lives too far from the stream of life to see the
broken dead things that drift down it.'

Jasper considered. The flesh of anger had faded from
his brow ; an expression of great sadness had succeeded.

If(

HUSH-MONEY

|e old

I away

from

me to

a the

from
3eded.

197

His hand was over his brow, but he was no longer intent
on his Dather's face ; his eyes rested on the table.

' I must find out something about my sister. It is too
horrible to think of our sister, our only sister, as a lost,
sunk, degraded thing.'

He thought of Mr. Jordan, of his strange manner, his
abstracted look, his capricious temper. He did not believe
that the master of Morwell was in his sound senses. He
seemed to be a man whose mind had ipreyed on some great
sorrow till all nerve had gone out of it. What was that
sorrow ? Once Barbara had said to him, in excuse for
some violence and rudeness in her father's conduct, that
he had never got over the loss of Eve's mother.

' Mr. Jordan was not easy about his treatment of my
daughter,' said old Babb. ' From what little I saw of him
seventeen years ago I take him to be a weak-spirited man.
He was in a sad take-on then at the loss of Eve, and
having a baby thrown on his hands unweaned. He offered
me the money I wanted to buy those fields for stretching
the cloth. You may be sure when a man presses money
on you, and is indifferent to interest, that he wants you to
forgive him something. He desired me to look over his
conduct to my daughter, and drop all ini][uiries. I dare say
they had had words, and then she was ready in her passion
to run away with the first vagabond who offered.'

Then Jasper removed his hand from his face, and laid
one on the other upon the table. His face was now pale,
and the muscles set. His eyes looked steadily and sternly
at the mean old man, who averted his eyes from those of
his son.

< What is this ? You took a bribe, father, to let the
affair remain unsifted 1 For the sake of a few acres of
meadow you sacrificed your child I '

' Fiddlesticks-ends,' said the manufacturer. ' I sacri-
ficed nothing. What could I do ? If I ran after Eve and
found her in some harlequin and columbine booth, could
I force her to return ? She had made her bed, and must

:-;''|j|

:■;.■!

jflfc*jA<j*

198

EVE

lie on it. What could I gain by stirring in the matter ?
Let sleeping dogs lie.'

' Father,' said Jasper, very gravely, * the fact remains
that yon took money that looks to me very much like a
bribe to shut your eyes.'

'Pshaw! pshaw! I. had made up my mind. I was
full of auger against Eve. I would not have taken her
into my house had I met her. Fine scandals I should
have had with her there I Better let her run and dis-
appear in the mud, than come muddy into my parlour and
besmirch all the furniture and me with it, and perhaps
damage the business. These children of mine have eaten
sour grapes, and the parent's teeth are set on edge. It
all comes ' — the old man brought his fist down on the table
— * of my accursed folly in bringing strange blood into the
house, and now the chastisement is on me. Are you come
back to live with me, Jasper ? Will you help me again in
the mill?'

' Never again, father, never,' answered the young man,
standing up. ' Never, after what I have just heard. I
shall do what I can to find my poor sister. Eve Jordan's
mother. It is a duty— a duty your neglect has left to me ;
a duty hard to take up after it has been laid aside for
seventeen years ; a duty betrayed for a sum of money.'

' Pshaw ! ' The old man put his hands in his pockets,
and walked about the room. He was shrunk with age ;
his eagle profile was without beauty or dignity.

Jasper followed him with his eye, reproachfully, sor-
rowfoUy.

* Father,' he said, ' it seems to me as if that money
was hush-money, and that you, by taking it, had brought
the blood of your child on your own head.'

* Blood I Fiddlesticks! Blood! There is no blood in
the case. If she chose to run, how was I to stop her ?
Blood, indeed I Bed raddle ! '

ym\

BETRA YAL

199

CHAPTER XXX.

BEl !ATAL.

bs,

)r-

ley
Iht

lin
Ir?

Babbaba came out on the platform of rock. Eve stood
before her trembling, with downcast eyes, conscious of
having done wrong, and of being put in a position from
which it was difficult to escape.

Barbara had walked fast. She was hot and excited,
and her temper v/as roused. She loved Eve dearly, but
Eve tried her.

* Eve,' she said sharply, ' what is the meaning of this ?
Who has been here with you ? '

The young girl hung her head.

'What is the meaning of this?' she repeated, and
her tone of voice showed her irritation. Barbara had a
temper.

Eve murmured an inarticulate reply.

' What is it ? I cannot understand. Jane came tear-
ing home with a rhodomontade about a boy jumping down
on her from a tree, and I saw him just now at the gate
making faces at me. He put his fingers into his mouth,
hooted like an owl, and dived into the bushes. What is
the meaning of this ? '

Eve burst into tears, and hid her face on her sister's
neck.

' Come, come,' said Barbara, somewhat mollified, ' I
must be told all. Your giddiness is leading you into a
hobble. Who was that on the rock with you ? I caught
a glimpse of a man as I passed the Scotch fir, and I thought
the voice I heard was that of Jasper.'

The girl still cried, cried out of confusion, because she
did not know how to answer her sister. She must not
tell the truth ; the secret had been confided to her. Poor
Martiu's safety must »ot be jeopardise^ by her, Barbara

200

EVE

was so hot, impetuous, and frank, that she might let out
about him, and so he might be arrested. What was she
to say and do ?

'Come back with me,* said Barbara, drawing her
sister's hand through her arm. ' Now, then, Eve, there
must be no secrets with me. You have no mother ; I
stand to you in the place of mother and sister in one.
Was that Jasper ? '

Eve's hand quivered on her sister's arm ; in a faint
voice she answered, * Yes, Barbara.' Had Miss Jordan
looked round she would have seen her sister's face crimson
with shame. But Barbara turned her eyes away to the
far-off pearly range of Oomish mountains, sighed, aud
said nothing.

The two girls walked together through the wood
without speaking till they came to the gate, and there
they entered the atmosphere of honeysuckle frag-
rance.

' Perhaps that boy thought he ^ould scare me as he
scared Jane,' said Barbara. 'He was mistaken. Who
was he ? '

' Jasper's brother,' answered Eve in a low tone. She
was full of sorrow aud humiliation at having told Barbara
an untruth, her poor little soul was tossed with conflicting
emotions, and Barbara felt her emotion through the little
hand resting on her arm. Eve had joined her hands, so
that as she walked she was completely linked to her dear
elder sister.

Presently Eve said timidly, ' Bab, darling, it was not
Mr. Jasper.'

' Who was the man then ? '

' I cannot, I must not, tell.'

* That will do,' said Barbara decidedly ; * say no more
about it, Eve ; I know that you met Jasper Babb and no
one else.'

'Well,' whispered Eve, 'don't be cross with me. I
did not know he wa*} there. I had no idea.'

BETRAYAL

201

' It was Uit, Babb ? ' asked Barbara, suddenly turning
and looking steadily at her.

• Here was an opportunity offertd a poor, weak creature.
Eve trembled, and after a moment's vacillation fell into
the pitfall unconsciously dug for her by her sister. 'It
was Mr. Babb, dear Barbara.'

Miss Jordan said no more, her bosom was heaving.
Perhaps she could not speak. She was angry, troubled,
distracted; angry at the gross imposition practised by
Jasper in pretending to leave the place, whilst lurking
about, it to hold secret meetings with her sister ;
troubled* she was because she feared that Eve had
connived at his proceedings, and had lost her heart
to him — troubled also because she could not tell to what
this would lead*; distracted she was, because she did not
Imow what steps to take. Before she reached home she
had made up her mind, and on reaching Morwell she acted
on it with promptitude, leaving Eve to go to her room or
stay below as suited her best.

She went direct to her father. He was sitting up,
looking worse and distressed ; his pale forehead was'
beaded with perspiration ; his shaking hand clutched the
table, then relaxed its hold, then clutched again.

* Are you feeling worse, papa ? '

' No,' he answered, without looking at her, but with his
dazed eyes directed through the window. * No — only for
black thoughts. They come flying to me. If you stand
at evening under a great rock, as soon as the sun sets you
see from all quarters the ravens flying towards it, uttering
doleful cries, and th^y enter into the clefts and disappear
for the night. The whole rock all night is alive with
ravens. So is it with me. As my day declines the sor-
rows and black thoughts come back to lodge in me, and
torment me with their clawing and pecking and croaking.
There is no driving them away. They come back.'

' Dear papa,' said Barbara, ' I am afraid I must add to
them. I have somethuig very unpleasant to communicate.'

■■'4

111

' • 'H^

202

EVE

* I suppose,' said Mr. Jordan peevishly, * you are out of
coflfee, or the lemons are mouldy, or the sheets have been
torn on the thorn hedg^fe. These matters do not trouble
me.' He signed with his finger. * They are like black
spots in the air, but instead of floating they fly, and they
all fly one way — towards me.'

' Father, I am afraid for Eve 1 '

* What ? ' His face was full of terror. * What of her ?
What is there to fear ? Is she ill ? '

*It is, dearest papa, as I foresaw. She has set her
heart on Mr. Jasper, and she meets him secretly. He
asked leave of you yesterday to go home to Buckfastleigh ;
but he has not gone there. He has not left this neigh-
bourhood. He is secreting himself somewhere, and this
evening he met darling Eve on the Eaven Eock, when he
knew you were here ill, and I was in the house with you.'

* I cannot believe it,' said Mr. Jordan, with every token
of distress, wiping his wet brow with his thin hands, clasp-
ing his hands, plucking at his waistcoat, biting his quiver-

,inglips.

* It is true, dearest papa. Eve took Jane with her as
far as the gate, and there an ugly boy, who, Eve tells me,
is Jasper's brother, scared the girl away. I hurried o£f to
the Eock as soon as told of this, and I saw through an
opening of the trees someone with Eve, and heard a voice
like that of Mr. Jasper. When I charged Eve with having
met him, she could not deny it.'

' What does he wast ? Why did he ask to leave ? *
' I can put but one interpretation on his conduct. I
have for some time suspected a growing attachment be-
tween him and Eve. I suppose he knows that you never
would consent '

* Never, never ! ' He clenched his hands, raised them
over his head, uttered a cry, and dropped them.

* Do be careful, dear papa,' said Barbara. * You forget
your wound ; you must not raise your right arm.'

* It camaot bo I It cannot be I Never, never I ' He

BETRAYAL

103

was intensely moved, and paid no heed to his daughter's
caution. She caught his right hand, held it between her
own firmly, and kissed it. * My God I ' cried the unhappy
man. ' Spare me this ! It cannot be ! The black spots
come thick as rain.' He waved his left hand as though
warding off something. * Not as rain — as bullets.'

• No, papa, as you say, it never, never can be.'

' N ver I ' he said eagerly, his wild eyes kindling with
a lambent terror. * There stands between them a barrier
that must cut them off the one from the other for ever.
But of that you know nothing.'

' It is so,' said Barbara ; ' there does stand an impass-
able barrier between them. I know more than you sup-
pose, dear papa. Knowing what I do I have wondered at
your permitting bis presence in this house.'

' You know ? ' He looked at her, and pressed his brow*
' And Eve, does she know ? '

• She knows nothing,' answered Barbara ; ' I alone —
that is, you and I together — alone know all about him. I
found out when he first came here, and was ill.'

' From anything he said ? '

* No — ^I found a bundle of his clothes.'

* I do not understand.'

' It came about this way. There was a roll on the saddle
of his horse, and when I came to undo it, that I might put
it away, I found that it was a convict suit.' Mr. Jordan
stared. * Yes ! ' continued Barbara, speaking quickly,
anxious to get the miserable tale told. ' Yes, papa, I
found the garments which betrayed him. When he came
to himself I showed them to him, and asked if they were
his. Afterwards I heard all the particulars : how he had
robbed his own father of the money laid by to repay you
aji old loan, how his father had prosecuted him, and how
he had been sent to prison ; how also he had escaped from
prison. It was as he was flying to the Tamar to cross it,
and get as far as he could from pursuit, that he met with
his accident, and remained here.'

t'.M

m:.

304

EVE

' Merciful heaven 1 ' exclaimed Mr. Jordan ; ' you knew
all this, and never told me 1 '

* I told no one,' answered Barbara, ' because I {uromised
him that I would not betray him, and even now I would
have said nothing about it but that you tell me that yoa
know it as well as I. No,' she added, after having drawn
a long breath, 'no, not even after all the provocation he
has given would I betray him.'

Mr. Jordan looked as one dazed.

' Where then are these clothes— this convict suit ? '

' In the garret. I hid them there.'

* Let me see them. I cannot yet understand.'
Barbara left the room, and shortly returned with the

bundle. She unfolded it, and spread the garments before
her father. He rubbed his eyes, pressed his knuckl o
against his temples, and stared at them with astonish-
ment.

* So, then, it was he— Jasper Babb — who stole Eve's
money ? '

* Yes, papa.'

*And he was taken and locked up for doing so —
where ? '

* In Prince's Town prison.* ^

* And he escaped ? '

' Yes, papa. As I was on my way to Ashburton, I
passed through Prince's Town, and thus heard of it.'

* Barbara ! why did you keep this secret from me ? If
I had lmo\vn it, I woul<J have run and taken the news
myself to the police and the warders, and have had him
recaptured whilst he was ill in bed, unable to escape.'

It was now Barbara's turn to express surprise.
' But, dear papa, what do you mean ? You have told
me yourself that yon knew all about Mr. Jasper.*

* I knew nothing of this. My God ! How thick the
black spots are, and how big and pointed ! '

'Papa dear, what do you mean? You assured me
you knew everything.*

BETRA YAL

305

'I knew nothing of this,
picion.*

I had not the least sub-

' But, papa ' — Barbara was sick with terror — • you told
me that this stood as a bar between him and Eve ? '

'No — Barbara. I said that there was a barrier, but
not this. Of this I was ignorant.'

The room swam round with Barbara. She uttered a
faint cry, and put the back of her clenched hands against
her mouth to choke another rising cry. ' I have betrayed
him I My God I My God I What have I dono ? '

^•!

CHAPTER XXXI.

CALLED TO AOOOUMT.

* Go,* said Mr. Jordan, ' bring Eve to me.*

Barbara obeyed mechan^pally. She had betrayed Jas-
per. Her father would not spare him. The granite walls
of Prince's Town prison rose before her, in the midst of a
waste as bald as any in Greenland or Siberia. She called
her sister, bade her go into her father'*' room, and then,
standing in the hall, placed her elbows on the window
ledge, and rested her brow and eyes in her palms. She
was consigning Jasper back to that miserable jail. She
was incensed against him. She knew that he was un-
worthy of her regard, that he had forfeited all right to her
consideration, and yet— she pitied him. She could not
bring herself to believe that he was utterly bad ; to send
him again to prison was to ensure his complete ruin.

*■ Eve,' said Mr. Jordan, when his youngest daughter
came timidly into the room, ' tell me, whom did you meet
on the Raven ^ock ? '

The girl hung her head and made no reply. She stood
as a culprit before a judge, conscious that his case is hope-
less.

206

EVE

' Eve/ he said again, ' I insist on knowing. Whom
did you meet ?

She tried to speak, but something rose in her throat,
and choked her. She raised her eyes timidly to her father,
who had never, hiiherto, spoken an angry word to her.
Tears and entreaty were in her eyes, but the room was
dark, night had fallen, and ho could not see her face.

* Eve, tell me, was it Babb ? '

She burst into a storm of sobs, and threw herself on
her knees. ' papa I sweetest, dearest papa 1 Do not
ask me I I must not tell. I promised him not to say. It
is as much as his life is worth. He says he never will be
taken alive. If it were known that he was here the police
would be after him. Papa dear ! ' she clasped and fondled,
and kissed his hand, she bathed it in her tears, * do not be
angry with ma. I can bear anything but that. I do love
you so, dear, precious papa ! '

*My darling,' he replied, *I am not angry. I am
troubled. I am on a rock aad hold you in my arms, and
the black sea is rising — I can feel it. Leave me alone, I
am not myself.'

An hour later Barbara came in.

* What, papa — without a light ?

' Yes — it is dark everywhere, within as without. The
black spots have run one into another and filled me. It
will be better soon. When Jasper Babb shows his face
again, he shall be given up.'

' papa, let Jiim. escape this time. All we now want
is to get him away from this place, away from Eve.'

' All we now want ! ' repeated Mr. Jordan. * Let the
man off who has beggared Eve ! '

* Papa, Eve will be well provided for.'

* He has robbed her.'

' But, dear papa, consider. He has been your guest.
He ha 9 worked for you, he has eaten at your table, par-
taken of your salt. When you were hurt, he carried you
to your bed. He has been a devoted servant to you.'

/ t

CALLED TO ACCOUNT

aor

' We are quits/ said Mr. Jordan. ' He was nursed
when he was ill. That makes up for all the good he has
done me. Then there is that other account which can
never be made up.'

' I am sure, papa, he repents.'

' And tries to snatch away Eve, as he has snatched
away her fortune ? '

' Papa, there I think he may be excused. Consider how
beautiful Eve is. It is quite impossible for a man to see
her and not love her. I do not myself know what love is,
but I have read about it, and I have fancied to myself what
it is — a kind of madness that comes on one, and obscures
the judgment. I do not believe that Mr. Jasper had any
thought of Eve at first, but little by little she won him.
You know, papa, how she has run after him, like a kitten ;
and so she has stolen his heart out of his breast before ho
knew what she was about. Then, after that, every thing-
honour, duty went. I dare say it is very hard for one who
loves to think calmly and act conscientiously I Would you
like the lights brought in, papa ? '

He shook his head.

'You must not remain up longer than you can bear/
she said. She took a seat o^i a stool, and leaned her head
on her hand, her elbow resting on her knee. ' Papa, whilst
I I ave been waiting in the hall, I have turned the whole
matter over and over in my mind. Papa, I suppose that
Eve's mother was very, very beautiful ? '

He sighed in the dark and put his hands together.
The pale twilight through the window shone on them ;
they were white and ghost-like.

' Papa dear, I suppose that you saw her when she was
ill every day, and got to love her. I dare say you struggled
against the feeling, but your heart was too strong for your
head and carried your resolutions away, just as I have seen
a flood on the^ Tamar against the dam at Abbotswear ; it
has burst through all obstructions, and in a moment every
trace of the dam has disappeared. You were under the

^ -'M

4iH

k r

2o8

EVE

same roof with her. Then there came a great ache here
— she touched her heart — * allowing you no rest. Well,
dear papa, I think it must have been so with Mr. Babb.
He saw our dear sweet Eve daily, and love for her swelled
in his heart; he formed the strongest resolutions, and
platted them with the toughest considerations, and stamped
and wedged them in with vigorous effort, but all was of no
avail — the flood rose and burst over it and carried all
away.'

Mr. Jordan was touched by the allusion to his dead or
lost wife, but not in the manner Barbara intended.

* I have heard,' continued Barbara, * that Eve's mother
was brought to this house very ill, and that you cared for
her till she was recovered. Was it in this room ? Was it
in this bed?'

She heard a low moan, and saw the white hands raised
in deprecation, or in prayer.

• Then you sat here and watched her ; and when she
was in fever you suffered ; when her breath came so faint
that you thought she was dying, your very soul stood on
tiptoe, agonised. When her eyes opened with reason in
them, your heart leaped. When she slept, you sat here
with your eyes on her face and could not withdraw them.
Perhaps you took her hand in the night, when she was
vexed with horrible dreams, and the pulse of your heart
sent its waves against her hot, tossing, troubled heart, and
little by little cooled that fire, and brought peace to that
unrest. Papa, I dare say that somehow thus it came
about that Eve got interested in Mr. Jasper and grew to
love him. I often let her take my place when he was ill.
You must excuse dearest Eve. It was my fault. I should
have been more cautious. But I thought nothing of it
then. I knew nothing of how love is sown, and throws up
its leaves, and spreads and fills the whole heart with a
tangle of roots.'

In this last half- hour Barbara had drawn nearer to her
father than in all her previous life. For once she had

,■■?!

! 'J i
'" •■ If

CALLED TO ACCOUNT

ir^

10 her
had

entered into his thoughts, roused old recollections, hoth

sweet and bitter — inexpressibly sweet, unutierably bitter —

and his heart was full of tears.

' Was Eve's mother as beautiful as our darling ? '

' yes, Barbara ! ' His voice shook, and he raised his

white hands to cover his eyes. * Even more beautiful.'

* And you loved her with all your heart ? '

* I have never ceased to love her. It is that, Barbara,
which ' — he put his hands to his head, and she understood
him — which disturbed his brain.

'But,' he said, suddenly as waking from a dream,
'Barbara, how do you know all this? Who told
you?' • ,

She did not answer him, but she rose, knelt on the
stool, put her arms round his neck, and kissed him. Her
cheeks were wet.

' You are crying, Barbara.'

' I am thinking of your sorrows, dear papa.'

She was still kneeling on one knee, with her arms
round her father. ' Poor papa ! I want to know really
what became of Eve's mother.'

The door was thrown open.

' Yes ; that is what I have come to ask,' said Jasper,
entering the room, holding a wax candle in each hand.
He had intercepted the maid, Jane, with the candles,
taken them from her, and as she opened the door entered,
to hear Barbara's question. The girl turned, dropped one
arm, but clung with the other to her father, who had just
placed one of his hands on her head. Her eyes, from
having been so long in the dark, were very large. She
was pale, and, her cheeks"glistened with tears.

She was too astonished to recover herself at once,
dazzled by the strong light ; she could not see Jasper, but.
she knew his voice.

He put the candlesticks — they were of silver — on the
table, shut the door behind him, and standing before Mr.
Jordan with bowed head, his earnest eyes fixed on the old^

210

EVE

man's face, he said again, ' Yes, that is what I have come
to adk. Where is Eve's mother ? '

No one spoke. Barbara recovered herself first ; she
rose from the stool, and stepped between her father and
the steward.

* It is not you,' she said, ' who have a right to ask

• questions. It is we who have to call you to account.'

*For what, Miss Jordan?' He spoke to her with
deference — a certain tone of reverence which never left
him when addressing her. •

' You must give an account of yourself,' she said.

* I am just returned from Buckfastleigh,' he answered.

* And, pray, how is your father who was dying ? ' she
asked, with a curl of her lip and a quiver of contempt in
her voice.

* He is well,' replied Jasper. * I was deceived about
his sickness. He has not been ill. I was sent on a fool's
errand.'

' Then,' said Mr. Jordan, who had recovered himself,

• what about the money ? '

* The recovery of that is as distant as ever, but also as
certain.'

* Mr. Jasper Babb,' exclaimed Ignatius Jordan, ' you
have not been to Buckfastleigh at all. You have not seen
your father ; you have deceived me with '

Barbara hastily interrupted him, saying with beating
heart, and with colour rising to her pale cheeks, * I pray
you, I pray you, say no more. We know very well that
you have not left this neighbourhood.'

* I do not understand you, Miss Jordan. I am but just
returned. My horse is not yet qjisaddled.'

' Not another word,' exclaimed the girl* with pain in
her voice. * Not another word if you wish us to retain a
particle of regard for you. I have pitied you, I have
excused you but if you lie — I have said the word, I can-
not withdraw it— I give you up,' Fire was in her heart,
tears in her throat.

CALLED TO ACCOUNT

311

* I will speak,' said Jasper. * I value your regard,
Miss Jordan, above everything that the world contains.
I cannot tame y lose that. There lias been a misappre-
hension. How it has arisen I do not know, but arisen it
has, and dissipated it shall be. It is true, as I said, that
I was deceived about my father's condition, wilfully,
maliciously deceived. I rode yesterday to iiuckfastleigh,
and have but just returned. If my father had been dying
you would not have seen me here so soon.'

* We cannot listen to this. We cannot endure this,'
cried Barbara. ' Will you madden me, after all that has
been done for you ? It is cruel, cruel ! ' Then, unable
to control the flood of tfears that rose to her eyes, she left
the room and the glare of candles,

Jasper approached Mr. Jordan. He had not lost his
self-restraint. * I do not comprehend this charge of false-
hood brought against me. I can bring you a token that I
have seen my father, a token you will not dispute. He
has told me who your second wife was. She was my
sister. Will you do me the justice to say that you believe
me?'

' Yes,* answered the old man, faintly.

* May I recall Miss Jordan ? I cannot endure that she
should suppose me false.'

* If you will.'

* One word more. Do you wish our kinship to be
known to her, or is it to be kept a secret, at least for a
while ? •

' Do not tell her.'

Then Jasper went out into the hall. Barbara was there,
in the window, looking out into the dusk through the dull
old glass of the lattice.

* Miss Jordan,' said he, * I have ventured to ask you to
return to your father, and receive his assurance that I
spoke the truth.'

' But,' exclaimed Barbara, turning roughly upon him:
* you were on the Raven Hock with my sister at sunset,

-7,}V-*

-f^;

•m

212

EVE

and had your brother planted at the gate to watch against
intruders.'

* My brother ? *

* Yes, a boy.'

' I do not understand you,*

' It is true. I sav him, I saw you. Eve confessed it.
What do you say to that ? *

Jasper bit his thumb.

Barbara laughed bitterly.

*I know why you pretended to go away — ^because a
policeman was here on Sunday, and you were afraid. Take
care I I have betrayed you. Your secret is known. You
are not safe here.'

* Miss Jordan,' said the young man quietly. * you are
mistaken. I did not meet your sister. I would not de-
ceive you for all the world contains. I warn you that
Miss Eve is menaced, and I was sent out of the way lest
I should be here to protect her.'

Barbara gave a little contemptuous gasp.

' I cannot listen to you any longer,' she said angrily.
' Take my warning. Leave this place. It is no longer
safe. I tell you — I, yes, I have betrayed you.'

* I will not go,' said Jasper, * I dare not. I have the
interest of your family too near my heart to leave.'

* You will not go ! ' exclaimed Barbara, trembling with
anger and scorn. * I neither believe you, nor trust you.
I ' — she set her teeth and said through them, with her
heart in her mouth -* Jasper, I hate you I ' .

CHAPTEE XXXII.

WANDEBING LIGHTS.

No sooner was Mr. Jordan left alone than his face became
ghastly, and his eyes were fixed with terror, as though he
saw before him some object of infinite horror. He put his

WANDERING LIGHTS

213

quivering thin hands on the elbows of his armchair and
let himself slide to his knees, then he raised his hollow
eyes to heaven, and clasped his hands and wrung them ;
his lips moved, but no vocal prayers issued from them.
He hfted his hands above his head, uttered a cry and fell
forward on his face upon the oak floor. Near his hand
was his stick with which he rapped against the wall or on
the floor when he needed assistance. He laid hold of this,
and tried to raise himself, but faintness came over him,
and he fell again and lost all consciousness.

When he recovered sufficiently to see whb>t and who
were about him, he found that he had been lifted on to his
bed by Jasper and Barbara, and that Jane was in the
room. His motion with his hands, his strain to raise
himself, had disturbed the bandages and reopened his
wound, which was again bleeding, and indeed had soaked
through his clothes and sLained the floor.

He said nothing, but his eyes w^atched and followed
Jasper with a mixture of hatred and fear in them.

' He irritates me,' he whispered to his daughter ; ' send
him out. I cannot endure to see him.'

Then Barbara made an excuse for dismissing Jasper.

When he was gone, Mr. Jordan's anxiety instead of
being allayed was increased. He touched his daughter,
and drew her ear to him, and whispered, 'Where is he
now ? What is he doing ? '

* I do not know, papa. He is probably in his room.*

* Go and see.'

* Papa dear, I cannot do that. Do you want him ? '

' Do I want him ? No, Barbara, but I do not choose
that he shall escape. Go and look if there is a light in
his window.'

She was about to send Jane, when her father impa-
tiently insisted on her going ]|erself. Wondering at his
caprice shf obeyed.

No sooner was the door closed behind her, than the
old man signed Jane Welsh to come near him.

-A

214

EVE

* Jane,' he said in a whispei", ' I want you to do some-
thing for me. No one must know about it. You have a
sweetheart, I've heard, the policeman, Joseph Woodman,
at Tavistock.'

The girl pulled at the ends of her apron, and looking
down, said, * Lawk ! How folks -^o talk ! V
/* Is it true, Jane?'

* Well, sir, I won't deny us have been keeping com-
pany, and on Sunday went to a love-feast together.'

* That is weli,' said Mr. Jordan earnestly, with his wild
eyes gleaming. ' Quick, before my daughter comes.
Stand nearer. No one must hear. Would you do Joseph
a good turn and get him a sergeantry ? *

* please, sir ! '

' Then run as fast as you can to Tavistock/
' Please, sir, I durstn't. It be night and it's whisht ^
over the moor.*

* Then leave it, and I will send someone alse, and you
will lose your lover.'

* What do you want me to do, sir ? I wouldn't have
that neither.'

* Then run to Tavistock, and tell Joseph Woodman to
communicate at once with the warder of the Prince's
Town jail, and ^^id him bring sufficient men with him, and
come here, and x will deliver into their hands a runaway
convict, a man who broke out of jail not long ago.'

* Please, sir, where is he ? Lawk, sir I What if he
were on the moor as I went over it ? '

* Never mind where he is. I will produce him at the
right moment. Above all — Jane — ^remember this, not a
word of what I have said to Mr. Jasper or to Miss Barbara.
Go secratly, and go at once. Hash ! Here she comes.

Barbara entered. * A light is in his window,' she said.
Then her father laughed, And shut his hands.
' So,' he muttered, ' so I shall snap him.*

* Whisht = uncanny.

WANDERING LIGHTS

315

When her father was composed, and seemed inclined
to sleep, Barbara left his room, and went out of the house.
She needed to be by herself. Her bosom heaved. She
had so much to think of, so many troubles had come upon
her, the future was dark, the present uncertain.

If she were in the house she would not be able to
enjoy that quiet for which she craved, in which to compose
the tumult of her heart, and arrange her ideas. There
she was sure to be disturbed : a maid would ask for a
duster, or another bunch of candles ; the cook would send
to announce that the chimney of the kitchen was out of
order, the soot or mortar was falling down it ; the laundry-
maid would ask for soap ; Eve would want to be amused.
Every other minute she would have some distracting
though trifling matter forced on her. She must be alone.
Her heart yearned for it. She would not go to the Bock,
the association with it was painful. It was other with the
moor, Morwell Down, open to every air, without a tree
behind which an imp might lurk and hoot and make
mows.

Accordingly, without saying a word to anyone, Bar-
bara stole along the lane to the moor.

That was a sweet summer night. The moon was not
yet risen, the stars were in the sky, not many, for the
heaven was not dark, but suffused with lost sunlight. To
the east lay the range of Dartmoor mountains, rugged and
grey ; to the west, peaked and black against silver, the
Cornish tors. But all these heights on this night were
scintillating with golden moving spots of fire. The time
had come for what is locally called * swaling,' that is,
firing the whinbrakes. In places half a hill side was
flaked with red flame, then it flared yellow, then died
away. Clouds of smoke, tinged with fire reflection from
below, rolled away before the wind. When the conflagra-
tion reached a dense and tall tree-like mass of gorse the
flame rose in a column, or wavered like a golden tongue.
Then, when the material was exhausted and no contiguous

3l6

EVE

brake continued the .Qre, the conflagration ended, and left
only a patch of dull glowing scftrlet ember.

Barbara leaned against the last stone hedge which
divided moor from field, and looked at the moving lights
without thinking of the beauty and wildness of the spec-
tacle. She was steeped in her own thoughts, and was
never at any time keenly alive to the beautiful and the
fantastic.

She thought of Jasper. She had lost all faith in him.
He was false and deceitful. What could she believe about
that meeting on the Eaven Bock ? He might have con-
vinced her father that he was not there. He could not
convince her. "What was to be done ? Would her father
betray the man ? He was ill now and could do nothing.
Why was Jasper so obstinate as to refuse to leave ? Why ?
Because he was infatuated with Eve.

On that very down it was that Jasper had been thrown
and nearly killed. H only he had been killed outright.
Why had she nursed him so carefully? Far better to
have left him on the moor to die. How dare he aspire to
Eve ? The touch of his hand carried a taint. Her brain
was dark, yet, like that landscape, full of wandering sparks
of fire. She could not think clearly. She could not feel
composedly. Those moving, wavering fires, now rushing
up in sheaves of flame, now falling into a sullen glow
burnt on the sides of solid mountains, but her fiery
thoughts, that sent a blaze into her cheek and eye, and
then died into a slow heat, moved over tossing billows of
emotion. She put her hand to her head as if by grasping
it she could bring her thoughts to a standstill ; she pressed
her hands against her bosom, as if by so doing she could
fix her emotions. The stars in the serene sky burned
steadily, ever of one brightness. Below, these wandering
fires flared, glowed, and went out. Was it not a picture
of the contrast between life on earth and life in the settled
celestial habitations ? Barbara was not a girl with much
fancy, but some such a thought came into her mind, and

WANDERING LIGHTS

%Vf

might have taken form had not she at the moment seen a
dark figure issue from the lane.

•Who goes there?' she called imperiously.

The figure stopped, and after a moment answered:
'Oh, Miss I you have a-given me a turn. It be me, Jane.'

'And pray,' said Barbara, 'what brings you here at
night? Whither are you going?'

The girl hesitated, and groped in her mind for an ex-
cuse. Then she said : ' I want, miss, to go to Tavistock.'

'To Tavistock i It is too late. Go home to bed.'

'I must go, Miss Barbara. I'm sure I don't want to.
I'm scared of my life, but the master have sent me, and
what can I do ? He've a-tdld me to go to Joseph Wood-
man.'

' It is impossible, at this time. It must not be.'

'But, Lliss, I promised I'd go, and sure enough I don't
half like it, over those downs at night, and nobody knows
what one may meet. I wouldn't be caught by the Whish
Hounds and Black Copplestone, not for' — the girl's
imagination was limited, so she concluded, 'well, Miss,
not for nothing.'

Barbara considered a moment, and then said, ' I have
no fear. I will accompany you over ^he Down, till you
come to habitations. I am not afraid of returning alene.'

' Thank you. Miss Barbara, you be wonderfully good.'

The girl was, indeed, very grateful for her company.
She had had her nerves sorely shaken by the encounter
with Watt, and now in the fulness of her thankfulness she
confided to her mistress all that Mr. Jordan had said,
concluding with her opinion that probably * It was naught
but a fancy of the Squire ; he do have fancies at times.
Howsomever, us must humour 'm.'

Jasper also had gone forth. In his breast also was
trouble, and a sharp pain, that had come with a spasm
when Barbara told him how she hated him.

But Jasper did not go to Morwell Down. He went
towards the Eaven Eock that lay on the farther side of

'«#'

2l8

EVE

the house. He also desired to be alone and under the
cahn sky. He was stifled by the air of a house, depressed
by the ceiling.

The words of Barbara had wounded him rather than
stung him. She had not only told him that she hated
him, but had given the best proof of her sincerity by
betraying him. Suspecting him of carrying on an un*
worthy intrigue with Eve, she had sacrificed him to save
her sister. He could not blame her, her first duty was
towards Eve. One comfort he had that, though Barbara
had betrayed him, she did not seek his punishment, she
sought only his banishment from Morwell.

Once — just once — he had half opened her heart,
looked in, and fancied he had discovered a tender regard
for him lurking in its bottom. Since then Barbara had
sought every opportunity of disabusing his mind of such
an idea. And now, this night, she had poured out her
heart at his feet, and shown him hatred, not love.

Jasper's life had been one of self-denial. There had
been little joy in it. Anxieties had beset him from early
childhood; solicitude for his brother, care not to offend
his father. By nature he had a very loving heart, but he
had grown up with none to love save his brother, who had
cru^ly abused his love. A joyous manhood never ensues
on a joyless boyhood. Jasper was always sensible of an
inner sadness, even when he w«5 happy. His brightest
joys were painted on a sombre background, but then, how
much brighter they seemed by the contrast — alas, only,
that they were so few ! The circumstances of his rearing
had driven him in upon himself, so that he lived an inner
life, which he shared with no one, and which was un-
perceived by all. Now, as he stood on the Bock, with an
ache at his heart, Jasper imcovered his head, and looked
into the softly lighted vault, set with a few faint stars.
As he stood thus with his hands folded over his hat, and
looked westward at the clear, cold, silvery sky behind and
over the Oomish moors, an unutterable yearning strained

WANDERING LIGHTS

319

his heart. He said no word, he thought no thought. He
simply stood uncovered under the summer night sky, and
from his heart his pain exhaled.

Did he surmise that at that same time Barbara was
standing on the moor, also looking away beyond the
horizon, also suffering, yearning, without knowing for
what she longed ? No, he had no thought of that.

And as both thus stood far removed in body, but one
in sincerity, suffering, fidelity, there shot athwart the
vault of heaven a brilliant dazzling star.

Mr. Coyshe at his window, smoking, said : * By Ginger !
a meteor 1 '

But was it not an angel bearing the dazzling chalice
of the sangreal from highest heaven, from the region of
the still stars, down to this world of flickering, fading,
wandering fires, to minister therewith balm to two dis-
tressed spirits ?

CHAPTEE XXXni.

un-
an
oked
ars.
and
and
ined

THE OWLS.

Babbaba had been interrupted in her meditations, so was
Jasper. As he stood lost in a painful dream, but with a
dew from heaven falling on his parched sonl, suddenly he
was startled out of his abstraction by a laugh and an ex-
clamation at his elbow.

•Well, Jasper, composing verses to the weak-eyed Leah
or the blue-orbed Eachel ?'

'What brings you here. Watt?' asked Jasper, dis-
guising his annoyance.

* Or, my sanctimonious fox, are you waiting here for
one of the silly geese to ran to you ? '

' You have con>,e here bent on mischief,' said Jasper,
disdaining to notice hin jokes.

The evening, .ihe still scene, the solitary platform raised

lii

OnflT iM^I

220

EVE

so high above the land beyond, had seemed holy, soothing
as a church, and now, at once, with the sound of Walter's
voice, the feehng was gone, all seemed desecrated.

'Watt,' said Jasper, sternly, 'you sent me away to
Buckfastleigh by a lie. Why did you do that ? It is
utterly false that my father is ill and dying.'

'Is it so? Then I dreamed it, Jasper. Morning
dreams come true, folks say. There, my brother, you are
a good, forgiving fellow. You will pardon me. The fact
is that Martin and I wanted to know how matters went at
home. I did not care to go myself, Martin could not go,
so — I sent you, my good simpleton.'

'You told me a lie.'

* If I had told you the truth you would not have gone.
What was that we were taught at school? "Magna est
Veritas, et praevalebit." I don't believe it ; experience
tells me the contrary. Long live lies ; they win the day
all the world over.'

' What brings you here ? *

' Have I not told you? I desired to see you and to have
news of my father. You have been quick about it, Jasper.
I could scarce believe my eyes when I saw you riding
home.'

'You have been watching? '

'Of course I have. My eyes are keen. Nothing
escapes them.'

' Walter, this will not do. I am not deceived ; you did
not come here for the purpose you say. You want some-
thing else, what is it?'

The boy laughed, snapped his fingers, and began to
dance, whistHng a tune, on the rock ; approaching, then
backing from Jasper.

*0h, you clever old Jasper!' he laughed, 'now you
begin to see — like the puppy pitched into the water-butt,
who opened his eyes when too late.'

Jasper folded his arms. He said nothing, but waited
till the boy's mad pranks came to an end. At last Watt,

tru

mam

mmaoBrrrrrz

THE OWLS

331

to
hen

seeing that he oould not provoke his brother, desisted, and
came to him with affected humility.

' There, Jasper— Saint Jasper, I mean — I will be quiet
and go through my catechism.'

' Then tell me why you are here.'

' Well, now, you shall hear our scheme. Martin and I
thought that you had better patch up your little quari A.
with father, and then we knew we should have a good
friend at his ear to prompt forgiveness, and so, perhaps, as
his conscience stirred, his purse-strings might rp'?x, and
you would be able to send us a trifle in money. Is not
this reasonable ? ' ,

Yes, there could be no denying it, this was reasonable
and consistent with the characters of the two, who would
value their father's favour only by what it would profit
them. Nevertheless Jasper was unsatisfied. Watt was
so false, so unscrupulous, that his word never could be
trusted.

Jasper considered for a few minutes, then he asked,
* Where is Martin — is he here ? '

• Here ! ' jeered the boy, ' Martin here, indeed ! not he.
He is in safe quarters. Where he is I will blab to no one,
not even to you. He sends me out from his ark of refuge
as the dove, or rather as the raven, to bring him news of
the world from which he is secluded.'

'Walter, answer me this. Who met Miss Eve this
evening on this very rock? Answer me truly. More
depends on this than you are aware of.'

* Miss Eve I What do you mean ? My sister who is
dead and gone ? I do not relish the company of ghosts.'

* You know whom I mean. This is miserable evasion.
I mean the younger of the daughters of Mr. Jordan. She
was here at sundown this evening and someone was with
her. I conjure you by all that you hold sacred *

*■ I hold nothing sacred,' said the boy.

• I conjure you most solemnly to tell me the whole
truth, as brother to brother.'

I ' :i,

^iiBVHWPH

222

EVE

* Well, then — as brother to brother — I did.*

* For what purpose, Watt ? '

* My dear Jasper, can we live on air ? Here am I
hopping about the woods, roosting in ohe branches, and
there is poor Martin mewed up in his ark. I must find
food for him and myself. You know that I have made the
acquaintance of the young lady who, oddly enough, bears
the name of our dear departed mother and sister. I have
appealed to her compassion, and held out my hat for
money. I offered to dance on my head, to turn a wheel
all round the edge of this cliff, in jeopardy of my life for
half a guinea, and she gave me the money to prevent me
from risking broken bones.' ;

* Oh, Watt, you should not have done this I *

* We must live. We must have money.'

' But, Watt, where is all that which was taken from my
pocket ? '

* Gone,' answered the boy. • Gone as the snow before
south-west wind. Nothing melts like money, not even
snow, no, nor butter, no, nor a girl's heart.' Then with a
sly laugh, ' Jasper, where does old addle-brains keep his
strong box ? '

' Walter ! ' exclaimed Jasper, indignantly.

* Ah ! ' laughed the boy, * if I knew where it was I would
creep to it by a mouse hole, and put my little finger into
the lock, and when I turned that, open fiies the box.'

' Walter, forbear. You are a wicked boy.'
' I confess it. I glory in it. Father always said I was
predestined to '

* Be silent,' ordered Jasper, angrily ; ' you are insuf-
ferable.'

* There, do not ruffle your feathers over a joke. Have
you some money to give me now ? '

' Watt,' said Jasper, very sternly, ' answer me jfrankly,
if you can. I warn you.' He laid his hand on the boy's
arm. ' A great deal depends on your giving me a truthful
answer. Is Martin anywhere hereabouts? I fear he is,

once
herfd
quick!
S[
stood
and tj
of ligj
feeblel
Bj
bed,
as if
fingerl

THE OWLS

223

in spite of your assurances, for where you are he is not
often far away. The jackal and the lion hunt together.'

'He is not here. Good-bye, old brother Grave-airs.'
Then he ran away, but before he had gone far turned and
hooted like an owl, and ran on, and was lost in the gloom
of the woods, but still as|he ran hooted at intervals, and owls
answered his cry from the rocks, and flitted ghost-like about
in the dusk, seeking their brother who called them and
mocked at them.

Now that he was again alone, Jasper in vain sought to
rally his thoughts and recover his former frame of mind.
But that was not possible. Accordingly he turned home-
wards.

He was very tired. He had had two long days' ride,
and had slept little if at all ti^- previous night. Though
recovered after his accident he was not perfectly vigorous,
and the two hard days and broken rest had greatly tired
him. On reaching Morwell he did not take a light, but
cast himself, in his clothes, on his bed, and fell into a heavy
sleep.

Barbara walked quietly back after having parted with
Jane. She hoped that Jasper had on second thoughts
taken the prudent course of escaping. It was inconceiva-
ble that he should remain and allow himself to be retaken.
She was puzzled how to explain his conduct. Then all at
once she remembered that she had left the convict s^iit in
her father's room ; she had forgotten to remove it. She
quickened her pace and arrived breathless at Morwell.

She entered her father's apartment on tiptoe. She
stood still and listened. A night-light burned on the floor,
and the enclosing iron pierced with round holes cast circles
of light about the walls. The candle was a rushlight of
feeble illuminating power.

Barbara could see her father lying, apparently asleep, in
bed, with his pale thin Lands out, hanging down, clasped,
as if in prayer ; one of the spots of light danced over the
finger tips and nails. She heard him breathe, as in sleep.

«•■•

224

EVE

Then she stepped across the room to where she had
cast the suit of clothes. They lay in a grey heap, with the
spots of light avoiding them, dancing above them, but not
falling on them.

Barbara stooped to pick them up.

* Stay, Barbara,* said her father. ' I hear you. I see
what you are doing. I know your purpose. Leave those
things where they lie.'

* papa ! dear papa, suffer me to put them away.'

* Let them lie there, where I can see them.'

' But, papa, what will the maids think when they come
m? Besides it is untidy to let them litter about the
floor.'

He made an impatient gesture with his hand.

' May I not, at least, fold them and lay them on the
chair ? '

* You may not touch them at all,' he said in a tone of
irritation. She knew his temper too well to oppose him
further.

' Good night, dear papa. I suppose Eve is gone to
bed?'

* Yes; go also.'

She was obliged, most reluctantly, to leave the room.
She ascended the stairs, and entered her own sleeping
apartment. From this a door commi <- ated with that of
her sister. She opened this door ano » th her light en-
tered and crossed it.

Eve had gone to bed, and thrown all her clothes about
on the floor. Barbara had some difficulty in picking her
way among the scattered articles. When she came to the
bedside, she stood, and held her candle aloft, and let the
light fall over the sleeping girl.

How lovely she was, with her golden hair in confusion
on the pillow ! She was lying with her cheek on one rosy
palm, and the other hand was out of bed, on the white
sheet — and see I upon the finger, Barbara recognised the
turquoise ring. Eve did not venture to wear this by day.

' like

..■JW.!*^-!^!-, «—*.'■• .

THE OWLS

225

At night, in her room, she had thrust the golden hoop
over her finger, and had gone to sleep without removing it.

Barbara stooped, and kissed her sister's cheek. Eve
did not awake, but smiled in slumber ; a dimple formed at
the comer of her mouth.

. Then Barbara went ^o her own room, opened her desk,
and the secret drawer, and looked at the bunch of dry
roses. They were very yellow now, utterly withered and
worthless. The girl took them, stooped her face to them
— was it to discover if any scent lingered in the faded
leaves ? Then she closed the drawer &nd desk again, with
a sigh.

Was Barbara insensible to what is beautiful, inappre-
ciative of the poetry of life ? Surely not. She had been
forced by circumstances to be practical, to devote her whole
thought to the duties of the house and estate ; she had
said to herself that she had no leisure to think of those
things that make life graceful ; but through her strong,
direct, and genuine nature ran a 'Leitmotif of sweet,
pure melody, kept under and obscured by the jar and
jangle of domestic cares and worries, but never lost.
There is no nature, however vulgar, that is deficient in its
musical phrase, not always quite original and unique, and
only the careless listener marks it not. The patient, atten-
tr 3 ear suspects its presence first, listens for it, recognises
it, and at last appreciates it.

In poor faithful Barbara now the sweet melody, some-
what sad, was rising, becoming articulate, asserting itself
above all other sounds and adventitious strains — but, alas I
there was no ear to listen to it.

Barbara went to her window and opened it.

* How the owls are hooting to-night I ' she said. 'They,
like myself, are full of unrest. To-whit 1 To-whoo 1 '

e
le

226

JSVE

CHAPTER XXXIV,

THE DOVES.

Babbaba had no thought of going to bed. She could not
have slept had she gone. There was a clock in the tower,
a noisy clock that made its pulsations heard through the
quadrangle, and this clock struck twelve. By this time
Jane had roused the young policeman, and he was collect-
ing men to assist him in the capture. Perhaps they were
already on their way, — or were they waiting for the arrival
of warders from Prince's Town ? Those warders were more
dangerous men than the constables, for they were armed
with short guns, and prepared to fire should their game
attempt to break away.

She looked across the court at Jasper's window. No
light was in it. Was he there, asleep ? or had he taken
her advice and gone ? She could not endure the thought
of his capture, the self-reproach of having betrayed him
was more than she could bear. Barbara, usually so col-
lected and cool, was now nervous and hot.

More hght was in the sky than had been when she was
on the down. The moon was rising over the roof. She
could not see it, but she saw the reflection in Jasper's
window, like flakes of silver.

What should she do ? Her distress became insupport-
able, and she felt she must be doing something to relieve
her mind. The only thing open to her was to make
another attempt to recover the prison suit. If she could
destroy that, it would be putting out of the way one piece
of evidence against him — a poor piece, still a piece. She
was not sure that it would avail him anything, but it was
worth risking her father's anger on the chance.

She descended the stairs once more to her father's
room. The door was ajar, with a feeble yellow streak

whati

not

on t|

coulc

The

Was

^^'*:i

THE DOVES

227

issuing from it. She looked in cautiously. Then with
the tread of a thief she entered and passed through a maze
of quivering bezants of dull light. She stooped, but, as
she touched tbe garments, heard her father's voice, and
started upright. He was speaking in his sleep— *Z)e 'j^vo-
fundis clamavi ad te\* then he tossed and moaned, and
put up his hand and held it shaking in the air. ' Si
iniquitates ' — he seemed troubled in his sleep, unable to
catch the sequence of words, and repeated ' Si iniquitates
observaveriSj' and lay still on his pillow again; whilst
Barbara stood watching him, with her finger to her lip,
afraid to move, afraid of the consequences, should he wake
and see her in her disobediepce.

Then he mumbled, and she heard him pulhng at his
sheet. ' Out of love, out of the deeps of love, I have sinned.*
Then suddenly he cried out, * Si iniquitates observaveris,
Domine, quis sustinebit ? ' — he had the sentence complete,
or nearly so, and it appeased him. Barbara heard him
sigh, she stole to his side, bowed over his ear, and said,
* Ajpud te propitiatio est: speravit anima mea in Domino,^
Whether he heard or not she did not know ; he breathed
thenceforth evenly in sleep, and the expression of distress
left his face.

Then Barbara took up the bundle of clothes and softly
withdrew. She was risking something for Jasper — the
loss of her father's regard. She had* recently drawn
nearer to his heart than ever before, and he had allowed
her to cling round his neck and kiss him. Yet now she
deliberately disobeyed him. He would be very angry next
morning.

When she was in the hall she turned over in her mind
what was best to be done with the clothes. She could
not hide them in the house. Her father would insist
on their reproduction. They must be destroyed. She
could not bum them: the fire in the kitchen was out.
The only way she could think of getting rid of them
was to carry them to the Haven Bock and throw them

■■■*»i

228

EVE

over the precipice. This, accordingly, she did. She left
the house, and in the moonlight walked through the
fields and wood to the crag and hurled the bundle over
the edge.

Now that this piec3 of evidence against Jasper was
removed, it was expedient that he should escape without
further dielay — if he were still at Morwell.

Barbara had a little money of her own. When she
unlocked her uesk and looked at the withered Bowers, she
drew from it her purse, that contained her savings. There
were several pounds in it. She drew the knitted silk purse
from her pocket, and, standing in the moonlight, counted
the sovereigns in her hand. She was standing before the
gatehouse near the old trees, hidden by their shadow.
She looked up at Jasper's other window — that which com-
manded the entrance and was turned from the moon. Was
he there ? How could she communicate with him, give
him the money, and send him off? Then the grating
clock in the tower tolled one. Time was passing, danger
drew on apace. Something must be done. Barbara
picked up some pebbles and threw them at Jasper's win-
dow, but her aim was bad or her arm shook, and they
scattered without touching the glass.

All at once she heard feet — a trampling in the lane —
and she saw also that lights were burning on the down.
The lights were merely gorse blazes, for Morwell Moor
was being * swaled,' and the flames were creeping on ;
and the trampling was of young colts and bullocks that
fed on the down, which were escaping before the fires ;
but to Barbara's nervous fear the lights and the tramp
betokened the approach of a body of men to capture Jasper
Babb. Then, without any other thought but to save bim,
she ran up the stair, struck at his door, threw it open, and
entered. He started from his bed, on which he had cast
himself fully dressed, and from dead weariness had dropped
asleep.

'For God's dear sake,' said Barbara, 'come away I

this

THE DOVES

22()

ay I

They are after you; they are close to the house. Here
is money — take it, and go by the garden.'

She stood in the door, holding it, trembling in all her
limbs, and the door she held rattled.

Ho came straight towards her.

' Miss Jordan ! ' he exclaimed. ' Oh, Miss Jordan !
I shall never forgive myself. Go down into the garden —
I will follow at once. I will speak to you ; I will tell you
all.'

' I do not wish yon to speak. I insist on your going.'

He came to her, took her hand from the door, and led
her down the stairs. As they came out into the gateway
they heard the tramp of ,many feet, and a rush of young
cattle debouched from the lane upon the open space before
the gate.

Barbara was not one to cry, but she shivered and
shrank before her eyes told her what a mistake she had
made.

* Here,' she said, ' I give you my purse. Go ! *

' No,' answered Jasper. ' There is no occasion for me
to go. I have acted wrongly, but I did it for the best.
You see, there is no occasion for fear. These ponies have
been frightened by the flames, and have come through the
moor-gate, which has' been left open. I must see that
they do not enter the court and do mischief.'

* Never mind about the cattle, I pray you. Go ! Take
this money ; it is mine. I freely give it you. Go I '

' Why are you so anxious about me if you hate me ? '
asked Jasper. * Surely it would gratify hate to see me
handcuffed and carried off ! '

' No, I do not h^te you — that is, not so much as to
desire that. I have but one desire concerning you — that
we should never see your face again.

' Miss Jordan, I shall not be taken.'

She flared up with rage, disappointment, shame.
' How dare you I ' she cried. ' How dare you stand here
and set me at naught, when I have done so much for you

lit nil ^^'? t

m-r

•i'^iij

230

EVE

— when I have even ventured to rouse you in the depth
of night ! My God ! you are enough to madden me. I
will not have the shame come on this house of having
you taken here. Yes — I recall my words — I do hate
you.'

She wrung her hands ; Jasper caught them and held
them between his own.

* Misd Barbara, I have deceived you. Be calm.'

* I know only too well that you have deceived me — all
of us,' she said passionately. * Let go my hands.'

' You misunderstand me. I shall not be taken, for I
am not pursued. I never took your sister's money. I
have never been in jail.'

She plucked her hands away.

* I do not comprehend.'

* Nevertheless, what I say is simple. You have sup-
posed me to be a thief and an escaped convict. I am
neither.'

Barbara shook her head impatiently.

' I have allowed you to think it for reasons of my own.
But now you must be undeceived.'

The young cattle were galloping about in front, kick-
ing, snorting, trying the hedges. Jasper left Barbara for
a while that he might drive them into a field where they
could do no harm. She remained under the great gate
in the shadow, bewildered, hoping that what he now said
was true, yet not daring to believe his words.

Presently he returned to her. He had purposely left
her that she might have time to compose herself. When
he returned she was calm and stern.

* You caimot blind me with your falsehoods,' she said.
* I know that Mr. Ezekiel Babb was robbed by his
own son. I know the prison suit was yours. You con-
fessed it when I showed it you on your return to conscious-
ness : perhaps before you were aware how seriously you
committed yourself. I know that you were in jail at
Prince's Town, and that you escaped.'

THE DOVES

231

'Well, Miss Jordan, whc^t you say is partly true, and
partly incorrect.'

' Are you not Mr. Babb's son ? ' she asked imperiously.

He bowed ; he was courtly in manner.

' Was not his son found guilty of robbing him ? *

He bowed again.

' Was he not imprisoned for so doing ? *

* He was so.'

* Did he not escape from prison ? '
' He did.'

'And yet,' exclaimed Barbara angrily, 'you dare to
say with one breath that you are innocent, whilst with
the next you confess your guilt I Like the satyr in the
fable, I would drive you from my presence, you blowe; of
true and false ! '

He caught her hands again and held her firmly, whilst
he drew her out of the shadow of the archway into the
moonlight of the court.

' Do you give it up ? ' he asked ; and, by the moon,
the sickle moon, on his paJe face, she saw him smile. By
that same moon he saw the frown on her brow. ' Miss
Barbara, I am not Ezekiel Babb's only son ! '

Her heart stood still ; then the blood rushed through
her veins like the tidal bore in the Severn. The whole
of the sky seemed full of daylight. She saw all now
clearly. Her pride, her anger fell from her as the chains
fell from Peter when the angel touched him.

'No, Miss Jordan, I am guiltless in this matter —
guiltless in everything except in having deceived you.'

* God forgive you ! ' she said in a low tone as her eyes
fell and tears rushed to them. She did not draw her
hands from his. She was too much dazed to know that
he held them. * God forgive you ! — you have made mo
suffer very much ! '

She did not see how his large earnest eyes were fixed
upon her, how he was struggling with his own heart to
refrain from speaking out what he felt ; but had she met

■■ ■"'iiUfti.iiiiiniaP

232

EVE

his eye then in the moonlight, theie would have been no
need of words, only a quiver of the lips, and they would
have been clasped in each other's arms.

She did not look up ; she was studying, through a
veil of tears, some white stones that caught the moon-
light.

* This is not the time for me to tell you the whole sad
tale,' he went on. ' I have acted as I thought my duty
pointed out — ^my duty to a brother.'

•Yes,' said Barbara, ' you have a brother — that strange
boy.'

A laugh, jeering and shrill, close in their ears. From
behind the great yew appeared the shoulders and face of
the impish Walter.

• Oh, the pious, the proper Jasper I Oh, ho, ho !
What frail men these saints are who read their Bibles
to weak-eyed Leahs and blooming Eachels, and make
love to both !

He pointed jeeringly at them with his long fingerti.

' I set the down on fire for a little fun. I drove the
ponies along this lane ; and see, I have disturbed a pair
of ring-doves as well. I won't hoot any more ; but —
coo 1 coo ! coo ! ' He ran away, but stopped every now
and then and sent back to them his insulting imitations of
the call of wood-pigeons — * Coo 1 coo 1 coo I '

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE ALABM BELIi.

Next morning Barbara entered the hall after having seen
about the duties of the house, ordered dinner, weighed out
spices and groats, made the under- servant do the work of
Jane, who was absent ; she moved about her usual duties
with her usual precision and order, but without her usual
composure.

THE ALARM BELL

233

When she came into the hall on her way to her father's
room, she found Eve there engaged and hard at work on
some engrossing occupation.

' Oh, Bab ! do come and see how bright and beautiful I
am making this,' said the girl in overflowing spirits and
pride. ' I found it in the chest in the garret, and I am
furbishing it up.' She held out f sort of necklace or
oriental carcanet, composed of chains of gold beads and
bezants. ' It was so dull when I found it, and now it
shines like pure gold ! ' Her innocent, childish face was
illumined with delight. * I am become really industrious.'

* Yes, dear ; hard at work doing nothing.'

* I should like to wear this,' she sighed.

That she had deceived her sister, that she had given
her occasion to be anxious about her, had quite passed
from her mind, occupied only with glittering toys.

Barbara hesitated at her father's door. She knew that
a painful scene awaited her. He was certain to be angry
and reproach her for having disobeyed him. But her
heart was relieved. She believed in the innocence of
Jasper. Strengthened by this faith, she was bold to con-
front her father.

She tapped at the door and entered.

She saw at once that he had heard her voice without,
and was expecting her. There was anger in his strange
eyes, and a hectic colour in his hollow cheeks. He was
partly dressed, and sat on the side of the bed. In his
hand he held the stick with which he was wont to rap
when he needed assistance.

' Where are the clothes that lay on the floor last night ?
was his salutation, pointing with the stick to the spot
whence Barbara had gathered them up.

* They are gone, papa ; I have taken them away.'

She looked him firmly in the face with her honest eyes,
unwincing. He, however, was unable to meet her steadfast
gaze. His eyes flickered and fell. His mouth was drawn
And set with a hard^ cruel expression, such as his face

y'";!

334

EVE

rarely wore ; a look which sometimes formed, but was as
quickly effaced by a wave of weakness. Now, however,
the expression was Bxed.

* I forbade you to touch them. Did you hear me ? '

' Yes, dear papa, I have disobeyed you, and I am sorry
10 have offended you ; but I cannot say that I repent
having taken the clothes away. I found them, and I had
a right to remove them.'

' Bring them here immediately.'
' I cannot do so. I have destroyed them.'
' You have dared to do that ! ' His eyes began to kin-
dle and the colour left his cheeks, which became white as
chalk. Barbara saw that he had lost command over him-
self. His feeble reason was overwhelmed by passion.

* Papa,' she said, in her calmest tones, * I have never
disobeyed you before. Only ^ this one occasion my con-
science '

' Conscience ! ' he cried. ' I have a conscience in a
thombush, and yours is asleep in feathers. You have
dared to creep in here like a thief in the night and steal
from me what I ordered you to leave.'

He was playing with his stick, clutching it in the
middle and turning it. With his other hand he clutched
and twisted and almost tore the sheets. Barbara believed
that he would strike her, but when he said ' Come here,'
she approached him, looking him full in the face without
shrinking.

She knew that he was not responsible for what he did,
yet she did not hesitate about obeying his command to
approach. She had disobeyed him in the night in a matter
concerning another, to save that other ; she wculd not
disobey now to save herself.

His face was ugly with unreasoning fury, and his eyes
wilder than she had seen them before. He held up the
stick.

' Papa,' she said, 'not your right arm; or ycu will re-
open the wound,'

THE ALARM BELL

235

Her calmness impressed him. He changed the stick
into his Inft band, and, gathering up the sheet into a knot,
thrust it into his mouth and hit into it.

Was the moment come that Barbara had long dreaded ?
And was she to be the one on whom his madness first dis-
played itself ?

'Papa,' she said, 'I will take any punishi^out you
think fit, but, pray, do not strike me, I cannot K ar that —
not for my own sake, but for yours.'

He paid no attention to her remonstrance, but raised
the stick, holding it by the ferule.

Steadily looking into his sparkling eyes, Barbara re-
peated the words he had muttered and cried in his sleep,
* De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine. Si iniquitates ob-
aervaveris, quis sustinebit ? '

Then, as in a dissolving view on a sheet one scene
changes into another, so in his wild eyes the expression of
rage shifted to one of fear ; he dropped the stick, and
Jasper, who at that moment entered, took it and laid it
beyond his reach.

Mr. Jordan fell back on his pillow and moaned, and
put his hands over his brow, and beat his temples with his
palms. He would not look at his daughter again, but
peevishly turned his face away.

Now Barbara's strength deserted her ; she felt as if the
floor under her feet were rolling and as if the walls of the
room were contracting upon her.

* I must have air,' she said. Jasper caught her arm
and led her through the hall into the garden.

Eve, alarmed to see her sister so colourless, ran to sup>
port her on the other side, and overwhelmed her with in-
considerate attentions.

'You must allow her time tu recover herself,' said
Jasper. ' Miss Jordan has been up f good part of the
night. The horses on the down were driven on the pre-
mises by the fire and alarmed her and made her rise. She
will be well directly.'

tmm

236

Ey£:

' I am already recovered,' said Barbara, with affected
cheerfulness. ' The room was close. I should like to be
left a little bit in the sun and air, by myself, and to
myself.'

Eve readily ran back to her burnishing of the gold
beads and bezants, and Jasper heard Mr. Jordan calling
him, so he went to his room. He found the sick gentle-
man with clouded brow and closed lips, and eyes that gave
him furtive glances but could not look at him steadily.

' Jasper Babb,' said Mr. Jordan, * I do not wish you to
leave the house or its immediate precincts to-day. Jane
has not returned, Eve is unreliable, and Barbara over-
strained.'

* Yes, sir, I will do as you wish.'

* On no account leave. Send Miss Jordan to me when
she is better.'

When, about half-an-hour after, Barbara entered the
room, she went direct to her father to kiss him, but he re-
pelled her.

* What did you mean,* he asked, without looking at her,
* by those words of the Psalm ? '

* Oh, papa ! I thought to soothe you. You are fond of
the De Profundis — ^you murmur it in your sleep.'

'You used the words significantly. What are the
deeds I have done amiss for which you reproach me ? '

*We all need pardon — some for one thing, some for
another. And, dearest papa, we all need to say ' Apud te
jjwpitiatio est : speravit anima mea in Domhw.'

* Propitiatio ! ' repeated Mr. Jordan, and resumed his
customary trick of brushing his forehead with his hand as
though to sweep cobwebs from it which fell over and
clouded his eyes. * For what ? Say out plainly of what
you accuse me. I am prepared for the worst. I cannot
endure these covert stabs. You are always watching me.
You are ever casting innuendos. You cut and pierce me
worse than the scythe. That gashed my body, but you
drive your sharp words into my soul.'

THE ALARM BELL

237

* My dear papa, you are mistaken.'

*I am not mistaken. Your looks and words have
meaning. Speak out.'

* I accuse you of nothing, darling papa, but of being
perhaps just a little unjust to me.'

She soon saw that her presence was irritating him, her
protestations unavailing to disabuse his mind of the pre-
judice that had taken hold of it, and so, with a sigh, she
left him.

Jane Welsh did not return all day. This was strange.
She had promised Barbara to return the first thing in the
morning. She was to sleep in Tavistock, where she had a
sister, married.

Barbara went about her work, but with abstracted
mind, and without her usual energy.

She was not quite satisfied. She tried to believe in
Jasper's innocence, and yet doubts would rise in her mind
in spite of her efforts to keep them under.

Whom had Eve met on the Kaven Eock ? Jasper had
denied that he was the person : who, then, could it have
been ? The only other conceivable person was Mr. Coy she,
and Barbara at once dismissed that idea. Eve would
never make a mystery of meeting Doctor Squash, as she
called him.

At last, as evening drew on, Jane arrived. Barbara
met her at the door and remonstrated with her.

' Please, miss, I could noli help myself. I found Joseph
Woodman last night, and he said he must send for the
warders to identify the prisoner. Then, miss, he said I
was to wait till he had got the warders and some con-
stables, and when they was ready to come on I might
come too, but not before. I slept at my sister's last
night.'

' Where are the men now ? ' '

' They are about the house — some behind hedges, some
in the wood, some on the down,*

Barbara shuddered.

• .w

^fl

;,.

238

EVE

' Please miss, they have guns. And, miss, I were to
come on and tell the master that all was ready, and if he
would let them know where the man was they'd trap
him.'

' There is no man here but Mr. Babb.'

Jane's face fell.

' Lawk, miss I If Joseph thought us had been making
games of he, I believe he'd never marry me — and after
going to a Love Feast with him, too ! 'Twould be serious
that, surely.'

' Joseph has taken a long time coming.*

'Joseph takes things leisurely, miss — 'tis his nature.
Us have been courting time out o' mind; and, please,
miss, if the man were here, then the master was to give
the signal by pulling the alarm-bell. Then the police and
warders would close in on the house and take him.'

Barbara was as pale now as when nearly fainting in
the morning. This was not the old Barbara with hale
cheeks, hearty eyes, and ripe lips, tall and firm, and
decided in all her movements. No ! This was not at all
the old Barbara.

'Well, Miss Jordan, what is troubling you?' asked
Jasper. ' The house is surrounded. Men are stationed
about it. No one can leave it without being challenged.'

' Yes,' said Barbara quickly. * By the Abbot's Well
there runs a path down between laurels, then over a stile
into the wood. It is still possible — will you go ? *

* You do not trust me ? '

* I wish to^— but '

* Will you do one thing more for me ? *
She looked timidly at him.

'Peal the alarm-bell.'

CONFESSIONS

239

CHAPTER XXXVI.

CONFESSIONS.

As the bell clanged Mr. Jordan came out of bis door. He
had been ordered to remam quiet and take no exercise ;
but now, leaning on his stick and holding the door jamb,
he came forth.

' What is this ? ' he asked, and Jasper put his hand to
the rope to arrest the upward cast. • Why are you ringing,
Barbara ? Who told you to do so ? '

'I bade her ring,' said Jasper, 'to call these,' he
pointed to the door.

Several constables were visible ; foremost came Joseph
and a prison warder.

' Take him ! ' cried Mr. Jordan : ' arrest the fellow.
Here he is — he is unarmed.'

' What ! Mr. Jasper ! ' asked Joseph. Among the ser-
vants and labourers the young steward was only known as
Mr. Jasper. ' Why, sir, this is— this is — Mr. Jasper ! '

' This is the man,' said Ignatius Jordan, clinging to
the door-jamb and pointing excitedly with his stick, —
• this is the man who robbed his own father of money that
was mine. This* is the man who was locked up in jail and
broke out, and, by the mercy and justice of Heaven, was
cast at my door.'

' I beg yoiu* pardon, sir,' said Joseph, ' I don't under-
stand. This is your steward, Mr. Jasper.'

• Take him, handcuff him before my eyes. This is the
fellow you have been in search of ; I deliver him up.'

* But, sir,' said the warder, * you are wrong. This is
not our escaped convict.'

* He is, I tell you I know he is.'

• I am sorry to differ from you, sir, but this is not he.
I know which is which. Why, this chap's hair have never

Lij^iw^^^mp

240

EVE

been cut. If ba'd been with us he'd have a head like a
mole's back.'

* Not he ! ' cried Mr. Jordan frantically. ' I say to you
this is Jasper Babb.'

' Well, sir,' said the warder, * sorry to diflfer, sir, but
our man ain't Jasper at all — he's Martin.'

Then Joseph turned his light blue eyes round in quest
of Jane. ' I'll roast her ! I'll eat her,' he muttered, * at
the next Love Feast.'

The men went away much disappointed, grumbling,
swearing, ill-appeased by a glass of cider each; Jane
sulked in the kitchen, and said to Barbara, *This day
month, please, miss.'

Mr. Jordan, confounded, disappointed, crept back to
his room and cast himself on his bed.

The only person in the house who could have helped
them out of their disappointment was Eve, who knew
something of the story of Martin, and knew, moreover, or
strongly suspected, that he was not very far off. But no
one thought of consulting Eve.

When all the party of constables was gone, Barbara
stood in the garden, and Jasper came to her.

* You will tell me all now ? ' she said, looking at him
with eyes full of thankfulness and trust.

* Yes, Miss Jordan, everything. It is due to you. May
I sit here by you on the garden seat ? '

She seated herself, with a smile, and made room for
him, drawing her skirts to her.

The ten-week stocks, purple and white, in a bed under
the window filled the air with perfume ; but a sweeter
perfume than ten-week stocks, to Barbara, charged the
atmosphere — the perfume of perfect confidence. Was
Barbara plain ? Who could think that must have no love
for beauty of expression. She had none of her sister's
loveliness, but then Eve had none of hers. Each had a
charm of her own, — Eve the charm of exquisite physical
perfection, Barbara that of intelligence and sweet faith

CONFESSIONS

241

and complete self-devotion streaming out of eye and
mouth — indeed, out of every feature. Which is loveUer —
the lantern, or the light within ? There was little of soul
and character in frivolous Eve.

When Jasper seated himself beside Miss Jordan neither
spoke for full ten minutes. She folded her hands on her
lap. Perhaps their souls were, like the ten-week stocks,
exhaling sweetness.

* Dear Miss Jordan,' said Jasper, ' how pleasantly the
thrushes are singing I '

* Yes,' she replied, * but I want to hear your story — I
can always listen to the thrushes.'

He was silent after this for several minutes. She did
not further press him. She knew he would tell her all
when he had rallied his courage to do so. They heard
Eve upstairs in her room lightly singing a favourite air
from * Don Giovanni.'

' It is due to you,' said Jasper at last. ' I will hide
nothing from you, and I know your kind heart will bear
with me if I am somewhat long.'

She looked round, smiled, just raised her fingers on
her lap and let them fall again.

When Jasper saw that smile he thought he had never
Been a sweeter ight. And yet people said that Barbara
was plain !

* Miss Jordan, as you have heard, my brother Martin
took the money. Poor Martin ! Poor, dear Martin I His
is a broken life, and it was so full of promise ! '

* Did you love Martin very dearly ? '

* I do love him dearly. I have pitied him so deeply*
He has had a hard childhood. I will tell you all, and
your good kind soul will pity, not condemn him. You
have no conception what a bright handsome lad he was.
I love to think of him as he was — guileless, brimming
with spirits. Unfortunately for us, our father had the
idea that he could mould his children's character into
whatever shape he desired, and he had resolved to mak^

242

EVE

of Martin a Baptist minister, so he began to write on his
tender heart the hard tenets of Calvinism, with an iron
pen dipped in gall. When my brother and I played
together we were happy — happy as butterflies in the sun.
When we heard our father's voice or saw him, we ran
away and hid behind bushes. He interfered with our pur-
suits, he sneered at our musical tastes, he tried to stop our
practising on the violin. We were overburdened with
religion, had texts rammed into us as they ram groats
down the throats of *■ 'rasburg geese. Our livers became
diseased like these same geese — our moral livers. Poor
Martin could least endure this education : it drove him
desperate. He did what was wrong through sheer provo-
cation. By nature he is good. He has a high spirit, and
that led him into revolt.'

'I have seen your brother Martin,' said Barbara.
' When you were brought insensible to this house he was
with you.'

* What did you think of him ? ' asked Jasper, with
pride in his tone.

* I did not see hiy face, he never removed his hat.'

* Has he not a pleasant voice ! and he is so grand and
generous in his demeanour ! '

Barbara said nothing. Jasper waited, expecting some
word of praise.

' Tell me candidly what you thought of him/ said
Jasper.

* I do not hke to do so. I did form an opinion of him,
but — it was not favourable.'

* You saw him for too short a time to be able to judge,'
said the young man. * It never does to condemn a man
off-hand without knowing his circumstances. Do you
know, Miss Jordan, that saying of St. Paul about pre-
mature judgments ? He bids us not judge men, for the
Great Day will reveal the secrets of all hearts, and then —
what is his conclusion ? "All men will be covered with
confusion and be condemned of men and angels " ? Not

CONFESSIONS

243

so — "Then shall every man hava praise of the Lord.*
Their motives will show better than their deeds.'

' How sweetly the thrushes are singing ! ' said Barbara
now ; then — * So also Eve may be misunderstood.'

' Oh, Miss Jordan f when I consider what Martin might
have become in better hands, wi2)h more gentle and sym-
pathetic treatment, it makes my heart bleed. I assure
you my boyhood v/as spent in battling with the fatal
influences that surrounded him. At last matters came to
a head. Our father wanted to send Martin away to be
trained for a preacher, and Martin took the journey money
provided him, and joined a company of players. He had
a good voice, and had been fairly taught to sinrj. Whether
he had any dramatis talent I can hardly say. After an
absence of a twelvemonth or more he returned. He was
out of his place, and professed penitence. I dare say he
really was sorry. He remained a while at home, but could
not get on with our father, who was determined to have
his way with Martin, and Martin was equally resolved not
to become a Dissenting minister. To me it was amazing
that my fat) er should persevere, because it was obvious
that Martin had no vocation for the pastorate ; but my
father ;.s a (determined man. Having made up his mind
that Martin was to be a preacher, he would not be moved
from it. In our village a couple of young men resolved to
go to America. They were friends of Martin, and per-
suaded him to join them. He asked my father to give
him a fit-out and let him go. But no — the old gentleman
was not to be turned from his purpose. Then a tempta-
tion came in poor Martin's way, and he yielded to it in a
thoughtless moment, or, perhaps, when greatly excited by
an altercation with h^'s father. He took the money and
ran away.'

* He did not go to America ? '

' No, Miss Jordan. He rejoined the same dramatic
company with which he had been connected before. That
was how he was caught.'

244

':vE

'And the money?*

* Some of it was recovered, but what he had done with
most of it no one knows ; the poor thriftless lad least of
all. I dare say he gave away pomids right and left to all
who made out a case of need to him.*

Then these two, sitting in the garden perfumed with
stocks, heard Eve calling Barbara.

* It is nothing,' said Barbara ; ' Eve is tired of polishing
her spangles, and so wants me. I cannot go to her now :
I must hear the end of your story.'

'I was on my way to this place,' Jasper continued,
* when I had to pass through Prince's Town. I found my
other brother there, Walter, who is also devoted to our
poor Martin ; Walter had found means of communicating
with his brother, and had coutrived plans of escape. He
had a horse in readiness, and one day, when the prisoners
were cutting turf r 'he moor, his comrades built a turf-
stack round Martii d the warders did not discover that
he was missing till he had made off. Walter persuaded
me to remain a day or two in the place to assist in carrying
out the escape, which was successfully executed. We got
away off Dartmoor, avoided Tavistock, and lost ourselves
on these downs, but were making for the Tamar, that we
might cross into Cornwall by bridge or ferry, or by swim-
ming our horses ; and then we thought to reach Polperro
and send Martin out of the kingdom in any ship that
sailed.'

* Why did you not tell me this at once, when you came
to our house ? ' asked Barbara, with a little of her old
sharpness.

'Because I did not know you then, Miss Jordan; I
could not be sure that you might be trusted.'

She shook her head. ' Oh, Mr. Jasper I I am not
trustworthy. I did betray what I believed to be your
secret.'

* Your very trustiness made you a traitor,' he answered
courteously. ' Your first duty was to your sister.'

CONFESSIONS

245

' Why did you allow me to suppose that you were the
criminal ? »

' You had found the prison clothes, and at first I sought
to screen my brother. I did not know where Martin was ;
I wished to give him ample time for escape by diverting
suspicion to myself.'

' But afterwards ? You ought, later, to have undeceived
me,' she said, with a shake in her voice, and a little accent
of reproach.

' I shrank from doing that. I thought when you visited
Buckfastfeigh you would have found out the whole story ;
but my father was reticent, and you came away without
having learned the truth. Perhaps it was pride, perhaps a
lingering uneasiness about Martin, perhaps I felt that I
could not tell of my dear brother's fall and disgrace. You
were cold, and kept me at a distance '

Then, greatly agitated, Barbara started up.

* Oh, Mr. Jasper I ' she said with quiverir g voice, * what
cruel words I have spoken to you — to you so generous, so
true, JO self-sacrificing 1 You never can forgive me ; and
yet from the depth of my heart I desire your pardon. Oh,
Jasper f Mr.' — a sob broke the thread of her words — ' Mr.
Jasper, when you were ill and unconscious, I studied your
face hour after hour, trying to read the evil story of your
life there, and all I read was pure, and noble, and true.
How can I make you amends for the wrong I have done
you!*

As she stood, humbled, with heaving bosom and throat
choking — ^Eve came with skips and laugh along the gravel
walk. ' I have found you I ' she exclaimed, and clapped
her hands.

* And I — and I ' gasped Barbara — ' I have found

how I may reward the best of men. There ! there ! ' she
said, clasping Eve's hand and drawing her towards Jasper.
* Take her I I have stood betweeTi you too long ; but, on
my honour, only because I thought you unworthy of her.'

She put Eve's hand in that of Jasper, then before

346

EVE

either had recovered from the surprise occasioned by her
words and action, she walked back into the house, gravely,
with erect head, dignified as ever.

CHAPTER XXXVn.

THE PIPE OF PEACE.

Babbaba went to her room. She ran up the stairs : her
stateliness was gone when she was out of sight. She bolted
her door, threw herself on her knees beside her bed, and
buried ner face in the counterpane.

' I am so happy ! ' she said ; but her happiness can
hardly have been complete, for the bed vibrated under her
weight — shook so much that it shook down a bunch of
crimson carnations she had stuck under a sacred picture at
the head of the bed, and the red flowers fell about her dark
hair, and strewed themselves on the counterpane round her
head. She did not see them. She did not feel them.

If she had been really and thoroughly happy when at
last she rose from her knees, her cheeks would not have
shone with tears, nor would her handkerchief have been so
wet that she hung it out of her window to dry it, and took
another from her drawer.

Then she went to her glass and brushed her hair, which
was somewhat ruffled, and she dipped her face in the
basin.

After that she was more herself. She unlocked her
desk and from it took a small box tied round with red
ribbon. Within this box was a shagreen case, and in this
case a handsome rosewood pipe, mounted in silver.

This pipe had belonged to her uncle, and it was one of
the little items that had come to her. Indeed, in the
division of family relics, she had chosen this. Her cousins
had teased her, and asked whether it was intended for her

THE PIPE OF PEACE

347

future husband. She had made no other reply than that
she fancied it, and so she had kept it. When she selected
it, she had thought of Jasper. He smoked occasionally.
Possibly, she thought she might some day give it him,
when he had proved himself to be truly repentant.

Now he was clear from all guilt, she must make him
the present — a token of complete reconcihation. She
dusted the pretty bowl with her clean pocket-handkerchief,
and looked for the lion and head to make sure that the
mounting T^as real silver. Then she took another look at
herself in the glass, and came downstairs, carrying the
calumet of peace enclosed in its case.

She found Jasper sitting with Eve on the bench where
she had left them. They at once made way for her. He
rose, and refused to sit till she had taken iiis place.

*Mr. Jasper,' she said, and she had regained entire self-
command, * this is a proud and happy day for all of us —
for you, for Eve, and for me. I have been revolving in my
mind how to mark it and wluit memorial of it to give to
you as a pledge of peace established, misunderstandings
done away. I have been turning over my desk as well as
my mind, and have found what is suitable. My uncle won
this at a shooting-match. He was a Srst-rate shot.'

'And the prize,' said Jasper, 'has fallen into hands
that make very bad shots.'

* What do you mean ? Oh 1 * Barbara laughed and
coloured. ' You led me into that mistake about yourself.'

' This is the bad shot I mean,' said Jasper : • you have
brought Miss Eve here to me, and neither does Eve want
me, nor do I her.'

Barbara opened her eyes very wide. 'Have you
quarrelled?' she inquired, turning to see the faces of
Jasper and her sister. Both were smiling with a malicious
humour.

* Not at all. We are excellent friends/

* You do not love Eve ? '

* I like Eve, I love someone else.*

1.' )••

94^

£vf:

Tho colour rushed into Barbara's face, and then as sud-
denly deserted it. What did he mean ? A sensation of
vast happiness overspread her, and then ebbed away.
Perliaps lie loved someone at Buckfastleigh. She, plain,
downright Barbara —what was she for such a man as Jas-
per had approved himself? She quickly locovered herself,
and said, ' We were talking about the pipe.'

' Quite so,' answered Jasper. ' Let us return to the
pipe. You give it me — your uncle's prize pipe ? '

' Yes, heartily. I have kept it in my desk unused, as it
has been preserved since my uncle's death ; but you must
use it ; and I hope the tobacco will taste nice through it.'

* Miss Jordan,' said Jasper, * you have shown me such
high honour, that I feel bound to honour the gift in a
special manner. I can only worthily do so by promising
to smoke out of no other pipe so long as this remains en-
tire, and should an accident befall it, to smoke out of no
other not replaced by your kind self.'

Eve clapped her hands.

' A rash promip'^ ' said Barbara. * You are at liberty
to recall it. If I were to die, and the pipe were broken,
you ' viuld be bound to abjure smoking.'

' If you were to die, dear Miss Jordan, I should bury
the pipe in your grave, and something far more precious
than that.'

* What ? '

' Can you ask ? ' He looked her in the eyes, and again
her colour came, deep as the carnations that had strewed
her head.

' There, there 1 ' he said, ' we will not talk of graves,
and broken pipes, and buried hearts ; we will get the pipe
to work at once, if the ladies do not object.'

' I will run for the tinder-box,' said Eve eagerly.

* I have my amadou, and steel with me, and tobacco,'
Jasper observed; 'and mind, Miss Barbara is to consecrate
the pipe for ever by drawing out of it the first whiff of
smoke.'

THE PIPE or PEACE

249

Barbara laughed. She would do that. Iler heart waa
wonderfully light, and clear of clouds as that sweet still
evening sky.

The pipe was loaded ; Eve ran oflf to the kitchen to
fetch a stick oat of the fire with glowing end, because, she
said, ' she did not like the smell of the burning amadou.'

Jasper handed the pipe to Barbara, who, with an effort
to be demure, took it.

* Are you ready ? ' asked Jasper, who was whirling the
stick, making a fiery ring in the air.

Barbara had put the pipe between her lips, precisely in
the middle' of her mouth.

' No, that will not do,' said the young man ; ' put tho
pipe in the side of your mouth. Where it is now I cannot
light it without burning the tip of your nose.'

Barbara put her little finger into the bowl to assure
herself that it was full. Eve was on her knees at her sis-
ter's feet, her elbows on her lap, looking up amused and
delighted. Barbara kept her neck and back erect, and her
chin high in the air. A smile was on her face, but no tre-
mor in her lip. Eve burst into a fit of laughter. * Oh,
Bab, you look so unspeakably droll ! ' But Barbara did
not laugh and let go the pipe. Her hands were down on
the bench, one on each side of her. She might have been
sitting in a dentist's chair to have a tooth drawn. She
was a little afraid of the consequences ; nevertheless, she
had undertaken to smoke, and smoke she would — one whiff,
no more.

* Ready ? ' asked Jasper.

She could not answer, because her lips grasped the pipe
with all the muscular force of which they were capable.
She replied by gravely and slowly bowing her head.

* This is our calumet of peace, is it not, Miss Jordan ?
A lasting peace never to be broken — never ? '

She replied again only by a serious bow, head and pipe
going down and coming up again.

* Ready ? * Jasper brought the red-hot coal in contact

250

EVE

with tht tobacco in the bowl. The glow kindled Barbara's
face. She drew a long, a conscientiously long, breath.
Then her brows went up in query.

* Is it alight ? ' asked Eve, interpreting the question.
' Wait a moment Yes,' answered Jasper.

Then a long spiral of white smoke, like a jet of steam
from a kettle that is boiling, issued from Barbara's Ups,
and rose in a perfect white ring. Her eyes followed the
ring.

At that moment — bang I and again — bang I — the dis-
charge of firearms.

The pipe fell into her lap.

' What is that ? ' asked Eve, springing to her feet.
They all hurried out of the garden, and stood in front of
the house, looking up and down the lane.

* Stay here and I will see,' said Jasper. ' There may
be poachers near.'

* In pity do not leave us, or I shall die of fear,' cried
Eve.

The darkness had deepened. A few stars were visible.
Voices were audible, and the tread of men in the lane.
Then human figures were visible. It was too dark at first
to distinguish who they were, and the suspense was great.

As, however, they drew nearer, Jasper and the girls
saw that the party consisted of Joseph, the warder, and a
couple of constables, leading a prisoner.

* We 1 aye got him,' said Joseph Woodman, * the right
man at last.'

* Whom have you got ? ' asked Barbara.

' Whom ! — ^why, the escaped felon, Martin Babb.'
A cry. Eye had fainted.

TAKEN!

951

CHAPTER XXXVin.

TAKEN t

We must go back in time, something like an boor and a
half or two bours, and follow the police and warders after
they left Morwell, to understand how it hauuf^ned that
Martin fell into their hands. They had retired sulky and
grumbling*. They had been brought a long way, the two
warders a very long way, for nothing. When they reached
the down, one of the warders observed that he was darned
if he had not turned his ankle on the rough stones of the
lane. The other said he reckoned they had been shabbily
treated, and it was not his ankle but his stomach had been
turned by a glass of cider sent down into emptiness. Some
cold beef and bread was what he wanted. Whereat he was
snapped at by the other, who advised him to kill one of the
bullocks on the moor and make his meal on that.

* Hearken,' said Joseph ; ' brothers, an idea has struck
me. We have not captured the man, and so we shan't
have the reward.'

* Has it taken you half an hour to discover that ? '

' Yes,' answered Joseph simply. * Thinking and
digesting are much the same. I ain't a caterpillar that
can eat and digest at once.'

' I wish I'd had another glass of cider,' said one of the
corj stables, ' but these folk seemed in a mighty haste to
jjet rid of us.'

* There is the ** Hare and Hounds " at Goatadon,' said
Joseph.

* That is a long bit out of the road,' remonstrated the
constable.

* What is time to us police I ' answered Joseph. ' It is
made to be killed, like a flea.'

* And hops away as fast,' said another.

252

EVE

* Let us get back to Tavistock,' said a warder.

* Oh, if you wish it,' answered Joseph ; ' only it do
seem a cruel pity.'

* What is a pity ? '

* Why, that you should ha' come so far and not seen
the greatest wonder of the world.'

' What may that be ? '

' The fat woman,' answered Joseph Woodman. * The
landlady of the " Hare and Hounds." You might as well
go to Egypt and not see the pyramids, or to Rome and not
see the Pope, or to London and not see the Tower.'

* I don't make any account of fat women,' said the
warder, who had turned his ankle.

* But this,' argued Joseph, ' is a regular marvel. She's
the fattest woman out of a caravan — I believe the fattest
in England; I dare say the very fattest in the known
world. What there be in the stars I can't say.'

' Now,' said the warder, who had turned his stomach,
* what do you call fat ? ' He was in a captious mood.

* What do I call fat ? ' repeated Joseph ; * why, that
woman. Brother, if you and I were to stretch our arms
at the farthest, taking hold of each other with one
hand, we couldn't compass her and take hold with the
other.'

' I don't believe it,' said the warder emphatically.
' 'Tain't possible a mortal could be so big,' said the
other warder.

* I swear it,' said Joseph with great earnestness.

* There is never a woman in the world," said tlje warder
with the bad ankle, ' whose waist I couldn't encircle, and
I've tried lots.'

' But I tell you this woman is out of the common
altogether.'

' Have you ever tried ? ' sneered the warder with the
bad stomach.

' No, but I've measured her with my eye.'

* The eye is easy deceived as to distances and dimen-

, ;.: ^W?

TAKENI

253

sions. Why, Lord bless you ! I've seen in a fog a sheep
on the moor look as big as a hippopotamus.'

* But the landlady is not on the moor nor in a fog,'
persisted Joseph. *I bet you half-a-guinea, laid out in
drink, that 'tis as I say.'

' Done ! ' said both warders. * Done ! ' said the con-
stables, and turning to their right, they went off to the
' Hare and Hounds,' two miles out of their way, to see the
fat woman and test her dimensions.

Now this change in the destination of the party led to
the capture of Martin, and to the wounding of the warder
who complained of his stomach.

The party reached the little tavern — a poor country inn
built where roads crossed — a wretched house, tarred over
its stone face as protection against the driving rains. They
entered, and the hostess cheerfully consented to having
her girth tested. She was accustomed to it. Her fatness
was part of her stock-in-trade : it drew customers to the
' Hare and Hounds ' who otherwise would have gone on to
Beer Alston, where was a pretty and pert maid.

Whilst the officers were refreshing themselves, and one
warder had removed his boot to examine his ankle, the
door of the room where they sat was opened and Martin
•ame in. followed by Watt. His eyes were dazzled, as the
room was strongly lighted, and he did not at first observe
who were ^ing and drinking there. It was in this lonely
inn that he and Walter were staying and believed them-
selves quite safe. A few miners were the only persons
they mec there.

As Martir stood in the doorway looting at the party,
whilst his eyes accustomed themselves to the light, one of
the wiufd^s ssarted up. * That is he ! Take him ! Our
man ! '

Instantly all sprang to their feet except Joseph, who
was leisurely in all his movements, and the warder with
bare foot, without considering fully what he did, threw his
boot at Martin's head.

^,r;^ ;

254

EVE

Martin turned at once and ran, and the men dashed
out of the inn after him, hoth warders catching up their
guns, and he who was bootless running, forgetful of his
ankle, with bare foot.

The night was light enough for Martin to be seen,
with the boy running beside him, across the moor. The
fires were still flickering and glowing ; the gorse had been
burnt and so no bushes could be utilised as a screen. His
only chance of escape was to reach the woods, and he ran
for Morwell.

But Martin, knowing that there were fire-arms among
his pursuers, dared not run in a direct line ; he swerved
from side to side, and dodged, to make it difficult for them
to take aim. This gave great facilities to the warder who
had both boots on, and who was a wiry, long-legged
fellow, to gain on Martin.

* Halt ! ' shouted he, * halt, or I fire ! '

Then Martin turned abruptly and discharged a pistol
at him. The man staggered, but before he fell he fired at
Martin, but missed.

Almost immediately Martin saw Some black figures in
front of him, and stood, hesitating what to do. The figures
were those of boys who were spreading the fires among the
furze bushes, but he thought that his course was inter-
cepted by his pursuers. Before he had decided where to
run h* was surrounded and disarmed.

The warder was so seriously hurt that he was at once
placed on a gate and cari-ied on the shoulders of four of
the constables to Beer Alston, to be examined by Mr.
Coysshe and the ball extracted. This left only thi*ee to
guard the prisoner, one of whom was the warder who had
sprained his ankle, and had been running with that foot
bare, and who was now not in a condition to go much
farther.

* There is nothing for it,' said Joseph, who was highly
elated, ' but for us to go on to Morwell. We must lock
the chap up there. In that old house there are scores of

,. 'iHf

to
Iliad
Ifoot
luch

TAKEN! 255

strong places where the monks were imprisoned. To-
morrow we can take him to Tavistock.' Joseph did not
say that Jane Welsh was at Morwell ; this consideration,
doubtless, had something to do with determining the
arrangement. On reaching Morwell, which they did
almost at once, for Martin had been captured on the
down near the entrance to the lane, the first inquiry
was for a safe place where the prisoner might be
bestowed.

Jane, hearing the noise, and, above all, the loved voice
of Joseph, ran out.

* Jane,' said the policeman, ' where can we lock the
rascal up for the night ? '

She considered for a moment, and then suggested the
corn-chamber. That was over the cellar, the walls lined
with slate, and the floor also of slate. It had a stout oak
door studded with nails, and access was had to it from the
quadrangle, up a flight of stone steps. There was no window
to it. ' I'll go ask Miss Barbara for the key,' she said.
* There is nothing in it now but some old onions. But '
— she paused — ' if he be locked up there all night, he'll
smell awful of onions in the morning.'

Eeassured that this was of no importance, Jane went
to her mistress for the key. Barbara came out and listened
to the arrangement, to which she gave her consent, coldly.
The warder could now only limp. She was shocVed to
hear of the other having been shot.

A lack of hospitality had been shown when the con-
stables and warders came first, through inadvertence, not
intentionally. Now that they desired to remain the night
at Morwell and guard there the prisoner, Barbara gave
orders that they should be made comfortable in the hall.
One would have to keep guard outside the door where
Martin was confined, the other two would spend the night
in the hall, the window of which commanded the court
and the stairs that led to the corn-chamber. * I won't
have the men in the kitchen,' said Barbara, ' or the maids

>•!<■

256

EVE

will lose their heads and nothing will be done.* Besides,
the kitchen was out of the way of the corn -chamber.

• We shall want the key of the corn-store,' said Joseph,

* if we may have it, miss.'

'Why not stow the fellow in the cellar?' asked a
constable.

• For two reasons,' answered Joseph. * First, because
he would drink the cider ; and second, because — no offence
meant, miss — we hope that the maids '11 be going to and
fro to the cellar with the pitcher pretty often.'

Joseph was courting the maid of the house, and there-
fore thought it well to hint to Barbara what was expected
of the house to show that it was free and open.

The corn -room was unlocked, a light obtained, and it
was thoroughly explored. It was floored with large slabs
of slate, and the walls were lined six feet high with slate,
as a protection against rats and mice. Joseph progged
the walls above that. All sound, not a window. He
examined the door : it was of two-inch oak plank, and the
hinges of stout iron. In the corner of the room was a
heap of onions that had not been used the preceding
winter. A bundle of straw was procured and thrown
down.

' Lie there, you dog, you murderous dog ! ' said one
of the men, casting Martin from him. 'Move at your
peril I '

' Ah ! ' said the lame warder, * I only wish you would
make another attempt to escape that I might give you a
leaden breakfast.' He limped badly. In running he had
cut his bare foot and it bled, and he had trodden on the
prickles of the gorse, which had made it very painful.

• There's a heap of onions for your pillow,' said Joseph.

* Folks say they are mighty helpful to sleep — ' this was
spoken satirically ; then with a moral air — * But, sure
enough, there's no sleeping, even on an onion pillow,
without a good conscience.'

As the men were to spend the night without sleep —

not
He
prin^
Beai

out ?|

I rai

-Xl 1

TAKEN!

257

one out of doors, to be relieved guard by the other, the
lame warder alone excused the duty, as he was unable to
walk — Barbara ordered a fire to be lighted in the great
hall. The nights were not cold, but damp ; the sky was
clear, and the dew fell heavily. It would, moreover, be
cheerful for the men to sit over a wood fire through the
long night, and take naps by it if they so liked. Supper
was produced and laid on the oak table by Jane, who ogled
Josepli every time she entered and left the hall.

She placed a jug on the trble. Joseph went after
her. *

' You are a dear maid,' he said, ' but one jug don't go
far. You must mind the character of the house and
maintain it. I see cold mutton. It is good, but chops
are better. This ain't an inn. It's a gentleman's house,,
I see cheese. Ain't there anywhere a tart and cream?
Mr. Jordan is not a farmer : he's a squire. I'd not have
it said of me I was courting a young person in an inferior
situation.'

The tire was made up with a faggot. It blazed mer-
rily. Joseph sat before it with his legs outspread, smiling
at the flames ; he had his hands on his knees. After
having run hard and got hot he felt chilled, and the fire
was giateful. Moreover, his hint had been taken. Two
jugs stood on the table, and hot chops and potatoes had
been served. He had eaten well, he had drunk well. All
at once he laughed.

' What is the joke, Joe ? '

' I've an idea, brother. If t'other warder dies I shall
not have to pay the half-guinea because I lost my bet.
He was so confounded long in the arm. That will be
prime ! And — we shall share the reward without him !
Beautiful ! '

• Umph ! Has it taken you all this time to find that
out? I saw it the moment the shot struck. That's why
I ran on with a bad foot.'

! ,,^.w,.

\W.

258

EV£

CHAPTER XXXIX.

GONE !

Neither Jasper, Barbara, nor Eve appeared. Mr. Jordan
was excited, and had to be told what had taken place, and
this had to be done by Jasper. Barbara was with her
sister. Eve had recovered, and had confessed everything.
Now all was clear to the eyes of Barbara. The meeting
on the Raven Rock had been the one inexplicable point,
and now that was explained. Eve hid nothing from her
sister; she told her about the first meeting with Martin,
his taking the ring, then about the giving of the turquoise
rir g, finally about the meeting on the Rock. The story
was disquieting. Eve had been very foolish. The only
satisfaction to Barbara was the thought that the cause of
uneasiness was removed, and about to bb put beyond the
power of doing further mischief. Eve would never see
Martin again. Shf. had seen so little of him that he could
have produced on lier heart but a light and transient im-
pression. The romance of the affair had been the main
charm with Eve.

When Jasper left the squire's room, after a scene that
had been painful, Barbara came to him and said, * I know
everything now. Eve met your brother Martin on the
Raven Rock. He has been trying to win her affections.
In this also you have been wrongly accused by me.' Then
with a faint laugh, but with a timid entreating look, ' I
can do no more than confess now, I have such a heavy
burden of amejids to make.'

* Will it be a burden, Barbara ? '
She put her hand lightly on his arm.

• No, Jasper — a delight.'

He stooped and kissed her hand. Little or nothing

GONE /

259

that

I know

In the

ttions.

I Then

k 'I
Iheavy

)thing

had passed between them, yet they understood each
other.

' Hist ! for shame t ' said a sharp voice through the
garden window. She looked and saw the queer face of
Watt.

* That is too cruel, Jasp— love-making when our poor
Martin is in danger ! I did not expect it of you.'

Barbara was confused. The boy's face could ill be
discerned, as there was no candle in the room, and aU
the light, such as there was — a silvery sununer twihght —
flowed in at the window, and was intercepted by his
head.

* Selfish, Jasp ! and you, miss — if you are going to
enter the family, you should begin to consider other mem-
bers than Jasper,' continued the boy. All his usual
mockery was gone from his voice, which expressed alarm
and anxiety. ' There Ues poor Martin in a stone box, on a
little straw, without a mouthful, and his keepers are given
what they hke 1 '

' Oh, Jasper ! ' said Barbara with a start, ' I «^m so
ashamed of myself. I forgot to provide for him.'

* You have not considered, I presume, what will become
of poor Martin. In self-defence he shot at a warder, and
whether he wounded or killed him I cannot say. Poor
Martin ! Seven years will be spread into fourteen, per-
haps twenty-one. What will he be when he comes out of
prison ! What shall I do all these years without him ! '

* Walter,' said Jasper, going to the window, and speak-
ing in a subdued voice, * what can be done ? I am sorry
enough for him, but I can do notliing.'

* Oh, you will not try.'

* Tell me, what can I do ? '

* There ! let her,'' he pointed to
come over here and speak with me.
depends on her.'

' On me ! ' exclaimed Barbara.

' Ah, on you. But do not shout.

Barbara, ' let her
Everything now

I can hear if you

;;*'

lir'

26o

EVE

whisper. Miss, that poor fellow in the stone box is
Jasper's brother. If you care at all for Jasper, you will
not interfere. I do not ask you to move a finger to help
Martin : I ask you only not to stand in others' way.'
' What do you mean ? '

* Go into the hall, you and Jasper, instead of standing
sighing and billing here. Allow me to be there also.
There are tv/o moi:e men arrived — two of those who car-
ried the winged snipe away. That makes four inside and
one outside ; but one is lamed and without his boot. Feed
ther all well. Don't spare cidor ; and give them spirits-
and- water. Help to amuse them.'

' For what end ? '

' "hat is no concern of yours. For what end ! Hos-
pitality, the most ancient of virtues. Above all, do not
interfere with the other one.'

* What other one ? '

' You know — Miss Eve,' wliispered the boy. * Let the
maidens in, the housemaid certainly ; she has a sweetheart
among them, and the others will make pickings.'

Then, without waiting for an answer, the queer boy
ran along the gravel path and leaped the dwarf wall into
the stable yard, which lay at a lower level.

' What does he mean ? ' asked Barbara.

* He means,' said Jasper, ' that he is going to make an
attempt to get poor Martin off.'

* But how can he ? '

* That I do not know.'

' And whether we ought to assist in such a venture I
do not know,' said Barbara thoughtfully.

' Nor do I,' said Jasper ; * my heart says one thing, my
head the other.'

* We will follow our hearts,' said Barbara vehemently,
and caught his hands and pressed them. * Jas} . r, he is
your brothor ; with me that is a chief consideration. Come
into the hall ; we will give the men some music'

Jasper and Barbara went to the hall, and found that

go?:e!

96t

that

the warder had his foot bandaged in a chair, and seemed
to be in great pain. He was swearing at the constn^'les
who had come from Beer Alston for not liaving called at
the ' Hare and Hounds ' on their way for his boot. He
tried to induce one of them to go back for it ; but the
sight of the fire, the jugs of cider, the plates heaped
with cake, made them unwilling again to leave the house.
' We ain't a-going without our supper,' Avas their re-
tort. * You are comfortable enough here, with plenty to
eat and to drink.'

* But,' complained the man, ' 1 can't go for my boot
myself, don't you see ? ' But see they would not. Jane
liad forgotten all her duties about the house in the excite-
ment of having her Joseph there. She had sto'an into the
hall, and got her policeman into a corner.

* When is it your turn to keep guard, Joe ? ' she asked,

* Not for another hour,' he replied. ' I wish I hadn't
to go out at all.'

' Oh, Joe, I'll go and keep guard with you ! '

Also the cook stole in with a bowl and a sponge,
and a strong savour of vinegar. She had. come to bathe
the warder's foot, unsolicited, moved only by a desire to do
good, doubtless. Also the under housemaid's beady eyes
were visible at the door looking in to see if more fuel were
required for the fire.

Clearly, there was no need for Barbara to summon her
maids. As a dead camel in the desert attracts all the
vultures within a hundred miles, so the presence of these
men in the hall drew to them all the young women in the
house.

When they saw their mistress enter, they exhibited
some hesitation. Barbara, however, gave them a nod, and
more was not needed to encourage them to stay.

* Jane,' said Barbara, ' here is the key. Fetch a couple
of bottles of Jamaica rum, or one of rum and one of
brandy. Patience,' to the under-housemaid, * bring hot
water, sugar, tumblers, and spoons.'

262

EV2Z

A thrill of delight passed through the hearts of the
men, and their eyes sparkled.

Then in at the door came the boy with his violin,
fiddling, capering, dancing, making faces. In a moment
he sprang on the table, seated himself, and began to play
some of the pretty * Don Giovanni ' dance music.

He signed to Barbara with his bow, and pointed to the
piano in the parlour, the door of which was open. She
understood him and went in, lit the candles, and took a
• Dpn Giovanni ' which her sister had bought, and prac-
tised with Jasper. Then he signed to his brother, and
Jasper also took dow n his violin, tuned it, and began to play.

' Let us bring the piano into the hall,' said Barbara,
and the men started to fulfil her wish. Four of them con-
veyed it from the parlour. At the same time the rum and
hot water appeared, the spoons clinked in the glasses.
Patience, the under housemaid, threw a faggot on the
fire.

* "What is that?' exclaimed the lame warder, pointing
through the window.

It was only the guard, who had extended his march to
the hall and put his face to the glass to look in at the
brew of rum- and- water, and the comfortable party about
the fire. * Go back on your beat, you scoundrel ! ' shouted
the warder, menacing the constable with his fist. Then
the face disappeared ; but every time the sentinel reached
the hall window, he applied his nose to the pane and stared
in thirstily at the grog that steamed and ran down the
throats of his comrades, and cursed the duty that kept him
without in the falling dew. His appearance at intervals at
the glass, where the fire and candlelight illumined his
face, was like that of a fish rising to the surface of a
pond to breathe.

* Is your time come yet outside, Joe dear ? ' whispered
Jane.

* Hope not,' growled Joseph, helping himself freely to
rum ; putting his hand round the tumbler, so that none

GONE!

263

might observe how high the spirit stood in the glasii
before he added the water.

' Oh, Joe duckie, don't say thnl. I'll go and keep you
company on the stone steps : we'll sit there in the moon-
light all alone, as sweet as anything.'

' You couldn't ekal this grog.' answered the unromantic
Joseph, * if you was ever so ^weet. I've put in four lunip3
of double-refined.'

* You've a sweet tooth, Joe,' said Jane.

' Shall I bathe your poor suffering foot again ? ' asked
the cook, casting languishing eyes at the warder.

'By-and-by, when the liquor is exhausted,' answered
the warder.

' Would you like a little more hot water to the spirit ? '
said Patience, who was setting — as it is termed in dance
phraseology— at the youngest of the constables.

•No, miss, but I'd trouble you for a little more spirit,'
he answered, 'to qualify the hot water.'

Then the scullery-maid, who had aiso found her way
in, blocked the other constable in the corner, and offered
to sugar his rum. Ho was a married man, middle-aged,
and with a huge disfiguring mole on his nose ; but there
was no one else for the damsel to ogle and address, so she
fixed upon him.

All at once, whilst this by-play was going on, under
cover of the music, the door from the staircase opened,
and in sprang Eve, with her tambourine, dressed in the
red-and-yellow costume she had found in the garret, and
wearing her burnished necklace of bezants. Barbara
■withdrew her hands from the piano in dismay, and flushed
with shame.

' Eve ! ' she exclaimed, ' go back ! How can you ! '
But the boy from the table beckoned again to her, point-
ing to the piano, and her fingers ; Eve skipped up to her
and whispered, 'Let me alone, for Jasper's sake,' then
bounded into the middle of the hall, and rattled her
tambourine and clinked ios jingles.

t. . i^:

' l.J:'Ji.;*l

il!i>:; )ck'

264

EVE

The men applauded, and tossed off their rum-and-
water; then, Having finished the rum, mixed themselves
eagerly hot jorums of brandy.

The face was at the window, with the nose flat and
white against the glass, like a dab of putty.

Larbara's forehead darkened, and she drew her lips
together. Her conscience was not satisfied. She suspected
that this behaviour of Eve was what Waltei" had alluded
to when ho begged her not to interfere. Walter had seen
Eve, and planned it with her. Was she right, Barbara
asked herself, in what she was doing to help a criminal to
escape ?

The money he had taken was theirs — Eve's ; and if
E v^e chose to forgive him and release him from his punish-
ment, why should she object ? Martin v/as the brother of
Jasper, and for Jasper's sake she must go on with what
she had begun.

£0 she put her fingers on the keys again, and at once
Watt and Jasper resumed their instruments. They played
the music in 'Don Giovanni,' in the last act, where the
banquet is interrupted by the arrival of the statue. Bar-
bara knew that Eve was dancing alone in the middle of
the floor before these men, before him also who ought to
be pacing up and down in front of the corn- chamber ; but
she would not turn her head over her shoulder to look at
her, and b3r brow burnt,- and her cheeks, usually pale,
flamed. As for Eve, she was supremely happy ; the
applause of the lookers-on encouragod her. Her move-
ments were graceful, her beauty radiant. She looked like
Zerlina on the boards.

Suddenly the boy dropped his bow, and before anyone
could arrest his hand, or indeed had a suspicion of mischief,
he threw a canister of gunpovv-der into the Uazing fire.
Inscantly there was an explosion. The logs were flung
about the floor. Eve and the maids screamed, the piano
and violins were bushed, doors wero burst open, panes of

GONE!

265

glass broken and fell clinking, and every candle was ex-
tinguished. Fortunately the hall floor was of slate.

The men were the first to recover themselves — all, that
is, but the \ arder, who shrieked and swore because a red-
hot cinder had alighted on his bad foot.

The logs were thrust together again upon the hearth,
and a flame sprang up.

No one was hurt, but in the doorway, white, with wild
eyes, stood Mr. Jordan, signing with his hand, but unable
to Ppoak.

*0h, papar! dear papa!' exclaimed Barbara, running
to him, 'do go back to bed. No one is hurt. We have
had a fright, that is all.'

'Fools!' cried the old man, brandishing his stick.
' He is gone ! I saw him — he ran past my window.'

CHAPTER XL.

ANOTHER SACRIFICE.

Watt was no longer in the hall. Whither he had gone
none knew ; how he had gone none knew. The man in
the quadrangle was too alarmed by the glass panes being
blown out in his face, to see whether the boy had passed
that way. But, indeed, no one now gave thought to Watt ;
the men ran to the corn-chamber to examine it. A lantern
was lighted, the door examined and found to be locked.
It was unfastened, and Joseph and the rest entered. The
light penetrated every corner, fell on the etraw and the
onion-heap. Martin Babb was not there.

'May I be darned!' exclaimed Joseph, holding the
lantern over his head. 'I looked at the walls, at the floor,
at the door : I never thought of tht roof, and it is by the
roof he has got away.'

Indeed, the corn-chamber was iwceiled. Martin,

■ I ii.

Ml.

266

EVE

possibly assisted, had reached the rafters, thence had
crept along the roof in the attics, and had entered the
room that 'belonged to the girls, and descended from the
window by the old Jargonelle pear.

Then the constables and Joseph turned on the sentinel,
and heaped abuse upon him for not having warned them
of what was going on. It was in vain for him to protest
that from the outside he could not detect what was in
process of execution under the roof. Blame must attach
to someone, and he was one against four.

Their tempers were not the more placable when it was
seen that the bottle of brandy had been upset and was
empty, the precious spirit having expended itself on the
floor.

Then the question was mooted whether the fugitive
should not be pursued at once, but the production by
Barbara of another bottle of rum decided them not to do
so, but await the arrival of morning. Suddenly it occur-
red to Joseph that the blame attached, not to any of those
present, who had done their utmost, but to the warder
who had been shot, and so had detached two of their
number, and had reduced the body so considerably by this
fatality as to incapacitate them from drawing a cordon
round the house and watching it from every side. If
that warder were to die, then the whole blame might
be shovelled upon him along with the earth into his
grave.

The search was recommenced next day, but was in-
effectual. In which direction Martin had gone could not
be found. Absolutely no traces of him could be discovered.

Presently Mr. Coyshe arrived, in a state of great ex-
citement. He had attended the wounded man, and had
heard an account of the capture ; on his way to Morwell
the rumour reached liim that the man had broken away
again. Mr. Coyshe had, as he put it, an inquiring mind.
He thirsted for knowledge, whether of scientific or of
social interest. Indeed, he took a lively interest in other

ANOTHER SACRIFICE

267

people's affairs. So he came on foot, as hard as he could
walk, to Morwell, to learn all particulars, and at the same
time pay a professional visit to Mr. Jordan.

Barbara at once asked Mr. Coyshe into the parlour ;
she wanted to have a word with him before he saw her
father.

Barbara was very uneasy about Eve, whose frivolity,
lack of ballast, and want — as she feared— of proper self-
respect might lead her into mischief. How could her sister
have been so foolish as to dress up and daice last evening
before a parcel of common constables ! ^.'o Barbara such
conduct was inconceivable. She herself ^ /as dignified and
stiff with her inferiors, and would as soon have thought of
acting before them as Eve had done as of jumping over
the moon. She did not consider how her own love and
that of her father had fostered caprice and vanity in the
young girl, till she craved for notice and admiration. Bar-
bara thought over all that Eve had told her : how she had
lost her mother's ring, how she had received the ring of
turquoise, how she had met Martin on the Eock platform.
Every incident proclaimed to her mind the instability, the
lack of self-respect, in her sister. The girl needed to be
watched and put into firmer hands. She and her father
had spoiled her. Now that the mischief was done she
saw it.

What better step could be taken to rectify the mistake
than that of bringing Mr. Coyshe to an engagement with
Eve ?

She was a straightforward, even blunt, girl, and when
she had an aim in view went to her work at once. So,
without beating about the bush, she said to the young
doctor —

* Mr. Coyshe, you did me the honour the other day of
confiding to me your attachment to Eve. I have been
considering it, and I want to know whether you intend at
once to speak to her. I told my father your wishes, and
he is, I believe, not indisposed to forwaro them,'

268

EVE

I -i

' I am delighted to hear it,' said the surgeon ; ' I
would like above every tiling to have the matter settled,
but Miss Eve never gives me a chance of speaking to her
alone.'

'She is shj,' said Barbara; then, thinking that this
was not exactly true, she corrected herself ; ' that is to
say — she, as a young girl, shrinks from what she expects
is coming from you. Can you wonder ? '

* I don't see it. " I'm not an ogre.'

* Girls have feelings which, perhaps, men cannot com-
prehend,' said Barliai '

* I do not wish to le precipitate,' observed the young
surgeon. * I'll take a air, please, and then I can explain
to you fully my circumstances and my difficulties.' He
suited his action to his word, and graciously signed to
Barbara to &it or the sofa near his chair. Tlier. he put
his hat between his feet, calmly took oif his gloves and
threw them into his hat.

' I hate precipitation,' sa Mr. Coyshe. ' Let us
thoroughly understand each other. I am a poor man.
Excuse me, Miss Jordan, if I talk in a practical manner.
You are long and clear headed, so— but I need not tell you
that — so am I. We can comprehend each other, and for a
moment lay aside that veil of romance and poetry which
invests an engagement.'

Barbara bowed.

* An atmosphere surrounds a matrimonial alliance ; let
us puff it away for a moment and look at the bare facts.
Seen from a poetic standpoint, marriage is the union of
two loving hearts, the rapture of two souls aiscovering
each other. From the sober ground of common sens :«
means two loaves of bread a day instead of one, a milliner's
bill at the end of the year in addition to that of the tailor,
two tons of coals where one had sufficed. I need not tell
you, being a prudent person, that when I am out for the
day my fire is not lighter', ii i ija,i a wife of course a fire
would have to burn all Ja^ . I may .dtn ost say that matri-

ANOTHER SACRIFICE

269

mony means three tons of coal instead of one, and you
know how costly coals come here.'

' But, Mr. Coy she '

■ Excuse me,' he said, ' I may be plain, but I am truth-
ful. I am putting matters before you in the way in which
I Bin forced to view them myself. When an ordinary in-
dividual looks on a beautiful woman he sees only her
beauty. I see more ; I anatomise her mentally, and fol-
low the bones, and nerves, and veins, and muscles. So
with this lovely matrimonial prospect. I see its charms,
but I see also what lies beneath, tlie anatomy, so to speak,
and that means increased coal, butcher's, baker's bills,
three times the washing, additional milliners' accounts.'

' You know, Mr. Coyshe,' said Barbara, a little startled
at the way he put matters, ' you kn'^w that eventually
Morwell comes to Eve.'

* My dear Miss Jordan, if a man walks in stocking
soles, expecting his father-in-law's shoes, he is likely to go
limpingly. How am I to live so long as Mr. Jordan lives ?
I know I should flourish after his death — but in the mean
time — there is the rub. I'd marry Eve to-morrow but for
the expense.'

* Is there not something sordid ' began Barbara.

* I will not i'llow you to finish a sentence, Miss Jordan,
which your good sense will reproach you for uttering. I
saw at a fair a booth with outside a picture of a mermaid
combing her golden hair, and with the face of an angel.
I paid twopence and vT^Jit inside, to behold a seal flopping
in a tub of dirty v/sier." All the great events of life —
birth, marriage, death — are idealised by poets, as that dis-
gusting seal was idealised on the canvas by the artist :
horrible things in themselves but inevitable, and therefore
to be faced as well as we may. I need not have gone in
and seen that seal, but I was deluded to do so by the ideal
picture.'

* Sure'^ ' exclaimed Barbara laughing, ' you put mar-
riage in a false ^ight ? '

i'Hiii;

270

EVE

* Not a bit. In almost every case it is as is described,
a. delusion and a horrible disenchantment. It shall not be
so with me, so I picture it in all its real features. If you
do not understand me the fault lies with you. Even the
blessed sun cannot illumine a room when the panes of the
window are dull. I am a poor man, and a poor man must
look at matters from what you are pleased to speak of as a
sordid point of view. There are plants I have seen sus-
pended in windows said to live on air. They are all
pendulous. Now I am not disposed to become a drooping
plant. Live on air I cannot. There is enough earth in
my pot for my own roots, but for my own alone.'

* I see,' said Barbara, laughing, but a little irritated.
' You are ready enough to marry, but have not the means
on which to marry.'

* Exactly,' answered Mr. Coyshe. ' I have a magnificent
future before me, but I am like a man swimming, who sees
the land but does not touch as much as would blacken his
nails. Lord bless you ! ' said Mr. Coyshe, ' I support a
wife on what I get ?+■ Beer Alston ! Lord bless me ! ' he
stood up and sat down again, * you might as well expect a
cock to lay eggs.'

Barbara bit her lips. * I should not have thought you
so practical,' she said.

* I am forced to be so. It is the fate of poor men to
liave to count their coppers. Then there is another matter.
If I were married, well, of course, it is possible that I
might b'^ the founder of a happy family. In the South
Sea Islands the natives send their parents periodically up
trees and then shake the trunks. If the old people hold
on they are reprieved, if they fall they are eaten. We eat
our parents in England also, and don't wait till they are
old and leathery. We begin with them when we are
babes, and never leave off till nothing is left of them to
devour. We feed on their energies, consume their sub-
stance, their time, their brains, their hearts piecemeal.'

* Well ! '

ANOTHER SACRIFICE

271

'Well,' repeated Mr. Coyslie, 'if I am to oe eaten I
must have flesh on my bones for the coming Coyshes to
eat.'

* You need not be alarmed as to the prospect,' said
Barbara gravely. ' I have been loft a few hundred pounds
by my aunt, they bring in about fifty pounds a yeai*. I
will make it over to my sister.'

* You see for yourself,' said Mr. Coyshe, * that Eve is
not a young lady who can be made into a sort of house-
lief per. She is too dainty for that. Turnips may be tossed
about, but not apricots.'

* Yes,' said Barbara, ' I and my sister are quite dif-
ferent.'

' You will not repent of this determination ? ' asked
Mr. Coyshe. * I suppose it would not be asking you too
much just to drop me a letter with the expression of your
intention stated in it ? I confess to a weakness for black
and white. The memory is so treacherous, and I find it
very hke an adhesive chest plaster — it sticks only on that
side which applies to self.'

' Mr. Coyshe,' said Barbara, * shall we go in and see
papa ? You shall be satisfied. My memory will not play
me false, My whole heart is wrapped up in dear Eve, and
the g.. .at ambition of my life is to see her happy. Come,
then, we will go to papa.'

CHAPTER XLI.

ANOTHER MISTAKE.

Barbara saw Mr. Coyshe into her fatJier's room, and then
went upstairs to Eve, caught her by the arm, and drew
her into her own room. Barbara had now completely made
up her mind that her sister was to become Mrs. Coyshe.
Eve was a child, never would be other, never capable of
deciding reasonably for herself. Those who loved her,

272

EVE

those who had care of her must decide for her. Barbara
and her father had grievously erred hitherto in humour-
ing all Eve's caprices, now they must be peremptory with
her, and arrange for her what was best, and force her to
accept the provision made for her.

What are love matches but miserable disappointments ?
Not quite so bad as pictured by Mr. Coyslie. The reality
would not differ from the ideal as thoroughly as the seal
from the painted mermaid ; but there was truth in what
he said. A love match was entered into by two young
people who have idealised each other, and before the first
week is out of the honeymoon they find the ideal shat-
tered, and a very prosaic reality standing in its place.
Then follow disappointment, discontent, rebellion. Far
better the foreign system of parents choosing partners for
their children ; they are best able to discover the real
qualities of the suitor because the^ study them dispas-
sionately, and they know the characters of their daughters.
Who can love a child more than a parent, and therefore
wlio is better qualified to match her suitably ?

So Barbara argued with herself. Certainly Eve must
not be left to select her husband. She was a creature of
impulse, without a grain of common- sense in her whole
nature.

Barbara drew Eve down beside her on the sofa at the
foot of her bed, and put her arm round her waist. Eve
was pouting, and had red eyes ; for her sister had scolded
her that luorning sharply for her conduct the preceding
night, and her father had been excited, and for the first
time in his life had spoken angrily to her, and bidden her
cast off and never resume the costume in which she had
dressed and bedizened herself.

Eve had retired to her room in a sulk, and in a rebel-
lious frame of mind. She cried and called herself an ill-
treated girl, and was overcome with immense pity for the
hardships she had to undergo among people who could noi
imderstand m.^ would not humouv iier,

ANOTHER MISTAKE

Eve's lips were screwed up, and her blow as nearly
contracted into a frown as it could be, and her sweet
cheeks were kindled with fiery temper- spots.

' Eve dear,' said Barbara, ' Mr. Coyshe is come.'

Eve made no answer, her lips took another screw, and
her brows contracted ,i little more.

' Eve, he is closeted now with papa, and I know he has
come to ask for the hand of tliu deaierit little gill in tlio
whole world.'

' Btuli' ! ' said Eve peevi> hly.

' Not stuff at all,' argued Barbara, ' nor' — intercepting
another exclamation — • no, dear, nor fiddlesticks. He has
been talking to me in the parlour. He is sincerely attached
to you. He is an odd man, and views things in quite a
different way from others, but I think I made out that he
wanted you to be his wife,'

' Barbara,' said Eve, with great emphasis, ' nothing in
the world would induce me to submit to be called Mrs.
Squash.'

' My dear, if the name is the only objection, I think
he will not mind changing it. Indeed, it is only proper
that he should. As be and you will have Morwell, it is of
course right that a -Jordan should be here, and — to please
the Duke and you — he will, I feel sure, gladly assume our
name. I agree with you that, though Coyshe is not a bad
name, it is not a pretty one. It lends itself to corruption.'

' Babb is worse,' said Eve, still sulky.

' Yes, darling, Babb is ugly, and it is the pet name you
give me, as short for Barbara. I have often told you that
I do not like it.'

' You never said a word against it till Jasper came.'

* Well, dear, I may not have done so. When he did
settle here, and we knew his name, it was not, of course,
seemly to call me by it. That is to say,' said Barbara,
colouring, ' it led to confusion — in calling for me, for in-
stance, he might have thought you were addressing him.'

• Not ^t ^11,' said i^ve, still filled with a perverse spirit,

274

Ei/E

*1 never called him Babb at all, I always called him
Jasper.' Then she took up her little apron and pulled at
the embroidered ends, and twisted and tortured them into
horns. ' It would W- queer, sister, if you were to marry
Jasper, you would become double Babb.'

'Don't,' exclaimed Barbara, bridling; 'this is un-
worthy of you, Eve ; you are trying to turn your arms
against me, when I am attacking you.'

' May I not defend myself ? '

Then Barbara drew her arm tighter round her sister,
kissed her pretty neck under the delicate shell-like ear, and
said, * Sweetest ! we never fight. I never would raise a
hand against you. I would run a pair of scissors into my
own heart rather than snip a corner off this dear little ear.
There, no more fencing even with wadded foils. We were
talking of Mr. Coy she.'

Eve shrugged her shoulders.

* Bcvenons a nos moutons,' she said, ' though I cannot
say old Coyshe is a sheep ; he strikes me rather as a
jackdaw.'

' Old Coyshe ! how can you exaggerate so, Eve ! He
is not more than five or six-and-twenty.'

' He is wise and learned enough to be regarded as old.
I hate wise and learned men.'

' "What is there that you do not hate which is not light
and frivolous ? ' asked Barbara a little pettishly. ' You
have no serious interests in anything.'

' I have no interests in anything here,' said Eve, ' be-
cause there is nothing here to interest me. I do not care
for turnips and mangold, and what are the pigs and poul-
• ry to me ? Can I be enthusiastic over draining ? Can the
price of bark make my pulses dance ? No, Barbie (Bab
you object to), I am sick of a country life in a poky corner
of the most out-of-the-way county in England except Corn-
wall. Eeally, Barbie, I believe I would marry any man
who would take me to London, and let me go to the thea-
tre and to balls, and concerts and shows, Why, Barbara 1

ANOTHER MISTAKE

I'd rather travel rour'l t!io country in a caiaviin and dance
on a tight-rope than bo moped up here in MorwcU, an old
fusty, mouldering monk's cell.'

* My dnar Eve 1 '

Barbara was so shocked, she could say no more.

* I am in earnest. Papii is ill, and that makes the
place more dull than ever. Tasper was some fun, ho
played the violin, and tauf^ht me music, but now you have
meddled, and deprived iu- of that amusement ; I am sick
of the monotony here. It is only a shade better than Lan-
herne convent, and you know papa took mo away from
that ; I fell ill with the restraint.'

* You have no restraint here.'

* No — but I have nothing to interest me. I feel always
as if I was hungry for something I could not get. Why
should I have " Don Giovanni," and "Figaro," and the
"Barber of Seville" on my music-stand, and strum at
them ? I want to see them, and liear them alive, acting,
singing, particularly amid lights and scenery, and in proper
costume. I cannot bear this dull existence any longer. If
Doctor Squash will take me to a theatre or an opera I'll
marry him, just for that alone — that is my last word.'

Barbara was accustomed to hear Eve talk extravagantly,
and had not been accustomed to lay much weight oh what
she p id ; but this was spoken so vehemently, and was so
prodigiously extravagant, that Barbara could only loosen
her hold of her sister, draw back to the far end of the sofa,
and stare at her dismayedly. In her present state of dis-
tress about Eve she thought more seriously of Eve's words
than they deserved. Eve was angry, discontented, and
said what came uppermost, so as to annoy her sister.

* Eve dear,' said Barbara gravely, ' I pray you not to
talk in this manner, as if you had said good-bye to all
right principle and sound sense. Mr. Coyshe is downstairs.
We must decide on an answer, and that a definite one.'

* We ! ' repeated Eve ; * I suppose it concerns me
only.'

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(716) S72-4S03

276

EVE

* Wlmt concerns you concerns me ; you know that very
wel!, Eve.'

* I rm not at liberty, I suppose, to choose for myself? *
' You are a dear good girl, who will elect what is most

pleasing to your father and sister, and promises greatest
happiness to yourself.'

Eve sat pouting and playing with the ends of her apron.
Then she took one end which she had twisted into a horn,
and put it between her pearly teeth, whilst she looked fur-
tively and mischievously at her sister, who sat with her
hands on her lap, tapping the floor with her feet.

* Barbie ! ' said Eve plily.

* Well, dear!'

' Do lend me your pocket-handkerchief. I have been
crying and made mine wet. Papa was so cross and you
scolded me so sharply.'

Barbara, without looking at her sister, held out her
handkerchief to her. Eve took it, pulled it out by the
two ends, twirled it round, folded, knotted it, worked dili-
gently at it, got it into the compact shape she desired, laid
it in het arms, with the fingers under it, and then, without
Barbara seeing what she was about — * Hist ! ' said Eve,
and away shot the white rabbit she had manufactured into
Barbara's lap. Then she burst into a merry laugh. The
clouds had rolled away. The sun was shining.

' How can you ! How can you be so childish ! ' burst
from Barbara, as she started up, and let the white rabbit
fall at her feet. * Here we are,' said Barbara, with some
anger, ' here we ar&^ discussing your future, and deciding
your happiness or sorrow, and you — ^you are making white
rabbits ! You really, Eve, are no better than a child. You
are not fit to choose for yourself. Gome along with me.
We must go down. Papa and I will settle for you as is
best. You want a master who wijl bring you into order,
and, if possible, force you to think.'

■,;^-^»

ENGAGED

277

CHAPTER XLH.

ENGAGBD.

If a comparison were made between the results of well and
ill considered ventures, which would prove the most uni-
formly successful ? Not certainly those undertakings which
have been most carefully weighed and prudently deter-
mined op. Just as frequently the rash and precipitate
venture is crowned with success as that which has been
wisely considered ; and just as often the latter proves a
failure, and falsifies every expectation. Nature, Fate,
whatever it be that rules our destinies, roles them crookedly,
and, with mischief, upsets all our calculations. We build
our card-houses, and she fillips a marble into them and
brings them down. Why do we invariably stop every hole
except that by which the sea rolls through our dyke?
Why do we always forget to lock the stable door till the
nag has been stolen ?

The old myth is false which tells of Prometheus as
bound and torn and devoured by the eagle ; Pro-metheus
is free and unrent, it is Epi-metheus who is in chains, and
writhing, and looks back on the irrevocable past, and curses
itself and is corroded with remorse.

What is the fate of Forethought but to be flouted by
capricious Destiny, to be ever proved a fool and bhnd, to be
shown that it were just as well had it never existed ?

Eve hung back as Barbara led her to her father's door.
Mr. Coyshe was in there, and though she had said she
would take him slie did not mean it. She certainly did
not want to have to make her decision then. Her face be-
came a little pale, somo'Of the bright colour had gone from
it when her temper subsided and she had begun to play at
making rabbits. Now more left her cheeks, and she held
back as Barbara tripd to draw her on. But Barbara was

'■•^

,;■ m

278

EVE

very determined, and though Eve was wayward, she would
not take the trouhle to be obstinate. ' I can but say no,'
she said to herself, ' if the creature does ask me.' Then
she whispered into Barbara's ear, ' Bab, I won't have a
scene before all the parish.'

' All the parish, dear ! ' remonstrated the elder, ' there
is no one there but papa and the doctor ; and if the latter
means to speak he will ask to have a word with you in
private, and you can go into the drawing-room.'

' But I don't want to see hiri.'

Barbara threw open the door.

Mr. Jordan was propped up in his bed on pillows. He
was much worse, and a feverish fire burned in his eyes and
cheeks. He saw Eve at once and called her to him.

Then her ill-humour returned, she pouted and looked
away from Mr. Coyshe so as not to see him. He bowed
and smiled, and pushed forward extending his hand, but
she brushed past with her eyes fixed on her father. She
was angry with Barbara for having brought her down.

' Eve,' said Mr. Jordan, * I am very ill. The doctor
has warned me that I have been much hurt by what
has happened. It was your doing, Eve. You were
fooUsh last night. You forgot what was proper to your
station. Your want of consideration is the cause of my
being so much worse, and of that scoundrel's escape.'

* papa, I am very sorry I hurt you, but as for his get-
ting off — I am glad ! He had stolen my money, so I have
a right to forgive him, and that I do freely.'

' Eve ! ' exclaimed her father, ' you do not know what
you say. Come nearer to me, child.'

' If I am to be srolded, papa,' said Eve, sullenly, ' I'd
like not to have it done in pubhc' She looked round the
room, everywhere but at Mr. Coyshe. Her sister watched
her anxiously.

' Eve,' said the old man, ' I am very ill and am not
likely to be strong again. I cannot be always with you. I
am not any more capable to act as your protector, and

ENGAGED

279

Barbara has the cares of the house, and lacks the authority
to govern and lead you.'

' I don't want any governing and leading, papa,' said
Eve, studying the bed cover. *Papa,* after a moment,
' whilst you lie in bed, don't you think all those little tufts
on the counterpane look like poplars? I often do, and
inr^agine gardens and walks and pleasure-grounds among
them.'

* Eve,' said her father, * I am not going to be put off
what I have to say by such poor artifices as this. I am
going to send you back to Lanherne.'

' Lanherne ! ' echoed Eve, springing back. ' I can't go
there, papa ; indeed I can't. It is dull enough here, but
it is ten thousand times duller there. I have just said so to
Barbara. I can't go, I won't go to Lanherne. I don't see
why I should be forced. I^m not going to be a nun. My
education has been completed under Barbara. I know
where Cape Guardafui is, and the C ^raits of Malacca, and
the Coromandel Coast. I know Mangnall's questions and
answers right through — that is, I know the questions and
some of the answers, I can read ** T616maque." What
more is wanted of any girl? I don't desire any more
learning. I hate Lanherne. I fell ill last time I was there.
Those nuns look like hobgoblins, and not like angels. I
shall run away. Besides, it was eternally semolina pad-
ding there, and, papa, I hate semolina. Always semolina
on fact days, and the puddings sometimes burnt. There
now, my education is incomplete. I do not know whence
semolina comes. Is it vegetable, papa ? Mr. Coyshe, you
are scientific, tell us the whole history of the production of
this detestable article of commerce.'

* SemoliAa ' began Mr. Coyshe.

' Never mind about semolina,' interrupted Barbara,
who saw through her sister's tricks. ' We will turn up
the word in the encyclopaedia afterwards. We are consi-
dering Lanherne now.'

*I don't mind the large-grained semclina so much,*

^'■M¥

'ife:

28o

EVE

said Eve, with a face of childlike simplicity ; * that ia

almost as good as tapioca.'

Her father caught her wrist and drew her hand upon

Lhe bed. He clutched it so tightly that she exclaimed that

he hurt her.

' Eve,' he said, * it is necessary for you to go.'
Her face became dull and stubborn again.

* Is Mr. Coyshe here to examine my chest, and see if I
am strong enough to endure confinement ? Because I was
the means, according to you, papa, of poor— of the
prisoner escaping last night, therefore I am to be sent to
prison myself to-morrow.'

' I am not sending you to prison,' said her father,
' I am placing you under >vise and pious guardians. You
are not to be trusted alone any more. Barbara has
been '

* There ! there ! ' exclaimed Eve, flashing an angry
glance at her sister, and bursting into tears ; * was there
ever a poor girl so badly treated? I am scolded, and
threatened with jail. My sister, who should love me and
take my part, is my chief tormentor, and instigates you,
papa, against me. She is rightly called Barbara — she is a
savage. I know so much Latin as to understand that.'

Barbara touched Mr. Coyshe, and signed to him to
leave the room with her.

Eve watched them out of the room with satisfaction.
She could manage her father, she thought, if left alone with
him. But her father was thoroughly alarmed. He had
been told that she had met Martin on the rock. Barbara
had told him this to exculpate Jasper. Her conduct on the
preceding night had, moreover, filled him with uneasi-
ness. I

' Papa,' said Eve, looking at her little foot and shoe,
• don't you think Mr. Coyshe's ears stick out very much ?
I suppose^ his mother was not particular with him to put
them under the rim of his cap.'

* I have not noticed.'

ENGAGED

38t

' And, papa, what eager, staring eyes he lias got ! I
think he straps liis cravat too tight.'

' Possibly.'

' Do you know, dear papa, there is a little hole just
over the mantelshelf in my room, and the other day I saw
something hanging down from it. I thought it was a bit
of string, and I went up to it and pulled it. Then there
came a little squeak, and I screamed. What do you sup-
pose I had laid hold of? It was a mouse's tail. Was that
not an odd thing, papa, for the wee mouse to sit in its run
and let its tail hang down outside ? '

* Yes, very odd.'

*■ Papa, how did all those beautiful things come into the
house which I found in the chest upstairs ? And why
were you so cross with me for putting them on ? '

The old man's face changed at once, the wild look came
back into his eye, and his hand which clasped her wrist
clutched it so convulsively, that she felt his nails cut her
tender skin.

* Eve ! ' he said, and his voice quivered, * never touch
them again. Never speak of them again. My God ! ' he
put his hand to his brow and wiped the drops which sud-
denly started over it, * my God ! I fear, I fear for her.'

Then he turned his agitated face eagerly to her, and
said—

' Eve ! you must take him. I wish it. I shall have
no peace till I know you are in his hands. He is so wise
and so assured. I cannot die and leave you alone. I wake
up in the night bathed in a sweat of fear, thinkmg of you,
fearing for you, I imagine all sorts of things. Do you
not wish to go to Lanherne ? Then take Mr Coyshe. He
will make you a good husband. I shall be at ease when
you are provided for. I cannot die — and I believe I am
nearer death than you or Barbara, or even the doctor, sup-
poses — I cannot die, and leave you here alone, unprotected.
Eve ! if you love me do as I ask. You must either go to
Lanherne or take Mr. Coyshe. It must be one or the

■■''^ %•

382

EVE

other. What is that ? ' he asked suddenly, drawing oack
in the bod, and staring wildly at her, and pointing at her
forehead Avith a white quivering finger. * What is there ?
A stain— a spot. One of my black spots, very big. No, it
is red. It is blood ! It came there when I was wounded
by the scythe, and every now and then it breaks out again.
I see it now.'

* Papa ! ' said Eve, shuddering, ' don't point at me in
that way, and look so strange ; you frighten me. There
is nothing there. Barbie washed it oflf long ago.'

Then he wavered in his bed, passing one hand over the
other, as washing — * It cannot wash off,' he said, despair-
ingly. • It eats its way in, farther, farther, till it reaches

the very core of the heart, and then ' he cast himself

back and moaned.

' It was very odd of the mouse,' said Eve, ' to sit with
her little back to the room, looking into the dark, and her
tail hanging out into the chamber.' She thought to divert
l^er father's thoughts from his fancies.

* Eve ! ' he said in a hoarse voice, and turned sharply
round on her, ' let me see your mother's ring again. To-
day you shall put it on. Hitherto you have worn it hung
round your neck. To-day you shall bear it on your finger,
in token that you are engaged.'

* Oh, papa, dear ! I don't '

* Which is it to be, Lanheme or Mr. Coyshe ? *

* I won't indeed go to Lanheme.'

* Very well ; then you will take Mr. Coyshe. He will
make you happy. He will not always live here ; he talks
of a practice in London. He tells me that he has found
favour with the Duke. If he goes to London '

* Oh, papa ! Is he really going to London ? '
'Yes, child!'

* Where all the theatres are ! Oh, papa f I should
like to live in a town, I do not like being mewed up in the
country. Will he have a carriage ? '

* I suppose so.'

ENGAGED

283

' Oh, papa ! and a tiger in buttons and a gold band ? '

' I do not know.'

' I am sure he will, papa ! I'd rather have that than
go to Lanheme.'

Mr. Jordan knocked with his stick against the wall.
Eye was frightened.

' Papa, don't be too hasty. I only meant that I hnto
Lanherne ! '

In fact, she was alarmed by his mention of the ring,
and following her usual simple tactics had diverted the
current of his thoughts into another direction.

Barbara and Mr. Coyshe came in.

' She consents,' said Mr. Jordan. ' Eve, give him your
hand. Where is the ring ? '

She drew back.

' I want the ring,' he said again, impatiently.

' Papa, I have not got it — that is — ^I have mislaid it.'

' What I ' he exclaimed, trying to sit up, and becoming
excited. ' The ring — not lost ! Mislaid I It must be
found. I will have it. Your mother's rinf^ ! I will never,
never forgive if that is lost. Produce it at once.'

• * I cpjinot, papa. I don't know — Mr. Coyshe,

quick, give me your hand. There ! I consent. Do not be
excited, dear papa. I'll find the ring to-morrow.'

CHAPTER XLHI.

IN A MINE.

Eve had no sooner consented to take Mr. Coyshe, just to
save herself the inconvenience of being questioned about
tho lost ring, than she ran out of the room, and to escape
further importunity ran over the fields towards the wood.
She had scarcely gone three steps from the house before
she regretted what she had done. She did not care for Mr.
Coyshe. She laughed u>t his peculiarities. She did not be-

284

EVE

lieve, like her father and sister, in his cleverness. But she
saw that his ears and eyes were unduly prominent, and she
was alive to the ridiculous. Mr. Coyshe was more to her
fancy than most of the young men of the neighbourhood,
who talked of nothing but sport, and who would grow with
advancing age to talk of sport and rates, and beyond rates
would not grow. Eve was not fond of hunting. Barbara
rarely went after the hounds, Eve never. She did not love
horse exercise ; she preferred sauntering in the woods and
lanes, gathering autumn-tinted blackberry leaves, to a run
over the downs after a fox. Perhaps hunting required too
much exertion for her : Eve did not care for exertion. She
made dolls' clothes still, at the age of seventeen; she
played on the piano and sang ; she collected leaves and
flowers for posies. That was all Eve cared to do. What-
ever she did she did it listlessly, because nothing thoroughly
interestod her. Yet she felt that there might be things
which were not to be encountered at Morwell that would
stir her heart and make her pulses bound. In a word, she
had an artistic nature, and the world in which she moved
was a narrow and inartistic world. Her proper faculties
were unevoked. Her true nature slept. *

The hoot of an owl, followed by a queer Uttle face peep-
ing at her from behind a pine. She did not at once re-
cognise Watt, as her mind was occupied with her engage-
ment to Mr. Coyshe.

Now at the very moment Watt, showed himself her
freakish mind had swerved from a position of disgust at
her engagement, into one of semi-content with it. Mr.
Coyshe was going to London, and there she would be free
to enjoy herself after her own fashion, in seeing plays,
hearing operas, going to all the sights of the great town,
in a life of restless pleasure-seeking, and that was exactly
what Eve desired.

Watt looked woe-begone. He crept from behind the
tree. His impudence and merriment had deserted him.
Tears came into his eyes as he spoke.

IN A MINE

38$

' Are they all gone ? ' he asked, looking cautiously
ahout.

' Whom do you mean ? *

* The police.'

* Yes, they have left Morwell. I do not know whither.
Whether they are searching for your brother or have given
up the search I cannot say. What keeps you here ? '

' Miss Eve ! poor Martin is not far off. It would not
do for him to run far. He is in hiding at no great dis-
tance, and — he has nothing to eat.'

* Where is he ? What can I do ? ' asked Eve, fright-
ened.

' He is i^ an old mine. He will not be discovered
there. Even if the constables found the entrance, which
is improbable, they would not take him, for he would
retreat into one of the side passages <>nd escape by an air-
hole in another part of the wood.'

* I will try what I can do. I dare say I might smuggle
some food away from the house and put it behind the
hedge, whence you could fetch it.'

* That is not enough. He must get away.*

' There is Jasper's horse still with us. I vdll ask
Jasper, and you can have that.'

* No,' answered the boy, * that will not do. We must
not take the road this time. We must try the water.'

' We have a boat,' said Eve, * but papa would never
allow it to be used.'

' Your papa will know nothing about it, nor the pru-
dent Barbara, nor the solemn Jasper. You can get the
key and let us have the boat.'

•I will do what I can, but' — as a sudden thought
struck her — ' Martin must let me have my ring again. I
want it so much. My father has been asking for it.'

* How seljRsh you are ! ' exclaimed the boy reproach-
fully. * Thinking of your own little troubles when a vast
danger menaces our dear Martin. Come with me. You
must see Martin and ask him yourself for that ring. I dare

386

EVE

not speak of it ; lie values that ring above everything. You
must plcnd for it yourself with that pretty mouth and
those speaking eyes.'

* I must not ; indeed I must not I *

* Why not ? You will not be missed. No one will
harm you. You should see the poor fellow, to what he is
reduced by love for you. Yes, come and see him. He
would never have been here, he would have been far away
in safety, but he had the desire to see you again.'

* Indeed, I cannot accompany you.'

* Then you must do without the ring.'

* I want my ring again vastly. My father is cross
because I have not got it, and I have promised to show it
him. How can I keep my promise unless it be restored to
me?'

* Come, come ! ' said the boy impatiently. * Whilst you
are talking you might have got half-way to his den.'

* I will only just speak to him,' said Eve, • two words,
and then run home.'

* To be sure. That will be ample — two words,' sneered
the boy, and led the way.

The old mine adit was below the rocks near the river,
and at no great distance from the old landing-place, where
Jasper had recently constructed a boathouse. The ground
about the entrance was thickly strewn with dead leaves,
mixed with greenish shale thrown out of the copper mine,
and so poisonous that no grass had been able to grow over
it, though the mine had probably not been worked for a
century or even more. But the mouth of the adit was
now completely overgrown with brambles and fringed with
ferns. The dogwood, now in flower, had thickly clam-
bered near the entrance wherever the earth was not
impregnated with copper and arsenic.

Eve shrank from the black entrance and hung back,
but the boy caught her by the arm and insisted on her
coming with him. She surmounted some broken masses
of rock that had fallen before tlxe entrance, and brushed

IN A MINE

287

ses
led

aside the dogwood and briars. The air struck chill .11 id
damp against her brow as she passed out of the sun under
the stony arch.

The rock was lichened. White-green fungoid growths
hung down in streamers ; the floor was dry, though water
dripped from the sides and nourished beds of velvet moss
as far in as the hght penetrated. So much rubble covered
the bottom of the adit, that the water filtered through it
and passed by a subterranean channel to the river.

After taking a few steps forward, Eve saw Martin half
sitting, half lying or a bed of fern and heather ; the grey
light from the entrance fell on his face. It was pale and
drawn ; but he brightened up when he saw Eve, and he
started to his knee to salute her.

' I cannot stand upright in this cursed hole,' he said,
' but at this moment it matters not. On my knee I do
homage to my queen.' He seized her hand and pressed
his lips to it.

' Here you see me,' he said, ' doomed to shiver in this
pit, catching my death of rheumatism.'

* You will surely soon get away,' said Eve. ' I am
very sorry for you. I must go home, I may not stay.'

' What I leave me now that you have appeared as a
sunbeam, shining into this abyss to glorify it I Oh, no —
stay a few minutes, and then I shall remain and dream of
the time you wwe here. Look at my companions.' He
pointed to the roof, where curious lumps like compacted
cobwebs hung down. ' These are bats, asleep during the
day. When night falls they will begin to stir and shake
their wings, and scream, and fly out. Shall I have to
sleep in this den, with the hideous creatures crying and
flapping about my head ? '

* Oh, that will be dreadful I But surely you will leave
this when night comes on ? ' .

* Yes, if you will help me to get away.'

* I will furnish you with the key to the boathouse. I
will hide it somewhere, and then your brother can find it.'

;■!('

:l;i

288

EVE

* That will not satisfy me. You must bring the key
here.'

* Why ? I cannot do that.

* Indeed you must ; I cannot live without another
glimpse of your sweet face. Peter was released by an
angel. It shall be the same with Martin.'

* I will bring you the key,' said Eve nervously, * if you
will give me back my ring.'

' Your ring ! ' exclaimed Martin ; * never ! Go — call
the myrmidons of justice and deliver me into their
hands.'

* I would not do that for the world,' said Eve with
tears in her eyes ; * I will do everything that I can to help
you. Indeed, last night, I got into dreadful trouble by dress-
ing up and playing my tambour.'ne and dancing to attract
the attention of the men, whilst you were escaping from
the corn-chamber. Papa was very angry and excited, and
Barbara was simply — dreadful. I have been scolded and
made most unhappy. Do, in pity, give me up the ring.
My papa has asked for it. You have already got me into
another trouble, because I had not the ring. I was obliged
to promise to marry Doctor Coyshe just to pacify papa, he
was so excited about the ring.'

* What I engaged yourself to another ? '

* I was forced into it, to-day, I tell you — because I had
not got the ring. Give it me. I want to get out of my
engagement, and I cannot without that.'

* And I — it is not enough that I should be hunted as
a hare — my heart must be broken ! Walter ! where are
you ? Come here and listen to me. Never trust a woman.
Curse the whole sex for its falseness and its selfishness.
There is no constancy in this world.' And he sighed and
looked reproachfully at Eve. 'After all I have endured
and suffered — for you.'

Eve's tears flowed. ^Martin's attitude, tone of voice,
were pathetic and moved her. * I am very sorry,' she

said, • but —I never gave you the

rmg.

You snatched it

IN A MINE 289

from me. You are unknown to me, I am nothing to you,
and yeu are— you are '

' Yes, speak out the bitter truth. I am a thief, a run-
away convict, a murderer. Use every offensive epithet
that occurs in your vocabulary. Give a dog a bad name
and hang him. I ought to have known the sex better
than to have trusted you. But I loved, I was blinded by
passion. I saw an angel face, and blue eyes that pro-
mised a heaven of tenderness and truth. I saw, I loved,
I trusted — and here I am, a poor castaway ship, lying
ready to be broken up and plundered by wreckers. the
cruel, faithless sex ! We men, with our royal trust, our
splendid self-sacrifice, become a ready prey ; and when we
are down, the laughing heartless tyrants dance over us.
When the lion was sick the ass came and kicked him. It
was the last indignity the royal beast could endure, he
laid his head between his paws and his heart brake. Leave
me — leave me to die.'

' Martin ! ' said Eve, quite overcome by his great-
ness, and the vastness of his devotion, ' I have never hurt
you, never offended you. You are like my papa, and have
fancies.'

* I have foncies. Yes, you are right, terribly right. I
have had my fancies. I have lived in a delusion. I be-
lieved in the honesty of those eyes. I trusted your word '

' I never gave you a word.'

' Do not interrupt me. I did suppose that your heart
had surrendered to me. The delusion is over. The heart
belongs to a vulgar village apothecary. That heart which

I so treasured ' his voice shook and broke, and Eve

sobbed. ' Who brought the police upon me ? ' he went an.
' It was you, whom I loved and trusted, you who possess
an innocent fia<ce and a heart full of guUe. And here I lie,
your victim, in a living grave your cruel hands have
scooped out for me in the rock.'

' — indeed, this mine was dug hundreds of years ago.'

He turned a reproachful look at her. ' Why do you

29©

EVE

interrupt me ? I speak metaphorically. You brought me
to this, and if you have a spark of good feeling in your
breast you will get me away from here.'

' I will bring you the key as soon as the sun sets.'

* Tha*. is right. I accept the token of penitence with
gladness, and hope for day in the heart where the light
dawns.'

* I must go — I really must go,' she said.

He Cowed grandly to her, with his hand on his heart.

* Come,' said Watt. * I will help you over these rub-
bish heaps. You have had your two words.'

* staj ! ' exclaimed Eve, * my ring ! I came for that
and I have not got it. I must indeed, indeed have it.'

*Eve,' said Martin, *! have been disappointed, and
have spoken sharply of the sex. But I am not the man
to harbour mistrust. Deceived I have been, and perlxaps
am now laying myself open to fresh disappointment. I
cannot say. I cannot go against my nature, which is
frank and trustful. There — take your ring. Come back
to me this evening with it and the key, and prove to
me that all women are not false, that all confidence placed
in them is not misplaced.'

CHAPTER XLIV,

TUCKERS.

Babbaba sat in the little oak parlour, a pretty room that
opened out of the hall ; indeed it had originally been a
pdJrtion of the hall, which was constructed like a letter
L. The hall ext« tided to the roof, but the branch at right
angles was not ha,lf the height. It was ceiled about ten
feet from the floor, and instead of being, hke the hall,
paved with slate, had oak boards. The window looked
into the garden. Mr. Jordan's father had knocked away
the granite muUions, and put in a sash-window, out of

IW^

rUCKEKS

291

keeping with the room and house, but agreeable to the
taste of the period, and admitting more light. A panelled
division cut the room o£F from the hall. Barbara and Eve
could not agree about the adornment of this apartment.
On the walls were a couple of oil paintings, and Barbara
supplemented them with framed and glazed mezzotints.
She could not 'be made by her sister to see the incon-
gruity of engravings and oil paintings hanging side by
side on dark oak panels. On the chimney-piece was a
French ormolu clock, which was Eve's detestation. It
was badly designed and unsuitable for the room. So was
the banner-screen of a poodle resting on a red cushion ;
so were the bugle mats on the table ; so were the antima-
cassars on all the arm-chairs and over the back of the
sofa ; so were some drawing-room chairs purchased by
Barbara, with curved legs, and rails that were faUing out
periodically. Barbara thought these chairs handsome,
Eve detestable. The chimney-piece ornaments, the vases
of pale green glass illuminated with flowers, were also
objects of aversion to one sister and admiration to the
other. Eve at one time refused to make posies for the
vases in the parlour, and was always protesting against
some new introduction by her sister, which violated the
principles of taste.

' I don't like to live in a dingy old hall like this,' Eve
would say ; ' but I like a place to be fitted up in keeping
with its character.'

Barbara was now seated in this debatable ground. Eve
was out somewhere, and she was alone and engaged with
her needle. Her father, in the next room, was dozing.
Then to the open window came Jasper, leaned his arms
on the sill — the sash was up — and looked in at Barbara.

' Hard at work as usual ? ' he said.

She smiled and nodded, and looked at him, holding
her needle up, with a long white thread in it.

' On what engaged I dare not ask,' said Jasper.

' You may know,' she said, laughing. ' Sewing in

■*«

292

EVE

tuckers. I always sew tuckers on Saturdays, bbth for
myself and for Eve.'

* And, pray, what are tuckers ? *

' Tuckers ' — she hesitated to find a suitable description,
• tuckers are — well, tuckers.' She took a neck of a dress
which she had finished and put it round hpr throat. * Now
you see. Now you understand. Tuckers are the garnish-
ing, like parsley to a dish.'

* And compliments to speech. So you do Eve's as well
as your own.'

' dtear, yes ; Eve cannot be trusted. She would for-
get all about them and wear dirty tuckers.'

' But she worked hard enough burnishing the brass
necklace.' '

* yes, that shone ! tuckers are simply — clean.*
' My Lady Eve should have a lady's-maid.'

' Not whilst I am with her. I do all that is needful
for her. When she marries she must have one, as she is
helpless.'

' You think Eve will marry ? '

' yes ! It is all settled. She has consented.'

He was a little surprised. This had come about very
suddenly, and Eve was young.

* I am glad you are here,' said Barbara, ' only you have
taken an unfair advantage of me.'

•I— Barbara?'

' Yes, Jasper, you.' She looked up into his face with
a heightened colour. He had never called her by her
plain Christian name before, nor had she thus addressed
him, but their hearts understood each other, and a formal
title would have been an affectation on either side.

* I will tell you why,' said the girl ; * so do not put on
such a puzzled expression. I want to speak to you
seriously about a matter that — that — weU, Japper, that
makes me wish you had your face in the light and mine in
the shade. Where you stand the glare of the sky is behind
you, and you can see every change in my face, and that

TUCKERS

29J

■■:

lat

nnnerves me. Either you shall come in here, take my
place at the tuckers, and let me talk to you through the
window, or else I shall move my chair close to the window,
and sit with my back to it, and we can talk without watch
ing each other's face.'

* Do that, Barbara. I cannot venture on the tuckers.'
So, laughing nervously, and with her colour changing

in her cheeks, and her lips twitching, she drew her chair
close to the window, and seated herself, not exactly with
her back to it, but sidewa} s, and turned her iacQ from it.

The ground outside was higher than the floor of the
parlour, so that Jasper stood above her, and looked down
somewhat, not much, on iiei head, her dark hair so neat
and glossy, and smoothly parted. He stooped to the
mignonette bed and gathered some of the fragrant delicate
little trusses of colourless flowers, and with a shght apology
thrust two or three among her dark hair.

* Putting in tuckers,' he said. ' Garnishing the sweetest
of heads with the plant that to my mind best symbolises
Barbara.'

'Don't,' she exclaimed, shaking her head, but not
shaking the sprigs out of her hair. ' You are taking un-
warrantable liberties, Mr. Jasper.'

'I will take no more' He folded his arms on the sill.
She did not see, but she felt, the flood of love that poured
over her bowed head from his eyes. She worked very hard
fastening off a thread at the end of a tucker.

' I also,' said Jasper, ' have been desirous of a word
with you, Barbara.'

She turned, looked up in his face, then bent her head
again over her work. The flies, among them a great blue-
bottle, were humming in the window ; the latter bounced
against the glass, and was too stupid to come down and go
out at the open sash.

* We understand each other,' said Jasper, in a low voice,
as pleasant and soft as the murmur of the flies. ' There
are songs without word|, and there is speech without

• Hn

294

EVE

voice : what I have thought and felt you know, though I
have not told you anything, and I think I know also what
you think and feel. Now, however, it is as well that we
should come to plain words.'

* Yes, Jasper, I think so as well, that is why I have
come over here with my tuckers.'

' We know each other's heart,' he said, stooping in over
her head and the garnishing of mignonette, and speaking
as low as a whisper, not really in a whisper but in his
natural warm, rich voice. * There is this, dear Barbara,
about me. My name, my family, are dishonoured by the
thoughtless, wrongful act of my poor brother. I dare not
ask you to share that name with me, not only on this
ground, but also because I am absolutely penniless. A
great wrong has been done to your father and sister by us,
and it does not become me to ask the greatest and richest
of gifts from your family. H'^reafter I may inherit my
father's mill at Buckfastleigh. When I do I will, as I
have undertaken, fully repay the debt to your sister, but
till I can do that I may not ask for more. You are, and
must be, to me a far-off, unapproachable star, to whom
I look up, whom I shall ever love and stretch my hands
towards.'

' I am not a star at all,' said Barbara, ' and as for being
far off and unapproachable, you are talking nonsense, and
you do not mean it or you would not have stuck bite of
mignonette in my hair. I do not understand rhodomon-
tade.'

Jasper laughed. He liked her downright, plain way.
• I am quoting a thought from •' Preciosa," ' he said.

'I know nothing of *• Preciosa," save that it is som<^-
thing Eve strums.'

' Well — divest what I have said of all exaggeration of
simile, vou understand what I mean.'

* And I want you to understand my position exactly,
Jasper,' she said. ' I also am penniless. The money my
aunt left me I have made over 1^ Eve because she could

TUCKERS

295

not marry Mr. Coyshe without something present, as well
as a prospect of something to come.'

• What I sewn your poor little legacy in as a tucker to
her wedding gown ? '

' Mr. Coyshe wants to go to London, he is lost here ;
and Eve would be happy in a great city, she mopes in the
country. So I have consented to this arrangement. I do
not want the money as I live here with my father, and it
is a real necessity for Eve and Mr. Coyshe. You see — I
could not do other.'

' And when your father dies, Morwell also passes to
Ev§. What is left for you ? '

' Oh, I shall do very well. Mr. Coyshe and Eve would
never endure to live here. By the time dear papa is called
away Mr. Coyshe will have made himself a name, be a
physician, and rolling in money. Perhaps he and Eve
may like to 11m here for their short holiday and breathe
our pure air, but otherwise they will not occupy the place,
and I thought I might live on here and manage for them.
Then ' — she turned her cheek and Jasper saw a glitter on
the long dark lash, but at the same time the dimple of a
smile on her cheek — * then, dear friend ' — she put up her
hand on the sill, and he caught it — ' then, dear friend,
perhaps you will not mind helping me. Then probably your
httle trouble will be over.' She was silent, thinking, and
he saw the dimple go out of her smooth cheek, and the
sparkling drop fall from the lash on that cheek. * All is
in God's hand,' she said. ' We do wrong to look forward ;
I shall be happy to leave it so, and wait and trust.'

Then he put the other hand which did not clasp hers
under her chin, and tried to raise her face, but he could
only reach her brow with his lips and kiss it. He said not
one word.

' You do not answer,' she said.

• I cannot,' he replied.

Then the door was thrown open and Eve entered,
fluslied, and holding up her finger.

•"Ill

Ww'H

296

EVE

' Look, Bab ! — look, dear 1 I have my ring again. Now
I can shake off that doctor.'

* Eve I ' gasped Barbara ; * the ring ! where did you
get it ? ' She turned sharply to Jasper. ' She has seen
him — your brother Martin — again.'

Eve was, for a moment, confused, but only for a mo-
ment. She recovered herself and said merrily, * Why,
Barbie dear, however did you get that crown of mignonette
in your hair ? You never stuck it there yourself. You
would not dream of such a thing ; besides, your arm is not
long enough to reach the flower-bed. Jasper ! confess you
have been doing this.' She clasped her hands and danced.
' what fun ! ' she exclaimed : ' but really it is a shame
of me interfering when Barbara is so busy with the
tuckers, and Jasper in garnishing Barbara's head.' Then
she bounded out of the room, leaving her sister in con-
fusion.

CHAPTER XLV.

DrOE AND GBEEN PEAS.

Eve might evade an explanation by turning the defence
into an attack when first surprised, but she was unable to
resist a determined onslaught, and when Barbara followed
her and parried all her feints, and brought her to close
quarters. Eve was driven to admit that she had seen
Martin, who was in concealment in the wood, and that she
had undertaken to furnish him with food and the boat-
house key. Jasper was taken into consultation, and
promised to seek his brother and provide for him what was
necessary, but neither he nor Barbara could induce her to
remain at home and not revisit the fugitive.

' I know that Jasper will not find the place without
me,' she said. • Watt only discovered it by his prowling
about as a weasel. I must go with Mr. Jasper, but I
promise you, Barbie, it shall be for the last time.' There

DUCK AND GREEN PEAS

297

was reason in her argument, and Barbara was forced to
acquiesce.

Accordingly in the evening, not before, the two set out
for the mine, Eve carrying some provisions in a basket.
Jasper was much annoyed that his brother was still in the
neighbourhood, and still causing trouble to the sisters at
Mor^vell.

Eve had shown her father the ring. The old man was
satisfied ; he took it, looked hard at it, slipped it on his
little finger, and would not surrender it again. Eve must
explain this to Martin if he redemanded the ring, which
he was like enough to do.

Neither she nor Jasper spoke much to each other on
the way ; he had his thoughts occupied, and she was not
easy in her mind. As they approached the part of the
wood where the mine shaft was, she began to sing the song
in ' Don Giovanni,' Ld> ci darem, as a signal to Watt that
friends drew nigh through the bushes. On entering the
adit they found Martin in an ill humour. He had been
without food for many hours, and was moreover suffering
from an attack of rheumatism.

* I said as much this morning. Eve,' he growled. • I
knew this hateful hole would make me ill, and here I am
in agonies. Oh, it is of no use your bringing me the
key of the boat ; I can't go on the water with knives
running into my back, and, what is more, I can't stick in
this hateful burrow. How many hours on the water
down to Plymouth ? I can't even think of it ; I should
have rheumatic fever. I'd rather be back in jail — there
I suppose they would give me hot-bottles and blankets.
And this, too, when I had prepared such a treat for Eve.
Curse it ! I'm always thinking of others, and getting into
pickles myself accordingly.'

' Why, pray, what were you scheming to do for Miss
Eve ? ' asked Jasper.

* 0, the company I was with for a bit is at Plymouth,
and are performing: Weber's new piece, " Preciosa," and I

•m,

298

EVE

thought I'd hke to show it to her — and then the manager,
Justice Barret, knows about her mother. When I told
him yf ray escape, and leaving you at Morwell, he said
that he had left one of his company there named Eve. I
thought it would be a pleasure to the young lady to meet
him, and hear what he had to tell of her mother.'

* And you intended to carry Eve off with you ? '

' I intended to persuade her to accompany me. Per-
haps she will do so still, when I am better.'

Jasper was angry, and spoke sharply to his brother.
Martin turned on his bed of fern and heather, and groan*
ing, put his hands over his ears.

* Come,* said he, ' Watt, give me food. I can't stand
scolding on an empty stomach, and with aches in my
bones.'

He was impervious to argument; remonstrance he
resented. Jasper took the basket from Eve, and gave him
what he required. He groaned and cried out as Watt
raised him in his arms. Martin looked at Eve, appealing
for sympathy. He was a martyr, a guiltless sufferer, and
not spared even by his brother.

* I think, Martin,' said Jasper, * that if you were well
wrapped in blankets you might still go in the boat.'

'You seem vastly eager to be rid of me,' answered
Martin peevishly, ' but, I tell you, I will not go. I'm not
going to jeopardise my life on the river in the fogs and
heavy dews to relieve you from anxiety. How utterly and
unreasonably selfish you are ! If there be one ^ice which
is despicable, it is selfishness. I repeat, I won't go, and I
won't stay in this hole. You must find some safe and
warm place in which to stow me. I throw all responsi-
bilities on you. I wish I had never escaped from jail — I
have been sinking ever since I left it. There I had a dry
cell and food. From that I went to the corn-chamber at
Morwell, which was dry — but, faugh! how it stank of
onions ! Now I have this damp dungeon that smells of
mould. Watt and you got mo out of prison, and got me

DUCK AND GREEN PEAS

299

away from the warders and constables, so you must pro-
vide for me now. I have nothing more to do with it. If
you take a responsibihty on you, my doctrine is, go through
with it ; don't take it up and drop it half finished. What
nev/s of that fellow I shot ? Is he dead ? '

* No — wounded, but not dangerously.'

* There, then, why should I fear ? I was comfortable
m jail. I had my meals regularly there, and was not
subjeoted to damp. I trust my country would have cared
for me better than my brothers, who give me at one time
onions for a pillow, and at another heather for a bed.'

' My dear Martin,' said Jasper, ' I think if you try you
can walk up the road ; there is a woodman's hut among
the trees near the Ba\en Bock, but concealed in the
coppice. T* is warm and dry, and 110 one will visit it
whilst the leaves are on the trees. The workmen keep
their tools there, and their dinners, when shredding in
winter or rending in spring. You will be as safe there as
here, and so much nearer Morwell that we shall be able
easily to furnish you with necessaries till you are better,
and can escape to Plymouth.'

' I'm not sure that it is wise for !me to try to get to
Plymouth. The police will be on the look-out for me
there, and they will not dream that I have stuck here —
this is the last place where they would supposo I stayed.
Besides, I have no money. No ; I will wait till the company
move away from the county, and I will rejoin it at Bridge-
water, or Taunton, or Dorchester. Justice Barret is a
worthy fellow ; a travelling company can't always com-
mand such abilities as mine, so the accommodation is
mutual.'

Martin was assisted out of the mine. He groaned,
cried out, and made many signs of distress ; he really was
Buffering, but he made the most of his suffering. Jasper
stood on one side of him. He would not hear of Walter
sustaining him on the other side ; he must have Eve as
his support, and he could only support himself on her by

ii'il

■'•'.ifciti

/ .J.-Y

'.*■'-

300

EVE

putting liin arm over her shoulders. No objections raised
by Jasper were of avail. Watt was not tall enough.
Watt's steps were irregular. Watt was required to go on
ahead and see that no one was in the way. Martin wa^
certainly a very handsome man. He wore a broad-
brimmed hat, and fair long hair ; his eyes were oark and
large, his features regular, his complexion pale and in-
teresting. Seeing that Jasper looked at his hair with
surprise, he laughed, and leaning his head towards him
whispered, * Those rascals at Prince's Town cropped me
like a Puritan. I wear a theatrical wig before the sex, till
my hair grows again.'

Then leaning heavily on Ev6, he bent his head to her
ear, and made a complimentary remark which brought the
colour into her cheek.

' Jasper,' said he, turning his head again to his
brother, 'mind this, I cannot put up with cyder; I am
racked with rheumatism, and I must have generous drink.
I suppose your father's cellar is well stocked ? ' He ad-
dressed Eve. * You will see that the poor invalid is not
starved, and has not his vitals wrung with vinegar. I
have seen ducks about Morwell ; what do you say to duck
with onion stuffing for dinner to-morrow — and tawny port,
eh ? I'll let you both into another confidence. I am not
going to lie on bracken. By hook or by crook you must
contrive to bring me out a feather bed. If I've not one,
and a bolster and pillow and blankets — by George and the
dragon! I'll give myself up to the beaks.'

Then he moaned, and squeezed Eve's shoulder.

'Green peas,' he said when the paroxysm was over*
' Duck and green peas ; I shall dine o£f that to-morrow
— and tell the cook not to forget the mint. Also some carrot
sliced, boiled, then fried in Devonshire cream, with a little
shallot cut very fine and toasted, sprinkled on top. ' Sweet-
heart,' aside to Eve into her ear, 'you shall come and have
a snack with me. Remember, it is an invitation. We
will not have old solemn face with us as a mar- fun, shall
we?'

DUCK AND GREEN PEAS

301

The woodmai I's hut when reached after a slow ascent
was found to br small, warm, nnd in good condition. It
was so low that a man could not stand upright in it, but
it was sufliciently long to allow him to lie his length
therein. The sides were of wattled cak branches, com-
pacted with heather and moss, and the roof was of turf*
The floor was dry, deep bedded in fern.

'It is a dog's kennel,' said the dissatisfied Martin ; 'or
rather it is not so good as that. II is the sort of place made
for swans and geese and ducks beside a pond, for shelter
when they lay their eggs^ It really is humiliating that I
should have to bury my head in a sort of water-fowl's sty.'

Eve promised that Martin should have whatever he
desired. Jasper had, naturally, a delicacy in offering any-
thing beyond his own services, though he knew he could
rely on Barbara.

When they had seen the exhausted and anguished
martyr gracefully reposing on the bracken bed, to rest
after his painful walk, and had already left, they were re-
called by his voice shouting to Jasper, regardless of every
consideration that should have kept him quiet, ' Don't be
a fool, Jasper, and shake the bottle. If you break the
crust I won't drink it.' And again the call came, ' Mind
the green peas.'

As Jasper and Eve walkec^ back to Morwell neither
spoke much, but on reaching the last gate. Eve said —

' 0, dear Mr. Jasper, do help me to persuade Barbie to
let me go ! I have made up my mind ; I must and will
see the play and hear all that the manager can tell me
about my mother.'

'I will go to Plymouth, Miss Eve. I must see this
Mr. Justice Barret, and I will learn every particular for you,'

' That is not enough. I want to see a play. I have
never been to a theatre in all my life.'

'I will see what your sister says.'

' I am obstinate. I shall go, whether she says yes
or no.'

.ili;l

302

EVE

* To-morrow is Sunday,' said Ja'sper, ' when no theatre
is open.'

'Besides,' added Eve, 'there is poor Martin's duck and
green peas to-morrow.'

' And crusted port. If wo go, it must be Monday.'

fmAPTER XLVI.

*PBECIOSA.* 'i.

Eve had lost something of her light-heartedness; in
spite of herself she was made to think, and grave alterna-
tives were forced upon her for decision. The careless girl
was dragged in opposite directions by two men, equally
selfish and conceited, the one prosaic and clever, the other
aesthetic but ungifted ; each actuated by the coarsest self-
seeking, neither regarding the happiness of the child.
Martin had a passionate fancy for her, and had formed
some fantastic scheme of turning her into a singer and
an actress ; and Mr. Coyshe thought of pushing his way
in town by the aid of her money.

Eve was without any strength of character, but she
had obstinacy, and where her pleasure was concerned she
could be very obstinate. Hitherto she had not been re-
quired to act with independence. She had submitted in
most things to the will of her father and sister, but then
their will had been to give her pleasure and save her an-
noyance. She had learned always to get her own way by
an exhibition of peevishness if crossed.

Now she had completely set hei heart on going to
Plymouth. She was desirous to know something about
her mother, as her father might not be questioned con-
cerning her ; and she burned with eagerness to see a play.
It would be hard to say which motive predominated. One
alone might have been beaten down by Barbara's opposi-
tion, but two plaited in and out together made so tough a

PRECIOSA

303

string that it could not be broken. Barbara did what she
could, but her utmost was unavaihng. Eve had sufficient
shrewdness to insist on her desire to see and converse with
a friend of her mother, and to say as little as possible
about her other motive. Barbara could appreciate one,
she would see no force in the other.

Eve carried her point. Barbara consented to her
going under the escort of Jasper. They were to ride to
Beer Ferris and thence take boat. They were not to stay
in Plymouth, but return the same way. The tide was
favourable ; they would probably be home by three o'clock
in the morning, and Barbara would sit up for them. It
was important that Mr. Jordan should know nothing of
the expedition, which would greatly excite him. As for
Martin, she would provide for him, though she could not
undertake to find him duck and green peas and crusted
port every day.

One further arrangement was made. Eve was en-
gaged to Mr, Coyshe, therefore the young doctor was to be
invited to join Eve and Jasper at Beer Alston, and accom-
pany her to Plymouth. A note was despatched to him to
prepare him, an(f to ask him to have a boat in readiness,
and to allow of the horses being put in his stables.

Thus, everything was settled, if not absolutely in ac-
cordance with Eve's wishes — she objected to the company
of the doctor — yet sufficiently so to make her happy. Her
happiness became greater as the time approached for her
departure, and when she left she was in as joyful a mood
as any in which Barbara had ever seen her.

Everything went well. The weather was fine, and the
air and landscape pleasant ; not that Eve regarded either
as she rode to Beer Alston. There the tiresome surgeon
joined her and Jasper, and insisted on giving them re-
freshments. Eve was impatient to be on her way again,
and was hardly civil in her refusal ; but the harness of
self-conceit was too dense over the doctor's breast for him
to receive a wound from her light words.

"'Am

' 1^ - ■. t-

304

EVE

In due course Plymouth was reached, and, as there
was time to spare, Eve, by her sister's directions, went to
a convent, where were some nuns of their acquaintance,
and stayed there till fetched by the two young men to go
with them to the theatre. Jasper had written before and
secured tickets.

At last Eve sat in a theatre — the ambition, the dream
of her youth was gratified. She occupied a stall between
Jasper and Mr. Coyshe, a place that commanded the house,
but was also conspicuous.

Eve sat looking speechlessly about her, lost in astonish-
ment at the novelty of all that surrounded her; the decora-
tions of white and gold, the crimson curtains, the chande-
lier of ghttering glass-drops, the crowd of well-dressed
ladies, the tuning of the instruments of the orchestra, the
glare of light, were to her an experience so novel that she
felt she would have been content to cume all the way for
that alone. That she herself was an object of notice,
that opera-glasses were turned upon her, never occurred to
her. Fond as she was of admiration, she was too engrossed
in admiring to think that she was admired.

A hush. The conductor had taken his place and raised
his wand. Eve was startled by the sudden lull, and the
lowering of the lights.

Then the wand fell, and the overture began. *Pre-
ciosa ' had been performed in London the previous season
for the first time, and now, out of season, it was taken to
the provinces. The house was very full. A military
orchestra played.

Eve knew the overture arranged for the piano, for Jas-
per had introduced her to it; she had admired it; but
what was a piano arrangement to a full orchestra ? Her
eye sparkled, a brilliant colour rushed into her cheek.
This was something more beautiful than she could have
eonceived. The girl's soul was full of musical apprecia-
tion, and she had been kept for seventeen years away from
the proper element in which she could live.

•sjjr

^PRECIOSA

305

Then the curtain rose, and disclosed the garden of Don
Carcamo at Madrid. Eve could hardly rcpres', an excla-
mation of astonishment. She saw a terrace with marble
statues, and a fountain of wator playing, the crystal drops
sparkling as they fell. Umbrageous trees on both sides
threw their foliage overhead and met, forming a succession
of bowery arches. Boses and oleanders bloomed at the
sides. Beyond the terrace extended a distant landscape of
rolling woodland and corn fields threaded by a blue wind-
ing river. Far away in the remote distance rose a range
of snow-clad mountains.

Eve held up her hands, drew a long breath and sighed,
not out of sadness, but out of ecstasy of delight.

Don Fernando de Azevedo, in black velvet and lace,
was taking leave of Don Carcamo, and informing him that
he would have left Madrid some days ago had he not been
induced to stay and see Preciosa, the gipsy girl about
whom the town waa talking. Then entered Alonzo, the
son of Don Carcamo, enthusiastic over the beauty, talent,
and virtue of the maiden.

Eve listened with eager eyes and ears, she lost not a
word, she missed not a motion. Everything she saw was
real to her. This was true Spain, yonder was the Sierra
Nevada. For aught she considered, these were true hidal-
goes. She forgot she was in a theatre, she forgot every-
thing, her own existence, in her absorption. Only one
thought obtruded itself on her connecting the real with the
fictitious. Martin ought to have stood there as Alonzo, in
that becoming costume.

Then the orchestra played softly, sweetly— she knew
the air, drew another deep inspiration, her flush deepened.
Over the stage swept a crowd of gentlemen and ladies, and
a motley throng singing in chorus. Then came in gipsies
with tambourines and castanets, and through the midst of
them Preciosa in a crimson velvet bodice and saffron skirt,
wearing a necklace of gold chains and coins.

Eve put her hands over her mouth to check the cr^ qC

•]ii'

3o6

EVE

astonishment ; the dress— she knew it — it was that she
had found in the chest. It was that, or one most similar.

Eve hardly breathed as Preciosa told the fortunes of
Don Carcamo and Don Fernando. She saw the love of
Alonzo kindled, and Alonzo she had identified with Martin.
She— she herself was PreciosA. Had she not wo: n that
dress, rattled that tambourine, danced the same steps?
The curtain fell ; the first act was over, and the hum of
voices rose. But Eve heard nothing. Mr. Coyshe en-
deavoured to engage her in conversation, but in vain. She
was in a trance, lifted above the earth in ecstasy. She was
Preciosa, she lived under a Spanish sun. This was her
world, this real life. No other world was possible hence-
forth, no other life endurable. She had passed out of a
condition of surprise ; nothing could surprise her more,
she had risen out of a sphere where surprise was possible
into one where music, light, colour, marvel were the proper
atmosphere.

The most prodigious marvels occur in dreams and ex-
cite no astonishment. Eve had passed into ecstatic dream.

The curtain rose, and the scene was forest, with rocks,
and the full moon shining out of the dark blue sky, silver-
ing the trunks of the trees and the mossy stones. A gipsy
camp ; the gipsies sang a chorus with echo. The captain
smote with hammer on a stone and bade his men prepare
for a journey to Valencia. The gipsies dispersed, and then
Preciosa appeared, entering from the far background, with
the moonlight falling on her, subduing to low to/ies her
crimson and yellow, holding a guitar in her hands. She
seated herself on a rock, and the moonbeams played about
her as she sang and accompanied herself on her instrument.

Lone am I, yet am not lonely,

For I see thee, loved and true,
Bound me flits thy form, thine only,

Moonlit gliding o'er the dew.

Wander where I may, or tarry,

Hangs my heart alone on thee.
Ever in my breast I carry

Thoughts that burn and torture me.

' I'kECtOSA ' 307

UnattainaVtlc and peerless

In my heaven a constant star.
Heart o'erflowing, eye.s all tearless,
Gaze I on thee fron- afar.

The exquisite melody, the pathos of the scene, the
poetry of the words, were more than Eve could bear, and
tears rolled down her cheeks. Mr. Coyshe looked round in
surprise ; he heard her sob, and asked if she were tired or
unwell. No ! she sobbed out of excess of happiness.
The combined beauty of scene and song oppressed her
heart with pain, the pain of delight greater than the heart
could contain,

Eve saw Alonzo come, disguised as a hunter, having
abandoned his father, his rank, his prospects, for love of
Preciosa. Was not this like Martin ? — Martin the heroic,
the self-sacrificing man who rushed into peril that he might
be at her feet — Martin, now laid up with rheumatism for
her sake.

She saw the gipsies assemble, their tents were taken
down, bales were coUec^-ed, uU was prepared for departure.
Alonzo was taken into the band and fellowship was sworn.

The moon had set, but see— what is this? A red light
smites betwixt the trees and kindles the trunks orange and
scarlet, the rocks are also flushed, and simultaneously with
a burst, joyous, triumphant, the whole band sing the
chorus of salutation to the rising sun. Preciosa is exalted
on a litter and is borne on the shoulders of the gipsies.
The light brightens, the red blaze pervades, transforms the
entire scene, bathes every actor in fire ; the glorious song
swells and thrills every heart, and suddenly, when it
seemed to Eve that she could bear no mere, the curtain
fell. She sprang to her feet, unconscious of everything
but what she had seen and heard, and the whole house
rose with her and roared its applause and craved for more.

It is unnecessary for us to follow Eve's emotions
through the ej^tirc drama, and to narrate the plot, to say
how that the gipsies arrive at the castle of Don Fernando

'm&

308

EVE

where he is celelrating his silver wedding, how his son
Eugenio, by an impertinence offered to Preciosa, ex-
asperates the disguised Alonzo into striking him, and is
arrested, how Preciosa intercedes, and hoW it is discovered
that she is the daughter of Don Fernando, stolen seven-
teen years before. The reader may possibly know the
drama ; if he does not, his loss is not much ; it is a drama
of little merit and no originality, which would never have
lived had not Weber furnished it with a few scraps of in-
comparably beautiful music.

The curtain fell, the orchestra departed, the boxes were
emptying. All those in the stalls around Eve were in
movement. She gave a long sigh and woke out of her
dream, looked round at Jasper, then at Mr. Coyshe, and
smiled ; her eyes were dazed, she was not fuUy awake.

* Very decent performance,' said the surgeon, * but we
shall see something better in London.'

* "Well, Eve,' said Jasper * are you ready ? I will ask
for the manager, and then we must be pushing home.'

* Home ! ' repeated Eve, and repeated it questioningly.

* Yes,' answered Jasper, * have you forgotten the row
up the river and the ride before us ? '

She put her hand to her head.

* Oh, Jasper,' she said, * I feel as if I were at home
now — here, where I ought always to have be'' ' , and was
going again into banishment.'

CHAPTER XLVn.

NOAH'S ABE.

Jaspbb left Eve with Mr. Coyshe whilst he went in quest
of the manager. He had written to Mr. Justice Barret as
soon as it was decided that the visit was to be made, so as
to prepare him for an interview, but there had not been

PRECIOSA'

309

time for a reply. The surgeon was to order a supper at
the inn. A few minutes later Jasper came to them. He
had seen Lhe manager, who was then engaged, but re-
quested that they would shortly see him in his rooms at
the inn. Time was precious, the little party had a journey
before ihem. They therefore hastily ate their meal, and
when Eve was ready, Jasper accompanied her to the apart-
ments occupied by the manager. Mr. Coyshe was left over
the half-consumed supper, by no means disposed, as it had
to be paid for, to allow so much of it to depart uneaten.

Jasper knocked at the door indicated as that to the
rooms occupied by the manager and his family, and on
opening it was met by a combination of noises that be-
wildered, and of odours that suffocated.

' Come in, I am glad to see you,' said a voice ; * Justice
sent word I was to expect and detain you.'

The manager's wife came forward to receive the visi-
tors.

She was a pretty young woman, with very light frizzled
hair, cut short — a head like that of the * curly-headed plough-
boy ' Eve could hardly believe her eyes, this was the real
Preciocta, who on the stage had worn dark flowing hair.
The face was good-humoured, simple, but not clean, for
the paint and powder had been imperfectly washed off. It
adhered at the corners of the eyes and round the nostrils.
Also a ring of white powder lingered on her neck and at
the roots of her hair on her brow.

' Come in,' she said, with a kindly smile that made
pleasant dimples in her cfieeks, ' but take care where you
walk. This is my parrot, a splendid bird, look at his green
back and scarlet wing. Awake, old Poll ? '

' Does your mother know you're out ? ' answered the
parrot hoarsely, with the hard eyes fixed on Eve.

The girl turned cold and drew back.

' Look at my Tom,' said Mrs. Justice Barret, * how he
races round his cage.' She pointed to a squirrel tearing
inanely up the wires of a revolving drum in which he was

310

EVE

confined. ' That is the way in which he gi'eets my return
from the theatre. Mind the cradle ! Excuse my dress, I
have been attending to baby.' She rocked vigorously.
* Slyboots, he knows when I come back without opening
his peepers. Sucking "your thumb vigorously, are you ? I
could eat it — I could eat you, you are sweet as barley-
sugar,' The enthusiastic mother dived with both arms
into the cradle, brought out the child, and hugged it till it
screamed.

' What is Jacko about, I wonder,' said the ex-Preciosa;
' do observe him, sitting in the corner as demnre as an old
woi lan during a sermon. I'll warrant he's been at more
mischief. What do you suppose I have found him out in ?
I was knitting a stocking for Justice, and when the time
came for me to go to the theatre I put the half-finished
stocking with the ball of worsted down in the bed, I mis-
trusted Jacko. As I dare not leave him in this room with
baby, I locked him into the sleeping apartment. Will you
believe me ? he found what I had concealed. He plunged
into the bed and discovered the stocking and unravelled
the whole ; not only so, but he has left his hair on the
sheets, and whatever Justice will say to me and to Jacko I
do not know. Never mind, if he is cross I'll survive it.
Now Jacko, how often have I told you not to ^>ite off the
end of your tail ? The poor fellow is out of health, and
we must not be hard on him.'

The monkey blinked his eyes, and rubbed his nose.
He knew that his delinquencies were being expatiated
on.

' You have not seen all my family yet,' said Mrs.
Barret. * There is a box of white mice under the bed in the
next room. The darlmgs are so tame that they will nestle
in my bosom. Do you believe me ? I went once to the
theatre, quite forgetting one was there, till I came to dress,
I mean undress, and then it tumbled out ; I missed my
leads that evening, I was distracted lest the mouse should
get away. I told the prompter to keep him till I could

NOAH'S ARK

3tr

reclaim tbe rascal. Come in, doars ! Conio in ! * Tliis
was shouted, and a boy and girl burst in at the door.

'My only darlings, these three,' said Mrs. Barret,
pointing to the children and the babe. * They've been
haying some supper. Did you see them on the stage ?
They were gipsies. Be quick and slip out of your clothes,
pets, and tumble mto bed. Never mind your prayers to-
night. I have visitors, and cannot attend to you. Say
them twice over to-morrow morning instead. What?
Hungry still? Here, Jacko! surrender that crust, and
Polly must give up her lump of sugar ; bite evenly between
you.' Then turning to her guests, with her pleasant face
all smiles, * I love animals I I have been denied a large
family, I have only three, but then — I've not been manied
six years. One must love. What would the world be
without love ? We are made to love. Do you agree with
me, Jacko, you mischievous little pig ? Now — no biting,
Polly ! You snapping also ? '

Then, to her visitors, ' Take a chair — that is — take
two.'

To her children, ' What, is this manners ? Your hat.
Bill, and your frock, Philadelphia, and heaven knows what
other rags of clothes on the only available chairs.' She
swept the children's garments upon the floor, and kicked
them under the table.

' Now then,' to the guests, * sit down and be comfort-
able. Justice will be here directly. Barret don't much
like all these animals, but Lord bless your souls ! I can't
do without them. My canary died,' she sniffled and wiped
nose and eyes on the back of her hand. * He got poisoned
by the monkey, I suspect, who fed him on scraps of green
paper picked off the wall. One must love ! But it comes
expensive. They make us pay damages wherever we stay.
They charge things to our darlings I swear they never did.
The manager is as meek as Moses, and he bears like a
miller's ass. Here he comes — I know his sweet step.
Don't look at me. I'll sit with my back to you, baby is

313

EVE

fidgety.' Then entered the manager, Mr. Justice Barret,
a quiet man with a pasty face.

• That's him,' exclaimed the wife, * I said so. I knew
his step. I adore him. He is a genius. I love him — even
his pimples. One must love. Now— don't mind me.* The
good-natured creature carried off her baby into a corner,
and seated herself with it on a stool : the monkey followed
her, knowing that he was not appreciated by the manager,
and seated himself beside her, also with his back to the
company, and was engrossed ia her proceedings with the
baby.

Mr. Justice Barret had a bald head, he was twice his
wife's age, had a very smooth face shining with soap. His
hands were delicate and clean. He wore polished boots,
and white cravat, and a well-brushed black frock-coat.
How he managed in a menagerie of children and amimals
to keep himself tidy was a wonder to the company.

* Barret dear ! ' exclaimed his lady, looking over
her shoulder, and the monkey turned its head at the same
time. ' I've had a jolly row with the landlady over that
sheet to which I set fire.'

* My dear,' said the manager, * how often have I urged
you not to learn your part on the bed with the candle by
your side or in your hand ? You will set fire to your pre-
cious self some day.'

'About the sheet. Barret,' continued his wife; 'I've
paid for it, and have torn it into four. It will make
pocket-handkerchiefs for you, dear.'

' Rather large ? ' asked the manager deferentially.

• Rather, but that don't matter. Last longer before
jpoming to the wash, and so save money in the end.'

The manager was now at length able to reach and
shake hands with Eve and Jasper.

' Bless me, my dear child,' he said to the former, * you
remind me wonderfully of your mother. How is she ? I
should like to see her again. A sad pity she ever gave up
the profession. She had the instincts of an artiste in her,

NOAH'S ARK

313

but no training, horribly amateurish ; that, however, would
rub oflf.'

*She is dead,' 'answered Eve. 'Did you not know
that ? '

* Dead ! ' exclaimed the manager. ' Poor soul ! so
sweet, so simple, so right-minded. Dead, dead I Ali me !
the angels go to heaven and the sinners are left. Did
she remain with your father, or go home to her own
parents ? '

* I thought,' said Eve, much agitated, ' that you could
have told me concerning her.'

' I ! ' Mr. Justice Barret opened his eyes wide. ' I ! '

* My dear ! ' called Mrs. Barret, * will you be so good as
to throw me over my apron. I am dressing baby for the
night, and heaven alone knows where his little night-shirt
is. I'll tie him up in this apron.' * Does your mother
know you're out ? ' asked the parrot with its head on one
side, looking at Eve.

* I think,' said Jasper, ' it would be advisable for me to
have a private talk w*h you, Mr. Barret, if you do not
mind walking with me in the square, and then Miss Eve
Jordan can see you after. Our time is precious.'

* By all means,' answered the manager, * if Miss Jordan
will remain with my wife.'

* yes,' said Eve, looking at the parrot ; she was alarmed
at the bird.

* Do not be afraid of Poll,' said Mr. Barret. Then to
his wife, ' Sophie ! I don't think it wise to tie up baby as
you propose. He might be throttled. We are going out.
Look for the night dress, and let me have the apron again
for Polly.'

At once the article required rushed likvi a rocket through
the air, and struck the manager on the breast.

* There,' said he, ' I will cover Polly, and she will go
to sleep and talk no more.'

Then the manager and Jasper went out.

* Now,' said the latter, ' in few words T beg you to tell

314

EVE

mo what you know about the wife of Mr. Jordan of Mor-
well. She was my sister.'

' Indeed I— and your name ? I forget what you wrote.'

* My name is Babb, but that matters nothing.'

' I never knew that of your sister. She would not tell
whence she came or who she was.'

* From your words just now,' said Jasper, • I gather
that you are unaware that she eloped from Morwell with
an actor. I could not speak of this before her daughter.'

* Eloped witli an actor ! ' repeated the manager. ' If
she did, it was after I knew her. Excuse me, I cannot be-
lieve it. She may have gone home to her father; he
wanted her to return to him.'

' You know that ? '

' Of course I do. He came to me, when I was at Tavi-
stock, and learned from me where she was. He went to
Morwell to see her once or twice, to induce her to return .
to him.'

* You must be very explicit,' said Jasper gravely. ' My
sister never came home. Neither my father nor I know
to this day what became of her.'

'Then she must have remained at Morwell. Her
daughter says she is dead.'

* She did not remain at Morwell. She disappeared.'

' This is very extraordinary. I will tell you all I know,
but that is not much. She Wi-s not with us very long.
She fell ill as we were on our way from Plymouth to
Jjaunceston, and we were obliged to leave her at Morwelh
the nearest house, that is some eighteen or nineteen years
ago. She never rejoined us. After a year, or a year and
a half, we were at Tavistock, on our way to Plymouth,
from Exeter by Okehampton, and there her father met us,
and I told him what had become of her. I know that I
walked out one day to Morwell and saw her. I believe her
father had several interviews with her, then something
occurred which prevented his meeting her as he had en-
gaged, and he asked me to see her again and explain his

NOAIVS ARK

3'5

absonce. I believe her union with the gentleman at Mor-
well was not quite regular, but of that I know nothing for
certain. Anyhow, her father disapproved and would not
meet Mr., what was his name ? — 0, Jordan. He saw his
daughter in private, on some rock that stands above the
Tamar. There also I met her, by his direction. She was
very decided not to leave her child and husband, though
sorry to offend and disobey her father. That is all I know
— yes! — I recall the day — Midsummer Eve, June the
twenty-third. I never saw her again.'

' But are you not aware that my father went to Morwell
on the next day, Midsummer Day, and was told that Eve
had eloped with you ? '

' With me ! ' the manager stood still. ' With me I
Nonsense ! *

* On the twenty-fourth she was gone.'

Mr. Barret shook his head. ' I cannot understand.'

* One word more,' said Jasper. • You will see Miss
Eve Jordan. Do not tell her that I am her uncle. Do not
cast a doubt on her mother's death. Speak to her only in
praise of her mother as you knew her.'

* This is puzzling indeed,' said the manager. ' We
have had a party with us, an amateur, a walking character,
who talked of Morwell as if he knew it, and I told him
about the Miss Eve we had left there and her marriage to
the squire. I may have said, " If ever you go there again,
remember me to the lady, supposing her alive, and tell me
if the child be as beautiful as I remember her mother." '

' There is but one man,' said Jasper, • who holds the
key to the mystery, and he must be forced to disclose.'

lU. I

' >!:l3:S

: iiiii

3i6

EVE

CHAPTEB XLVm.

IN PABT.

Mr. Jobdan knew more of what went on than Barbara
suspected. Jane Welsh attended to him a good deal, and
she took a mean delight in spying into the actions of her
young mistresses, and making herself acquainted with
everything that went on in the house and on the estate.
In this she was encouraged by Mr. Jordan, who listened to
what she told him and became excited and suspicious ; and
the fact of exciting his suspicions was encouragement to
the maid. The vulgar mind hungers for notoriety, and
the girl was flattered by finding that what she hinted
stirred the crazy mind of the old man. He was a man
prone to suspicion, and to suspect those nearest to him.
The recent events at Morwell had made him mistrust his
own children. He could not suppose that Martin Babb
had escaped without their connivance. It was a triumph
to the base mind of Jane to stand closer in her master's
confidence than his own children, and she used her best
endeavoms to thrust herself further in by aggravating his
suspicions. ^^

Barbara was not at ease in her own mind, she was
particularly annoyed to hear that Martin was stiU in the
neighbourhood, on their land; naturally frank, she was
impatient of the constraint laid on her. She heartily de-
sired that the time would come when concealments might
end. She acknowledged the necessity for concealment, but
resented it, and could not quite forgive Jasper for having
forced it upon her. She even chilled in her manner to-
wards him, when tcfld that Martin was still a charge. The
fact that she was obliged to think of and succour a man
with whom she was not in sympathy, reacted on her rela-
tions with Jasper, and produced constraint.

IN PART

3»7

That Jane watched her and Jasper, Barbara did not
suspect. Honourable herself, she could not believe that
another would act dishonourably. She under- valued Jane's
abilities. She knew her to be a common-minded girl, fond
of talking, but she made no allowance for that natural
inquisitiveness which is the seedleaf of intelligence. The
savage who cannot count beyond the fingers of one hand
is a master of cunning. There is this difference between
men and beasts. The latter bite and destroy the weakly of
their race ; men attack, rend, and trample on the noblest
of their species.

Mr. Jordan knew that Jasper and Eve had gone to-
gether for a long journey, and that Barbara sat up await-
ing their return. He had been left unconsulted, he was
uninformed by his daughters, and was very angry. Ht,
waited all next day, expecting something to be said ou the
subject to him, but not a word was spoken.

The weather now changed. The brilliant summer days
had suffered an ecUpse. The sky was overcast with grey
cloud, and cold north-west winds came from the Atlantic,
and made the leaves of beech and oak shiver. On the
front of heaven, on the face of earth, was written Icha-
bod — the glory is departed. What poetry is to the mind-
that the sun is to nature. The sun was withdrawn, and
the hard light was colourless, prosaic. There was nowhere
beauty any more. Two chilly damp days had transformed
all. Mr. Jordan shivered in his room. The days seemed
to have shortened by a leap.

Mr. Jordan, out of perversity, beoause Barbara had
advised his remaining in, had walked into the garden, and
after shivering there a few minutes had returned to his
room, out of humour with his daughter because he felt
she was in the right in the counsel she gave.

Then Jane came to him, with mischief in her eyes,
breathless. 'Please, master,' she said in low tones, look-
ing about her to make sure she was not overheard. ' What
do y' think, now ! Mr. Jasper have agone to the wood,

M0fy

3i8

EVE

carrying a blanket. What can he want that for, I'd like
to know. He's not thinking of sleeping there, I reckon*'

' Go after him, Jane,' said Mr. Jordan. ' You are a
good^ girl, more faithful than my own flesh and blood. Do
not allow him to see that he is followed.'

The girl nodded knowingly, and went out.

' Now,' said Mr. Jordan to himself, ' I'll come to the
bottom of this plot at last. My own children have turned
against me. I will let them see that I can counter-plot.
Though I be sick and feeble and old, I will show that I am
master still in my own house. Who is there ? '

Mr. Coy she entered, bland and fresh, rubbing his
hands. * Well, Jordan,' said he — ^he had become familiar
in his address since his engagement — * how are you ? And
my fairy Eve, how is she? None the worse for her
junket ? '

* Junket ! ' repeated the old man. * What junket ? '

* Bless your soul ! ' said the surgeon airily. ' Of course
you think only of curdled milk. I don't allude to that
local dish — or rather bowl — I mean Eve's expedition to
Plymouth t'other night.'

•Eve-Plvmouthl'

* Of course. Did you not know ? Have I betrayed a
secret ? Lord bless me, why should it be kept a secret ?
She enjoyed herself famously. Knows no better, and
thought the performance was perfection. I have seen
Kemble, and Eean, and Vestris. But for a provincial
theatre ii was well enough.'

* You went with her to the theatre ? '

*Yes, I and Mr. Jasper. But don't fancy she went
only out of love of amusement. She went to see the
manager, a Mr. Justice Thing-a-majig.'

' Barret ? '

* That's the man, because he had known her mother.'
Mr. Jordan's face changed, and his eyes stared. He

put up his hands as though waving away something that
hung before him.

IN PART

3»9

bliii;

* And Jasper ? '

* Oh, Jasper was with her. They left me to eat my
supper in comfort. I can't a£Pord to spoil my digestion,
and I'm particularly fond of crab. Yoii cannot eat crab
in a scramble and do it justice.'

*Did Jasper see the manager?' Mr. Jordan's voice
ns^s hollow. His hands, which he held f'.eprecatingly
before him, quivered. He had his elbows on the arms of
his chair.

' Oh, yes, of course he did. Don't you understand ?
He went with Eve whilst I finished the crab. It was
really a shame ; they neither of them half cleaned out
their claws, they were in such a hurry. " Preciosa " was
not amiss, but I preferred crab. One can get plays better
elsewhere, but crab nowhere of superior quality.'

Mr. Jordan began to pick at the horse-hair of his chair
arm. There was a hole in the cover and his thin white
nervous fingers plucked at the stuffing, and pulled it out,
and twisted it and threw it down, and plucked again.

* What — ^what did Jasper hear ? ' he isked falteringly.

* How can I tell, Jordan ? I was not with them. I
teH you, I was eating my supper quietly, and chewiug
every mouthful. I cannot bolt my food. It is bad — un-
principled to do so.' ^

' They told you nothing ? '

* I made no inquiries, and no information was volun-
teered.'

A slight noise behind him made Coyshe turn. Eve
was in the doorway. ' Here she is to answer for herself,'
said the surgeon. ' Eve, my love, your father is curious
about your excursion to Plymouth, and wants to know all
you heard from the manager.

' Oh, papa ! I ought to have told you ! ' stammered
Eve.

' What did he say ? ' asked the old man, half-impa-
tiently, half fearfully.

* Look here, governor,' said the surgeon ; * it strikes

■1

320

EVE

me that you are not acting straight with ihe girl, and as
she is about to become my wife, I'll stand up for her and
say what is fitting. I cannot see the fun of forcing n^r
to run away a day's journey to pick up a few scraps of
information about her mother, when you keep locked up
in your own head all that she wants to know. I can un-
derstand and make allowance for you not liking to tell her
everything, if things were not — as is reported — quite
ecclesiastically square between you and the lady. But
Eve is no longer a child. I intend her to become my
wife, and sooner or later she must know all. Make a
clean breast and tell everything.'

* Yes,' said Jasper entering, ' the advice is good.'

' You come also ! ' exclaimed the old man, firing up
and pointing with trembling fingers to the intruder ; * yoii,
come — you who have led my children into disobedience ?
My own daughters are in league against me. As for this
girl. Eve, whom I have loved, who has been to me as the
apple of my eye, she is false to me.'

* Oh, papa ! dear papa ! ' pleaded Eve with tears, * do
not say this. It is not true.'

* Not true ? Why do you practise concealment from
me ? Why do you carry about with you a ring which Mr.
Coy she never gave you ? Produce it, I have been told
about it. You have left it on your table and it has been
seen, a ring with a turquoise forget-me-not. Who gave
you that ? Answer me if you dare. What is the mean-
ing of these runnings to and fro into the woods, to the
rocks ? ' The old man worked himself into wildness and
want of consideration for his child, and for Coyshe to whom
she was engaged. ' Listen to me, you,' he turned to the
surgeon, holding forth his stick which he had caught up ;
* you shall judge between us. This girl, this daughter of
mine, has met again and again in secret a man whom I
hate, a man who robbed his own father of money that
belonged to me, a man who has been a jail-bird, an
escaped felon. Is nol this so ? Eve, deny it if you can.'

IN PART

331

* Father ! ' began Eve, trembling, you are ill, you are
excited.'

' Answer me ! ' he shouted so loud as to make all start,
striking at the same time the floor with his stick, ' have
you not met him in secret ? '

She hung her head and sobbed.

' You aided that man in making his escape when he
was in the hands of the police. I brought the police upon
him, and you worked to deliver him. Answer me. Was
it not so ? '

She fiftintly murmured, * Yes.'

This had been but a conjecture of Mr. Jordan. He
was emboldened to proceed, but now Jasper stood forward,
grave, collected, facing the white, wild old man. 'Mr.
Jordan,' he said, ' that man of whom you speak is my
brother. I am to blame, not Miss Eve. Actively neither
I nor — most assuredly — your daughter assisted in his
escape ; but I will not deny that I was aware he meditated
evasion, and he effected it, not through active assistance
given him, but because his guards were careless, and be-
cause I did not indicate to them the means whereby he
was certain to get away, and which I saw and they over-
looked.'

' Stand aside,' shouted the angry old man. He loved
Eve more than he loved anyone else, and as is so often the
case when the mind is unhinged, his suspicion and wrath
were chiefly directed against his best beloved. He struck
at Jasper with hiS stick, to drive him on one side, and he
shrieked with fury to Eve, who cowered and shrank from
him. * You have met this felon, and you love him. That
is why I have had such difficulty with you to get your
consent to Mr. Coyshe. Is it not so? Come, answer.'

' I like poor Martin,' sobbed Eve. * I forgive him for
taking my money ; it was not his fault.'

* See there ! she confesses all. ' Who gave you that
ring with the blue stones of which I have been told ? It
did not belong to your mother. Mr. Coyshe never gave

III

:;k"' '

iflr .

322

EVE

it you. Answer me at once or I will throw my stick at
you. Who gave you that ring ? '

The surgeon, in his sublime self-conceit, not for a
moment supposing that any other man had been preferred
to himself, thinking that Mr. Jordan was off his head,
fumed to Eve and said in a low voice, ' Humor r him. It
is safest. Say what he wishes you to say.'

* Martin gave me the ring,* she answe. ed, trembling.

* How came you one time to be without your mother's
ring ? How came you at another to be possessed of it ?
Explain that.'

Eve threw herself on her knees with a cry.
' Oh, papa ! dear papa ! ask me no more questions.'
'Listen all to me,' said Mr. Jordan, in a loud hard
voice. He rose from his chair, resting a hand on each
arm, and heaving himself into an upright position. His
face was livid, his eyes burned like coals, his hair bristled
on his head, as though electrified. He came forward,
walking with feet wide apart, and with his hands uplifted,
and stood over Eve stiU kneeling, gazing up at him with
terror.

* Listen to me, all of you. I know more than any of
you suppose. I spy where you are secret. That man who
robbed me of my money has lurked in this neighbourhood
to rob me of my child. Shall I' tell you who he is, this
felon, who stole from his father? He is her mother's
brother, Eve's uncle.'

Eve stared with blank eyes into his face, Martin —
her uncle I She uttered a cry and covered her eyes.

CHAPTER XLIX.

THE OLD GUN.

Mb. Jobdan was alone in his room. Evening had set in,
the room was not only chilly, it was dark. He sat in his
leather-backed leather-armed chair with his stick in his

THE OLD GUN

523

itli

of
lood

ler s

It in,

his
his

hands, — in both hands, held across him, and noiir and
then he put the stick up to his mouth and gnawed at it
in the middle. At others he made a sudden movement,
slipping his hand down to tlae ferule and striking in the
air with the handle at the black spots which floated in the
darkness, of a blackness most intense. He was teased by
them, and by his inability to strike them aside. His stick
went through them, as through ink, and they closed again
when cut, and drifted on through his circle of vision un-
hurt, undisturbed.

Mr. Coyshe was gone ; he had ordered the old man to
be left as much in quiet as might be, and he had taken a
boy from the farm with him on a horse, to bring back a
soothing diaught which he promised to send. Mr. Jor-
dan had complained of sleeplessness, his nerves were evi-
dently in a high and perilous state of tension. Before he
left, Mr. Coyshe had said to Barbara, ' Keep an eye on your
father, there is irritation somewhere. He talks in an un-
reasoning manner. I will send him something to compose
him, and call again to-morrow. In the meantime,' he
coughed, * I — I — would not allow bim to shave himself.'

Barbara's blood curdled. * You do not think — ' She
was unable to finish her sentence.'

' Do as I say, and do not Allow him to suppose himself
watched.'

Now Barbara acted with unfortunate indiscretion.
Knowing that her father was suspicious of her, and com-
plained of her observing him, knowing also that his sus-
picions extended to Jasper whom he disliked, knowing also
that he had taken a liking for Jane, she bade Jane remain
about her father, and not allow him to be many minutes
unwatched.

Jane immediately went to the old gentleman, and told
him the instructions given her. 'And — ^please your
honour,' she crept close to him, • I've seen him. He is on
the Baven Bock. He has lighted a fire and is warming
himself. I think it be the very man that was took here,

•H':

324

EVE

but I can't say for certain, as I didn't see the face of him
as was took, nor of him on the Bock, but they be both
men, and much about a height.'

* Jane ! Is Joseph anywhere about ? '
' No sir, — not nigher than Tavistock.'

' Go to him immediately. Bid him collect what men
he can, and surround the fellow and secure him.'

* But, your honour ! Miss Barbara said I was to watch
you as a cat watches a mouse.'

' Who is master here, I or she ? I order you to go ;
and if she is angry I will protect you against her. I am
to be watched, am I? By my own children? By my
servant? This is more than I can bear. The whole
world is conspiring against me. How can I trust anyone
— even Jane ? How can I say that the police were not
bribed before to let him go ? And they may be bribe«d
again. Trust none but thyself,' he muttered, and stood
up.

' Please, master,' said Jane, ' you may be certain I will
do what you want. I'm not like some folks, as is un-
natural to their very parents. "Why, sir! what do y'
think ? A% I were a coming in, who should run by me,
looking the pictur' of fear, but Miss Eve. And where do
y' think her runned ? Why, sir — I watched her, arid her
went as fast as a leaping hare over the fields towards the
Baven Bock — to where he be. Well, I'm sure I'd not do
that. I don't mind a-going to love feasts in chapel with
Joseph, but I wouldn't go seeking him in a wood. Some
folks have too much self-respect for that, I reckon.' She
muttered this looking up at the old man, uncertain how he
would take it.

* Go,' said he. * Leave me — go at once.'

Presently Barbara came in, and found her father
alone.

* What, no one with you, papa ? *

* No — ^I want to be alone. Do you grudge me quiet ?
Must I live under a microscope ? Must I have everything

THE Otn GVN

.1^5

Lther

1 do marked, every word noted? Why do you peer in
here? Am I an escaped felon to be guarded? Am I
likely to break out ? Will you leave me ? I tell you I do
not want you here. I desire solitude. I have had you
and Coyshe and Eve jabbering here till my head spins and
my temples are bursting. Leave me alone.' Then, with
the craftiness of incipient derangement, he said, ' I have
had two — three bad nights, and want sleep. I was dozing
in my chair when Jane came in to light a fire. I sent her
out. Then, when I was nodding off again, I heard cook
or Jasper tramping through the hall. That roused me,
and now when I hoped to compose myself again, you thrust
yourself upon me ; are you all in a league to drive me
mad, by forbidding me. sleep ? That is how Hopkins, the
witch-finder, got the poor wretches to confess. He would
not suffer them to sleep, and at last, in sheer madness and
hunger for rest, they confessed whatever was desired of
them. You want to force something out of me. ' That is
why you will not let me sleep.'

' Papa dear, I shall be so glad if you can sleep. I pro-
mise you shall be left quite alone for an hour.'

* an hour I limited to sixty minutes.'

' Dear papa, till you rap on the wall, to intimate that
you are awake.'

' You will not pry and peer ? '

' No one shall come near you. I will forbid everyone
the hall, lest a step on the pavement should disturb yon.'

* What are you doing there ? '

* Taking away your razor, papa.'

Then he burst into a shrill, bitter laugh — a laugh that
shivered through her heart. He said nothing, but remained
chuckling in his chair.

' I dare say Jasper will sharpen them for you, papa, he
is very kind,' said Barbara, ashamed of her dissimulation.
So it came about that the old half-crazy squire was left in
the gathering gloom entirely alone and unguarded. Nothing
could do him more good than a refreshing sleep, Barbara

326 \EVE

argued, and went away to her own room, where she lit a
candle, drew down her blind, and set herself to needle-
work.

She had done what she could. The pantry adjoined
the room of her father. Jane would hear if he knocked or
called. She did not know that Jane was gone.

Ignatius Jordan sat in the armchair, biting at his stick,
or beating in the air with it at the blots which troubled his
vision. These black spots took various shapes ; some-
times they were bats, sometimes falling leaves. Then it
appeared to him as if a fluid that was black but with a
crimson glow in it as of a subdued hidden fire was running
and dripped from ledge to ledge — invisible ledges they
were — in the air befo^j him. He put his stick out to
touch the stream, and then it ran along the stick and
flowed on his hand and he uttered a cry, because it burned
him. He held his hand up open before him, and thought
the palm was black, but with glowing red veins inter-
secting the blackness, and he touched the lines with the
finger of his left hand.

* The line of Venus,' he said, * strong at the source,
fiery and broken by that cross cut — the line of life — long,
thin, twisted, tortured, nowhere smooth, and here — What
is this ? — the end.'

Then he looked at the index finger of his left hand, the
finglr that had traced the lines, and it seemed to be alight
or smouldering with red fire.

He heard a strange sound at the window, a sound
shrill and unearthly, close as in his ear, and yet certainly
not in the room. He held his breath and looked round.
He could see nothing through the glass but the grey
evening sky, no face looking in and crying at the window.
"What was it? As he looked it was repeated. In his
excited condition of mind he did not seek for a natural
explanation. It was a spirit call urging him on. It was
silent. Then again repeated. Had he lighted the candle
and examined the glass he would have seen a large snail

THE OLD GUN

3^7

crawling up the pane, creating the sound by the vibration
of the glass as it drew itself along.

Then Mr. Jordan rose out of his chair, and iQoking
cautiously from side to side and timorously at the window
whence the shrill sound continued, he unlocked a cup-
board in the panelling and drew from it powder and shot.

Barbara had taken away his razors. She feared lest he
should do himself an injury ; but though he was weary of
his life, he had no thought of hastening his departure from
it. His mind was set with deadly resolution of hate on
Martin — Martin, that man who had robbed him, who
escaped from him as often as he was taken. Everyone
was in league to favour Martin. No one was to be trusted
to punish him. He must make sure that the man did not
escape this time. This time he would rely on no one but
himself. He crossed the room with soft step, opened the
door, rind entered the hall. There he stood looking about
him. He could hear a distant noise of servants talking in
the kitchen, but no one was near, no eye observed him.
Barbara, true to her promise, was upstairs, believing him
asleep. The hall was dark, but not so dark that he
could not distinguish what he sought. Some one passed
with a Ught outside, a maid going to the wash-house.
The light struck through the transomed window of the
hall, painting a black cross against the wall opposite,
a black cross that travelled quickly and fell on the old
man, creeping along to the fire-place, holding the wall.
He remembered the Midsummer Day seventeen years ago
when he had stood there against that wall with arms extended
in the blaze of the setting sun as a crucified figure against
the black shadow of the cross. His life had been one long
crucifixion ever -since, and his cross a shadow. Then he
stood on a hall chair and took down from its crooks an old
gun.

' Seventeen years ago,' he muttered. ' My God 1 it
failed not then, may it not fail me now t *

329

EVE

CHAPTER L.

BT THE FIBE.

Mabtin was weary of the woodman's hut, as he was before
weary of the mine. Watt had hard work to pacify him.
His rheumatism was better. Neither Jasper nor Walter
could decide how far the attack was real and how far simu-
lated. Probably he really suffered, and exaggerated his
sufferings to provoke sympathy.

Whilst the weather was summery he endured his capti-
vity, for he could lie in the sun on a hot rock and smoke or
whistle, with his hands in his pockets, and Martin loved to
lounge and be idle ; but when the weather changed, he be-
came restive, ill-humoured, and dissatisfied. What aggra-
vated his discontent was a visit from Barbara, whom he
found it impossible to impress with admiration for his
manly beauty and pity for his sorrows.

* That girl is a beast,' he said to Walter, when she was
gone. ' I really could hardly be civil to her. A perfect
Caliban, devoid of taste and feeling. Upon my word some
of our fellow-beings are without humanity. I could see
through that person at a glance. She is made up of
selfishness. If there bf> one quality most repulsive to me,
that is it — selfishness. I do not believe the creature cast
a thought upon me, my wants, my sufferings, my peril.
Watt, if she shows her ugly face here again, stand against
the door, and say, ** Not at home." '

* Dear Martin, we will go as soon as you are well enough
to leave.'

* Whither are we to go ? I cannot join old Barret and
his wife and monkeys and babies and walking-sticks of
actors, as long as he is in the county. I would go to
Bristol or Bath or Cheltenham if I had money, but these
miserly Jor^ftns wUl not find me any, Tfeey wa»t to drive

BY THU FIRE

329

me away without first lining my pocket. I know what was
meant by those cold slabs of mutton, to-day. It meant, go
away. I wait till they give mo money.'

' Dear Martin, you must not be inconsiderate.'
*I glory in it. What harm comes of it? It is your
long-headed, prudent prophets who get into scrapes and
can't get out of them again. I never calculate ; I act on
impulse, and that always brings me right.'

* Not always, Martin, or you would not be here.'

* 0, yes, even here. When the impulse comes on me to
go, I shall go, and you will find I go at the right time. If
that Miss Jordan comes here again with her glum ugly
mug, I shall be off. Or Jasper, looking as if the end of
the world were come. I can't stand that. See how
cleverly I got away from Prince's T( vvn.'

* I helped you, Martin.'

' I do not pretend that I did all myself. I did escape,
and a brilliantly executed manoeuvre it was. I thought I
was caught in a cleft stick when I dropped on the party of
beaks at the " Hare and Hounds," but see how splendidly
I got away. I do believe, Watt, I've missed my calling,
and ought to have been a general in the British army.'

' But, dear Martin, generals have to scheme other
things beside running away.'

' None of your impudence, you jackanapes. I tell you
I do not scheme. I act on the spur of the moment. If I
had lain awake a week planning I could have done nothing
bette '. The inspiration comes to me the moment I require
it. Your vulgar man always does the wrong thing when
an emergency arises. By heaven, Watt ! this is a dog's
life I am leading, and not worth living. I am shivering.
The damp worms into one's bones. I shall go out on the
Eock.'

' O, Martin, st^y here. It is warmer in this hut. A
cold wind blows.'

* It is midwinter here, and can't be more Siberia-like
out tb^rQt X am m\ pf tb@ smell of dry leaves. I am

ill

330

EVE

tired of looking at withered sticks. The monotony of this
place is unendurable. I wish I were back in prison.'

* I will play my violin to amuse you,' said the boy

' Curse your fiddle, I do not want to have that squeaking
in my ears ; besides, it is sure to be out of tune with the
damp, and screw up as you may, before you have gone five
bars it is flat again. Why has Eve not been here to tell
me of what she saw in Plymouth ? '

'My dear Martin, you must consider. She dare not
come here. You cannot keep open .house, and send round
cards of invitation, with *' Mr. Martin Babb at home." '

* I dcn't care. I sha.ll go on the Rock, and have a
fire.'

' A fire ! ' exclaimed Watt, aghast.

* Why not ? I am cold, and my rheumatism is worse.
I won't have rheumatic fever for you or all the Jordans
and Jaspers in Devonshire.'

* I entreat you, be cautious. Remember you are in
hiding. You have already been twice caught.'

* Because on both occasions I ran into the hands of the
police. The first time I attempted no concealment. I did
not think my father would have been such a — such a pig
as to send them after me. I'll tell you what, my boy, there
is no generosity and honour anywhere. They are like the
wise teeth that come, not to be used, but to go, and go
painfully.' Then he burst out of the hut, and groaning
and cursing scrambled through the coppice to the Raven
Bock.

Walter knew too well that when his brother had re-
solved on anything, however outrageous, it was in vain for
him to attempt dissuasion. He therefore accompanied him
up the steep slope and through the bushes, lending him a
hand, and drawing the boughs back before him, till he
reached the platform of rock.

The signs of autumn were apparent everywhere. Two
days before they had not been visible. The bird-cherry
was turning ; the leaves of the dog- wood were royal purple,

JBV THE FIRE

335

and those at the extremity of the branches were carmiiif.
Here and there umbelhferous plants had turned white ; all
the sap was withdrawn, they were bleached at the prospect
of the coming decay of nature. The heather had donned its
pale flowers ; but there was no brightness in the purples and
pinks, they were the purples and pinks not^'of sunflush, but
of chill. A scent of death pervaded the air. The fox-
gloves had flowered up their long spires to the very top,
and only at the very top did a feeble bell or two bloom whilst
the seeds ripened below. No butterflies, no moths even
were about. The next hot day the scarlet admirals would
be out, but now they hung with folded wings downwards,
exhibiting pepper and salt and no bright colour under the
leaves, waiting and shivering.

' Everything is doleful,' said Martin, standing on the
platform and looking round.^ * Only one thing lacks to
make the misery abject, and that is rain. If the clouds
drop, and the water leaks into my den, I'll give myself up,
and secure a dry cell somewhere — then Jasper and the
Jordans may make the best of it. I'm not going to be-
come a confirmed invalid to save Jasper's pride, and help
on his suit to that dragon of Wantle} If he thinks it
against his interest that I should be in gaol, I'll go back
there. I'm not eager to have that heap of superciliousness
as a sister-in-law, Walter, so collect sticks and fern that
I may have a fire.'

' Martin, do not insist on this ; the light and smoke
will be seen.*

' Who is there to see ? This rock is only visible from
Cornwbll, and there is no bridge over the Tamar for some
miles up the river. Who will care to make a journey of
some hours to ask why a fire has been kindled on the Raven
Bock ? Look behind, the trees screen this terrace, no one
at MorweU will see. The hills and rocks fold on the river
and hide us from aJl habitable land. Do not oppose me ;
I will have a fire.'

' 0, Martin/ said the boy, ' you throw on me aU the

li-ii

■If

if!-:

332

EVE

responsibility of caring for your safety, and you make my
task a hard one by your thoughtlessness.'

' I am so unselfish,' said Martin gravely. * I never do
consider myself. I can't help it, such is my nature.'

Walter reluctantly complied with his brother's wish.
The boy had lost his liveliness. The mischief and audacity
were driven out of him by the responsibility that weighed
on him.

Abundance of fuel was to be had. The summer had
been hot, and little rain had fallen. Wood had been cut
the previous winter, and bundles of faggots lay about, that
had not been removed and stacked.

Before long the fire was blazing, and Martin crouched
at it warming his hands and knees. His face relaxed whilst
that of Walter became lined with anxiety. As he was thus
seated, Jasper came on him carrying a blanket. He was
dismayed at what his brother had done, and reproached
him.

Martin shrugged liis shoulders. * It is very well for you
in a dry house, on a feather bed and between blankets, but
very ill for poor me, condemned to live like a wild beast.
You should have felt mv hands before I had a fire to thaw
them at, they were like the cold mutton I had for my
dinner.'

* Martin, you must put that fire out. You have acted
with extreme indiscretion.'

* Spare me your reproaches ; I know I am indiscreet.
It is my nature, as it lies in the nature of a lion to be noble,
and of a dog to be true.'

* Really,' said Jasper, hotly, disturbed out of his usual
equanimity by the folly of his brother, * really, Martin, you
are most aggravating. You put me to great straits to help
you, and strain to the ^utmost my relations to the Jordan
family. I do all I can — more than I ought — for you, and
you wantonly provoke dangei;. Who but you would have
had the temerity to return to this neighbourhood after your
escape Mid my accident ! Then — why do you remain here ?

BV THE FIRE

333

1 caunot believe in your illness. Your lack of common
consideration is the cause of incessant annoyance to your
friends. That fire shall go out.' He went to it resolutely,
and kicked it apart, and threw some of the flaming oak
sticks over the edge of the precipice.

' I hope you are satisfied now,' said Martin sulkily.
• You have spoiled my pleasure, robbed me of my only
comfort, and have gained only this — that I wash my hands
of you, and will leave this place to-night. I will no longer
remain near you — inhuman, unbrotherly as you are.'

* I am very glad to hear that you are going,' answered
Jasper. * You shall have my horse. That horse is my
own, and he will carry you away. Send Walter for it when
you like. I will see that the stable-door is open, and the
saddle and bridle handy. The horse is in a stable near the
first gate, away from the house, and can be taken unob-
served.'

* You are mightily anxious to be rid of me,' sneered
Martin. * And this is a brother ! '

* I had brought you a blanket off my own bed, because
I supposed you were cold.'

' I will not have it,' said Martin sharply. * If you
shiver for want of your blanket I shall be blamed. Your
heart will overflow with gall against poor me. Keep your
blanket to curl up in yourself. I shall leave to-night. I
have too much proper pride to stay where I am not wanted,
with a brother who begrudges me a scrap of fire.'

Jasper held out his hand. • I must go back at once,'
he said. ' If you leave to-night it may be years before we
meet again. Come, Martin, you know me better than your
words imply. Do not take it ill that I have destroyed your
fire. I think only of your safety. Give me your hand,
brother ; your interest lies at my heart.'

Martin would not touch the proffered hand, he folded
his arms and turned away. Jasper looked at him, long
and sadly, but Martin woulid not relent, and he left.

' Get the embers together again,' ordered Martin.

.ill!'

(■">

!!$::

334

Ey£

• Under the Scottish fir are lots of cones full of resin ; pile
them on the fire, and make a big blaze. Let Jasper see
it. I will show him that I am not going to be beaten by
his insolence.'

* He may have been rough, but jjie was right,' «&xi?
Watt.

* Oh ! you also turn against me ! A viper I have che-
rished in my bosom ! '

The boy sighed ; he dare no longer refuse, and he sor-
rowfully gathered the scattered fire together, fanned the
embers, applied to them bits of dry fern, then fir cones,
and soon a brilliant jet of yellow flame leaped aloft.

Martin raised himself to his full height that the fire
might illuminate him from head to foot, and so he stood,
with his arms folded, thinking what a fine fellow he was,
and, regretting that no appreciative eye was there to see
him.

' What a splendid creature man is ! ' said he to himself
or Walter. ' So great in himself ; and yet, how little and
mean he becomes through selfishness! I pity Jasper —
from my heart I pity him. I am not angry—only sorry.'

CHAPTER LI.

A SHOT.

• Op all things I could have desired — the best ! * exclaimed
Martin Babb as Eve came from the cover of the wood upon
the rocky floor. She was out of breath, and coul4 not
speak. She put both hands on her breast to control her
breathing and quiet her throbbing heart.

Martin drew one foot over the other, poising it on the
toe, and allowed the yellow firelight to play over his hand-
some face and fine form. The appreciative eye was there.

* Loveher than ever ! ' exclaimed Martin. ' Preciosa come
to the forest to Alonzo, not Alonzo to Preciosa.

A SHOT

The forest green 1
Where warm the summer sheen ;
And echo calls,

And calls — through leafy halls.
Hnrrah for the life 'neath the greenwood tree I
Hj horn and my dogs and my gan for me 1
Trarah 1 Trarah 1 Trarah 1 '

335

iil

Milii

He sang the first verse of the gipsy chorus with rich
tones. He had a beautiful voice, and he knew it.

The song had given her time to obtain breath, and she
said, * Oh, Martin, you must go — ^you must indeed ! '

* Why, my Preciosa ? '

* My father knows all— how, I cannot conjecture, but
he does know, and he will not spare you.'

' My sweet flower,' said Martin, not in the least alarmed,
' the old gentleman cannot hurt me. He cannot himself
fetch the dogs of justice and set them on me; and he can-
not send for them without your consent. There is plenty
of time for me to give them the slip. All is arranged. To-
night I leave on Jasper's horse, which he is good enough
to lend me.' «

* You do not know my father. He is not alone — Mr.
Coyshe is with him. I cannot answer for what he may do.'

* Hah ! ' said Martin, ' I see I Jealousy may spur him
on. He knows that we are rivals. Watt, oe off with you
after the horse. Perhaps it would be better if I were to
depart. I would not spare that pill-compounding Coyshe
were he in my power, and I cannot expect him to spare
me.' He spoke, and his action was stagy, calculated to
impress Eve.

* My dear Walter,' said Mart.in, • go to Morwell some
other way thaii the direct path ; workmen may be about —
the hour is not so late.'

The boy did not wait for further orders.

* You need not fear for me,' said the escaped convict.
* Even if that despicable roll-pill set off to collect men, I
would escape him. I have but to leave this spot, and I am
safe. I presume not one of my pursuers wiU be mounted.*

''m

336

EVE

* Why have you a fire here ? '

* The fire matters nothing,' said Martin grandly ; • in-
deed ' — he collected more fircones and threw them on —
* indeed, if the form of the hare is to be discovered, let it
be discovered warm. The hunters will search the im-
mediate neighbourhood, and the hare will be flying far, far
away.'

* You know best, o^ course ; but it seems to me very
dangerous.'

* I laugh at danger ! ' exclaimed Martin, throwing a fag-
got on the flames. * I disport in danger as the seamew in
the storm.' He unfolded his arms and waved them over
the fire as a bird flapping its wings.

' And now,' he went on, ' I leave you — you — to that
blood-letter. "Why do I trouble myself nbout my own
worthless existence, when you are about to fall a prey to
his ravening jaw ? No, Eve, that must never be.'

* Martin,' said Eve, * I must really go home. I only
ran here to warn you to be off, and to tell you something.
My father has just said that my mother was your
sister.'

He looked at her in silence for some momerits in real
astonishment — so real that he (popped his affocted attitude
and expression of face.

* Can this be possible ! '

' He declared before Mr. Coyshe and me that it was so.'

* You have the same name as my lost sister,' said,
Martin. * Her I hardly remember. She ran away from home
when I was very young, and what became of her we never
heard. If my father knew, he was silent about his know-
ledge. I am sure Jasper did not know.'

* And Mr. Barret, the manager, did not know either,'
added Eve. * When my mother was with him she bore a
feigned name, and said nothing about her parents, nor told
where was her home.'

Then Martin recovered himself and laughed.

' Why, Eve,' said he, ' if this extraordinary story be

<►-»

A SHOT

337

true, I am your uncle and natural protector. This has
s'>ttled the matter. You shall never have that bolus-maker,
leech-applier, Coyshe. I forbid it. I shall stand between
you and the altar of sacrifice. I extend my wing, and you
take refuge under it. I throw my mantle over you and
assure you of my protection. The situation is really —
really quite dramatic'

' Do not stand so near the edge of the precipice,' pleaded
Eve.

* I always stand on the verge of precipices, but never
go over,' he answered. 'I speak metaphorically. Now,
Eve, the way is clear. You shall run away from home as
did your mother, and you shall run away with me. Re-
member, I am your natural protector.'

' I cannot — I cannot indeed.' Eve shrank back.

* I swear you shall,' said Martin impetuously. * It may
seem strange that I, who am in personal danger myself,
should consider you : but such is my nature — I never
regard self when I can do an \eroio action. I say, Eve,
you shall go with me. I am a man with a governing will,
to which all must stoop. You have trifle 1 with the doctor
and with me. I hate that man though I have never seen
him. I would he were here and I irould send him,' spec-
tacles and all '

' He does not wear spectacles.'

' Do not inter upt. I speak symbolically. Spectacles
and all, I repeat, with his bottles cf leeches, and pestle and
mortar, and pills and lotions, over the edge of this precipice
into perdition. Good heavens ! if I leave and you remain,
I shall be coming back — I cannot keep away. If I escape,
it must be vrith you or not at all. You have a horse of
your own : you shall ride with me. You have purse :
fill it and bring it in your pocket. Diamonds, silver spoons
— anything.'

She w^as too frightened to know what to gay. He,
coward and bully as he was, saw his advantage, and as-
sumed tl?v to»e of Wuster? ' Po you iw^erst^nd me ? ^

.tf';

■M.

338

EVE

vill not be trifled with. The thing is settled : you come
with me.'

' I cannot — indeed I cannot,' said Eve despairingly.

* You little fool ! Think of what you saw in the theatre.
That is the proper sphere for you, as it is for me. You
were bom to live on the stage. I am glad you have told
me what became of my sister. The artistic instinct is in
us. The fire of genius is in our hearts. You cannot drag
out life in such a hole as this : you must come into the
world. It was so with your mother. Whose example can
you follow better than that of a mother ? '

' My father would '

* Your father will not be surprised. What is bom in
the bone comes out in the flesh. If your mother was an
actress — you must be one also. Compare yourself with
your half-sister. Is there soul in that mass of common-
place ? Is there fire in that cake ? Her moth ou may
be certain, was a pudding — a common vulgar su ^^ adding.
We beings of Genius belong -to another world, and we must
live in that world or perish. It is settled. You ride with
me to-night. I shall introduce you to the world of art,
and you will soon be its most brilliant star.'

' Hark ! ' exclaimed Eve, starting. * I heard some-
thing stir.'

Both were silent, and listened. They stood opposite
each other, near the edge of the precipice The darkness
had closed in rapidly. The cloudy sky cut off the last
light of day. Far, far below, the river cast up at one
sweep a steely light, but for the most part of its course it
was lost in the inky murkiness of the shadows of mountain,
forest, and rock.

Away at a distance of several miles, on the side of the
dark dome of Hingston Hill, a red star was glimmering —
the light from a miner's or moorman's cabin. The fire
that flickered on the platform cast flashes of gold on the
nearest oak boughs, but was unable to illumine the gulf of
darkness that yawned under the forest trees,

A SHOT

339

Martin stood facing the wood, with his back to the
abyss, and the light irradiated his handsome features.
Eve timidly looked at him, and thought how noble he
seemed.

' Was it the sound of a horse's hoof you heard ? ' asked
Martin. ' Walter is coming with Jasper's horse.'

' I thought a bush moved,' answered Eve, ' and that I
heard a click.'

' It is nothing,' said Martin, ' nothing but an attempt
on your part to evade the force of my argument, to divert
the current of my speech. You women squirm like eels.
There is no holding you save by running a stick through
your gills. Mind you, I have decided your destiny. It
will be my pride to make a great actress of you. What
applause you will gain I What a life of merriment you
will lead ! I shall take a pride in the thought that I have
snatched you away from under the nose of that doctor.
Pshaw 1' — he paused — * pshaw 1 I do not beheve that
story about your mother being my sister. Whether she
were or not matters nothing. You, like myself, have a
soul, and a soul that cannot live on a farmyard dungheap.
What is that ! I hear a foot on the bracken. Can it be
Watt?'

He was silent, listening. He began to feel uneasy.
Then from behind the wood came the shrill clangour of a
bell.

' Something has happened,' said Eve, in greaii terror.
* That is the alarm bell of our h use.'

* My God I ' cried Martin, * wliat is Watt about ! He
ought to have been here.' In spite of his former swagger
he became uneasy. ' Curse him, for a dawdle ! am I going
to stick here till taken because he is lazy ? That bell is
ringing still.' It was pealing loud and fast. * I shall leave
this rock. If I were taken again I should never escape
more. Seven years ! seven years in prison — why, the best
part of my life would be gone, and you — I should see you no
more. When I came forth you would be Mrs. Sawbones.

-• !

340

EVE

I swear by God that shall not be. Eve I I will not have
it. If I get off, you shall follow me. Hark ! I hear the
tramp of the horse.'

He threw up his hands and uttered a shout of joy. He
ran forward to the fire, and stood by it, with the full glare
of the blazing fircones on his eager face.

* Eve ! joy, joy ! here comes help. I will make you
mount behind me. We will ride away together. Come,
we must meet Watt at the gate.'

A crack, a flash.

Martin staggered back, and put his hand to his breast.
Eve fell to her knees in speechless terror.

* Come here,' he said hoarsely, rnd grasped her arm.
' It is too late : I am struck, I am done for.'

A shout, and a man was seen plunging through the
bushes.

* Eve ! ' said Martin, * I will not lose you.' He dragged
her two paces in his arms. All power of resistance was
gone from her. * That doctor shall not have you — I'll
spoil that at least.' He stooped, kissed her lips and cheek
and brow and eyes, and in a moment flung himself, with
her in his arms, over the edge of the precipice into the
black abyss.

CHAPTEE LH.

THE WHCxjE.

A MOMENT later, only a moment later, and a moment too
late, Mr. Jordan reached the platform, having beaten the
branches aside, regardless of the leaves that lashed his face
and the brambles that tore his hands. Then, when he saw
that he was too late, he uttered a cry of despair. He flung
his gun from him, and it went over the edge and fell where
it was never found again. Then he raised his arms over
bis head and clasped them, and brought them down on his

THE WHOLE

341

hair — he wore no hat ; and at the same time his knees
gave way, and he fell fainting on his face, with his arms
extended : the wound in his side had reopened, and the
blood burst forth and ran in a red rill towards the fire.

A few minutes later Jasper came up. Watt was at the
gate with the horse. They had heard the shot, and Jas-
per had run on. He was followed quickly by Walter, who
had fastened up the horse, unable to endure the suspense.

* Mr. Jordan is shot,' gasped Jasper, ' Martin has shot
him. Help me. I must staunch the wound.'

' Not I,' answered the boy ; * I care nothing for him. I
must find Martin. Where is he? Gone to the hut ? There
is no time to be lost. I must find him — that cursed bell is
ringing.'

Without another thought for the prostrate man, Walter
plunged into the coppice, and ran down the steep slope to-
wards the woodcutter's hovel. It did not oocur to Jasper
that the shot he had heard proceeded from the squire's
gun. He knew that Martin was armed. He supposed that
he had seen the old man emerge from the wood, and, sup-
posing him to be one of his pursuers, had fired at him and
made his escape. He knew nothing of Eve's visit to the
Baven Rock and interview with his brother.

He turned the insensible man over on his back and dis-
covered, to his relief, that he was not dead. He tore open
his shirt and found that he was unwounded by any bullet,
but that the old self-inflicted wound in his side had opened
and was bleeding freel} . He knew how to deal with this.
He took the old man's shirt and tore it to form a bandage,
and passed it round him and stopped temporarily the ebb-
ing tide. He heard Walter calling Martin in the wood.
It was clear that he had not found his brother in the hut.
Now Jasper understood why the alarm-bell was ringing.
Barbara had discovered that her father had left the house,
and, in fear for the consequences, was summoning the
workmen from their cottages to assist in finding him.

Watt reappeared in great agitation, and, without cast-

34«

EVE

ing a look at the insensible man, said, ' He is not there,
he may be back in the mine. He may have unlocked thn
boathouse and be rowing over the Tamar, or down — no —
the tide is out, he cannot get down.' Then away he went
again into the wood.

Mr. Jordan lay long insensible. He had lost much
blood. Jasper knelt by him. All was now still. The bell
was no longer pealing. No step could be heard. The bats
flitted about the rock ; the fire-embers snapped. The wind
sighed and piped among the trees. The fire had communi-
cated itself to some dry grass, and a tuft flamed up, then
a little spluttering flame crept along from grass haulm and
twig to a tuft of heather, which it kindled, and which flared
up. Jasper, kneeling by Mr. Jordan, watched the progress
of the fire without paying it much attention. In moments
of anxiety trifles catch the eye. He dare not leave the
old man. He waited till those who had been summoned
by the bell came that way.

Presently Ignatius Jordan opened his eyes. * Eve ! ' he
said, and his dim eyes searched the feebly-illum'<'ated
platform. Then he laid his head back again on the moss
and was unconscious or lost in drea: i: —Jasper could not
decide which. Jasper went to the fire and threw on some
wood and collected more. The stronger the flame the more
likely to attract the notice of the searchers. He trod out
the fire where it stole, snakelike, along the withered grass
that sprouted out of the cracks in the surface of the rock.
He went to the edge of the precipice, and listened in hopes
of hearing something, he hardly knew what — a sound that
might tell him Walter had found his brother. He heard
nothing — no dip of oa<rs, no rattle of a chain, from the
depths and darkness below. He returned to Mr. Jordan,
and saw that he was conscious and recognised him. The
old man signed to him to draw near.

' The end is at hand. The blood has nearly all run out.
Both are smitten — both the guilty and the guiltless.'

Jasper supposed he was wandering in his mind.

THE WHOLE

343

' I will tell you all/ said tlie old man. ' Yon Are hor
brother, and ought to know.'

' You are speaking cf my lost sister Eve ! ' said Jaspor
eagerly. Not a suspicion crossed his mind that anything
had happened to the girl. ^

' I shall soon rejoin her, and the other as well. I would
not speak heforo hecauso of my child. I could not bear
that she should look with horror on her father. Now it
matters not. She has followed her mother. The need for
silence is taken away. Wait ! I must gather my strength.
I cannot speak for long.'

Then from the depths of darkness below tbo rock, came
the hoot of an owl. Jasper knew that it was Watt's signal
to Martin — that he was searching for him still. No an-
swering hoot came.

• You went to Plymouth. You saw the manager who
had known my Eve. What did he say ?'

' He told me very little.'

' Did he tell you where she was ? '

' No. He saw her for the last time on this rock. He
had been sent here by her father, -v^ho was unable to keep
his appointment.'

• Go on.'

' That is all. She refused to desert you and her child.
It is false that she ran away with an actor.'

• Who said she had ? Not I — not I. Her own father,
her own father— not I.'

• Then what became of her ? Mr. Barret told me he
had been to see her here at Morwell once or twice whilst
the company was at Tavistock, and found her happy. After
that my fathor came and tried to induce her to return to
Buckfastleigh with him.'

Mr. Jordan put out his white thin hand and laid it on
Jasper's wrist. /

• You need say no more. The end is come, and I will
tell you all. I knew that one of the actors came out and
saw her — not once only, but twice — and then her father

344

EVE

came,%nd she met him in secret, he-e in the wood, on this
rock. I did not Ini-^w that he whom she met was her
father. I supposed she was still meeting the actor pri-
vately. I was jealous. I lo^^ed Eve. Oh, my God ! my
God ! ' — he put his hands against his temples — * when
have I ceased to love her ? '

He did not speak fo?; some moments. Again from the
c^pths, but more distant, came the to-whoo of the owl.
Mr. Jordan remo\tjd his hands from his brow and laid
them fiat at his side on the rock.

* I was but !i country gentleman, with humble pursuits
— a silent man, who did not care for society — and I knew
that I could not compare with the witty attractive men of
the world. I knew that Morwell was a solitary place, and
that there were few neighbours. I believed that Eve was
unhappy here : I thought she was pining to go back to the
merry life she had led with the players. I thought she was
weary of me, and jl svis jealous— jealous and suspicious. I
watched her, and when I found that she was meeting some-
one in secret here on this rock, and ihat she tried to hide
from me especially that she was doing this, then I went
mad — mad with disappointed love, mad with jealousy. I
knew she intended to run away from me.' He made a sign
with his hand that he could say no more.

Jasper was greatly moved. At length the mystery was
being levealed. The signs of insanity in the old man had
disappeared. He spoke with emotion, as was natural,
but not irrationally. The fact of being able to tell what
had long been consuming his mind relieved it, and perhaps
the blood he had lost reduced the fever which had produced
hallucination.

Jasper said in as quiet a voice as he could command,
• My sister loved you and her child, and had no mind to
leave you. She was grateful to you for your kindness
to her. Unfortunately her early life was not a happy one.
My father treated her with harshness and lack of
sympathy. He drove her, by his treatment, from home.

THE WHOLE

345

Now, Mr. Jordan, I can well believe that in a fit of
jealousy and unreasoning passion you drove my poor sister
away from Morwell — you were not legally married, and
could do so. God forgive you ! She did not desert you :
you expelled her. Now I desire to know what became of
her. Whither did she go ? If she be still alive, I must
find her.'

* She is not aUve,' said Mr. Jordan.

Then a great horror came over Jasper, and he shrank
away. ' You did not drive her in a fit of desperation to —
to self-destruction ? '

Mr. Jordan's earnest eyes were fixed on the dark night
sty. He muttered — Lhe words were hardly audible —
5i iniquitates observaveris, Domine : Domine, quis sus-
tinebit?

Jasper did not catch what he said, and thinking it was
something addressed to him, he stooped over Mr. Jordan
and said, ' What became of her ? How did she die ?
Where is she buried ? '

The old man raised himself on one arm and tried to
sit up, and looked at Jasper with quivering lips ; then
held his arm over the rock as, pointing to the abyss,
* Here ! ' he whispered, and fell back on the moss.

Jasper saw that he had again become unconscious.
He feared lest life — or reason — should desert him before
he had told the whole story.

It was some time befor*.- the squire was able to speak.
When consciousness returjied he bent his face to Jasper,
and there was not that flick»;r and wildness in his eyes
which Jasper had observed at other times, and which had
made him uneasy. Mr. Jordan looked intently and steadily
at Jasper.

' She did not run away from me. I did not drive her
from my house as you think. It can avail notliing to
conceal the truth longer. I did not wisli that Eve, my
child, should know it ; but now — it matters no more.
My fears are over. I have nothing more to disturb me.

346

EVE

I care for no one else. I saw my wife on this rock meet
the actor, I watched them. They did not know that I
was spying. I could not hear much of what they said ;
I caught only snatches of sentences and stray words. I
thought he was urging her to go with him.'

* No,' interrupted Jasper, 'it was not so. He advised
her not to return with her father, but to remain with you.'

• * Was it so? I was fevered with love and jealousy. I
heard his last words — she was to be there on the morrow.
Midsummer Day, and then to give the final decision. If I
had had my gun I would have shot him there, but I was
unarmed. All that night I was restless. I could not
sleep ; I was as one in a death agony. I thought that Eve
was going to desert me for another. And when on the
morrow. Midsummer Day, she went at the appointed hour
to the Raven Rock, I followed her. She had taken her
child — she had made up her mind — she was going. Then
I took down my gun and loaded it.'

Jasper's heart stood still. Now for the first time he
began to see and feaj- what was coming. This was worse
than he had anticipated.

* I crept along behind a hedge, till I reached the wood.
Then I stole through the gate under the trees. I came
beneath the great Scotch piae ' — he pointed in the direction.
* She had her child with her. She had made up her mind
— so I thought — to leave me, and take with her the babe.
That she could not leave. Now I see she took it only that
she might show the little thing to her father. I watched
her on the rock. She kissed the babe and soothed it, and
fondled it, and sang to it. She had a sweet voice. I was
watching — ^there — and I had my gun in my hands. The
man was not come. I saw rise up before me the life my
Eve would lead ; I saw how she would sink, how the man
would desert her, and she would fall lower ; and my child,
what would become of my child ? Then she turned and
looked in my direction. She was listening for the step of
her lover. She stooped, and laid the ^;hild on the moss,

THE WHOLE

347

where I lie now. I suppose it opened its eyes, aaid she
began to sing and dance to it, snapping her fingers as
though playing castanets. My heart flared within me, my
hand shook, and God knows how it was — I do not. I
cannot say how it came about, but in one moment the gun
was discharged and she fell. I did not mean to kill her
when I loaded it, but I did mean to kill the man, the
seducer. But whether I did it purposely then, or my
finger acted without my will, I cannot say. All is dark
to me when I l^^^ik back — dark as is the darkness over the
edge of this rock.'

Jasper could not speak. He stood and looked with
horror on the wounded; wretched man.

'I buried her,' said Mr. Jordan, *in the old copper-
mine — long deserted, and only known to me — and there
she lies. That is the wnole.'

Then he covered his eyes and said no more.

CHAPTEE Lm.

BY LANTERN-LIGHT.

When Barbara had finished her needlework, the wonder
which had for some timt n obtruding itself upon her —
what had become of Eve — became prominent, and awoke
a fear iri her lest she should have run off into the wood to
Martin. She did not wish to think that Eve would do
snch a thing: but, if she were not in the house, and
neither her step nor her voice announced her presence,
where was she? Eve was never able tc amuse herseK, by
herself, for long. She must be with someone — with a
maid if no one else were availJibk. She had no resources
in herself. If she were with Ja^)er, it did n'^t matter ;
but Barbara hardly thought Eve was with him.

- She laid aside her needlework, looked into her sister's
room, without expecting to see Eve there, then descended

348

EVE

and sought Jane, to inquire whether her father had given
signs of being awake by knocking. Jane, however, was
not in the pantry nor in the kitchen. Jane had not been
seen for some time. Then Barbara very softly stole
through the hall and tapped at her father's door. No
answer. She opened it and looked in. The room was
quite dark. She stood still and listened. She did not
hear her father breathe. In some surprise, but hardly yet
in alarm, she went for a candle, and returned with it to
the room Mr. Jordan occupied. To her amazement and
alarm, she found it empty. She ran into the parlour — no
one was there. She sought through the house and garden,
and stables — not a sign of her father anywhere, and»
strangely enough, not of Eve, or of Jane either. Jasper,
likewise, had not been seen for some time. Then, in her
distress, Barbara rang the alarm-bell, long, hastily, and
strongly. When, after the lapse of some while spent in
fruitless search, Barbara arrived at the Eaven Kock, she
was not alone — two or three of the farm labourers and
Joseph the policeman were with her. Jane had found her
sweetheart on his way to Morwell to visit her. The light
of the fire on the Rock, iMumining the air above the trees,
had attracted tlie notice of one of the workmen, and now
the entire party came on to the Rock as Mr. Jordan had
finished his confession, and Jasper, sick at heart, horror-
stricken, stood back, speechless, not able to speak.

Barbara uttered a cry of dismay when she saw her
father, and threw herself on her knees at his side. He
made a sign to her to keep back, he did not want her ; he
beckoned tc Jasper,

' One word more,' he said in » low tone. * My hours
are nearly over. Lay us all three together — my wife, my
child, and me.'

' Papa,' said Barbara, • what do you mean ? what is
the matter ? '

He paid no attention to her. * I have told you where
she lies. When you have recovered my poor child '

£y LANTERN-LIGHT

349

* What child ? ' asked Jasper.

* Eve ; what other ? '

Jasper did not understand, and supposed he was wan-
dering.

He — your brother — leaped off the precipice with her
in his arms.'

* Papa ! ' cried Barbara.

* She is dead — dashed to pieces — and he too.'
Barbara looked at Jasper, then, in terror ran to the

edge. Nothing whatever could be seen. That platform
of rock might be the end of the world, a cliff jutting forth
into infinite space and descending into infinite abysses of
blackness. She leaned over and called, but received no
answer. Jasper could hardly believe in the truth of what
had been said. Turning to the policeman and servants,
he spoke sternly : * Mr. Jordan must be removed at once.
Let him be lifted very carefully and carried into the house.
He has lain here already unsuccoured too long.'

' I will not be removed,' said the old man ; ' leave mo
here, I shall take no further harm. Go — seek for the body
of my poor Eve.'

' John Westlake,' called Barbara to one of the men,
•give me the lantern at once.' The man was carrying
one. Then, distracted between fear for her sister and
anxiety about her father, she ran back to Mr. Jordan to
know how he was.

* You need be in no immediate anxiety about him,'
^aid Jasper. ' It is true that his wound has opened and
bled, but I have tightly bandaged it again.'

Joseph, the policeman, stood by helpless, staring
blankly about him and scratching his ear.

Then Barbara noticed a blanket lying in a heap on the
rock — the blanket Jasper had brought to his brother, but
which had been refused. She caught it up at once and
tore it into shreds, knotted the ends together, took the
lantern from the man Westlake, and let the light down
the face of the crag. The la»tern was of tin and born,

3SO

EVE

and through the sides but a dull light was thrown. She
could see nothing — the lantern caught in ivy and heather
bushes and turned on one side ; the candle-flame scorched
the horn.

*I can see nothing,' she said despairingly. 'What
shallldol'

Suddenly she grasped Jasper's hand, as he knelt by
her, looking down.

* Do you hear ? '

A faint moan was audible. Was it a human voice, or
was a bough swayed and groaning in the wind ?

All crowded to the edge and held their breath. Mr.
Jordan was disregarded in the immediate interest attaching
to the fate of Eve.

No other sound was heard.

Jasper ran anC gathered fir and oak branches and
grass, bound them into a faggot, set it on fire, and threw
it over the edge, so that it might fall wide of the Eock and
illumine its face. There was a glare for a moment, but
the faggot went down too swiftly to be of any avail.

Then Walter, whom none had hitherto observed, pushed
through, and, without saying a word to anyone, kicked off
his shoes and went over the edge.

* Let him go,' said Jasper as one of the men endea-
voured to stay him ; * the boy can climb like a squirrel.
Let him take the lantern, Barbara, that he may see where
to plant his foot and what to hold.' Then he took the
blanket rope from her hand, raised the hght, and slowly
lowered it again beside the descending boy.

Watt went down nimbly yet cautiously, clinging to ivy
and tufts of grass, feeling every projection, and trying
with his foot before trusting his weight to it. He did not
hurry himself. He did not regard those who watched his
advance. His descent was in zigzags. He crept along
ledges, found a cleft or a step of stone, or a tuft of
heather, or ^ stem of iv^. AU at once he grasped tho
lanterut

BY LANTERN-LIGHT

351

' I see something ! Oh, Jasper, what can it be ! '
gasped Barbara.

* Be careful,' he said ; * do not overbalance yourself.'

* I have found /ier,' shouted Watt ; ' only her — not
him.'

' God be praised ! ' whispered Barbara.

* Is she alive ? ' called Jasper. ^

* I do not know, I do not care. Martin is not here.'
'Now,' said Jasper, 'come on, you men — that is, ail

but one. We must go below ; not over the cliff, but ro'nd
through the coppice. We can find our way to the lantern.
The boy must be at the bottom. She has fallen,' he ad-
dressed Barbara now, ' she has fallen, I trust, among
bushes of oak which have broken the force of the fall. Do
not be discouraged. Trust in God. Stay here and pray.'

* Oh, Jasper, I cannot ! I must go with you.'

* You cannot. You must not. The coppice and bram-
bles would tear your clothes and hands and face. The
scramble is diiBficult by day and dangerous by night. You
must remain here by your father. Trust me. I will do
all in my power for poor Eve. We cannot bring her up
the way we descend. We must force our way laterally into
a path. You remain by your father, and let a man run
for another or two more lanterns.'

Then Jasper went down by way of the wood with the
men scrambling, falling, bursting through the brakes;
some cursing when slashed across the face by an oak bough
or torn through cloth and skin by a braid of bramble. They
were quite invisible to Barbara, and to each other. They
went downward : fast they could not go, fearing at every
moment to fall over a face of rock ; groping, struggling as
with snakes, in the coils of wood ; slipping, falling, scram-
bling to their feet again, calling each other, becoming
bewildered, losing their direction. The lantern that Watt
held was quite invisible to them, buried above their heads
in the densest undergrowth. The only man of them who
capae unhurt out of the coppice was Joseph, who, fearing

352

EVE

for his face and hands and uniform, unwilling that he
should appear lacerated and disfigured before Jane, instead
of finding his way down through the brush, descended
leisurely by the path or road that made a long circuit to
the water's edge, and then ascended by the same road
again to the place whence he had started.

Jasper, wh6 had more intelligence than the rest, had
taken his bearings, before starting, by the red star on the
side of Kingston Hill, that shone out of a miner's hut
window. This he was able always to see, and by it to
steer his course ; so that eventually he reached the spot
where was Watt with the lantern.

* Where is she ? What are you doing ? ' he asked
breathlessly. His hands were torn and bleeding, his face
bruised.

'Oh, I do not know. I left her. I want to find
Martin — he cannot be far off.'

The boy was scrambling on a slope of fallen rubble.

*I insist. Watt: tell me. Give me the lantern at
once.*

* I will not. She is up there. You can make out the
ledge against the sky, md by the light of the fire above ;
but Martin — whither is he gone ? '

Then away farther down went the boy with his lantern.
Instead of following him, Jasper climbed up the rubble
slope to the ledge. His eyes had become accustomed to the
dark. He distinguished the fluttering end of a white or
light- coloured dress. Then he swung himself up upon the
ledge, and saw, by the faint light that still lingered in the
sky, the figure of a woman^ — of Eve — lying on one side,
with the hands clinging to a broken branch of ivy. A
thick bed of heather was on this ledge — so thick that it
had prevented Eve from rolling off it when she had fallen
into the bush.

He stooped over her. He felt her heart, he put his
ear to her mouth. Immediately be called up to Barbara,
* She is alive, but insensible,'

By LANTERX-LIGHT

353

Then he put his hands to his mouth and shouted to
the men who had started with him.

He was startled by seeing Watt with the lantern close
to him : the light v/as on the boy's face. It was agitated
with fear, rage, and distress. His eyes were full of tears,
sweat poured from his brow.

* Why do you shout ? ' he said, and shook his fist in
Jasper's face. * Have you no care for Martin ? I cannot
find him yet, but he is near. Be silent, and do not bring
the men here. If he is alive I will get him away in the

boat. If he is dead ' then bis sobs burst forth.

• Martin ! poor MartiL \ where can he be ! Do not call :
let no one come here. Oh, Martin, IMartin ! ' and away
went the boy down again. * Why is she fallen here and
found at once, and he is lost ! Oh, Martin — poor Martin ! '
the edge of the rock came in the way of the light, and
Jasper saw no more of the boy and the lantern.

Unrestrained by what his youngest brother had said,
Jasper called repeatedly, till at last the men gathered
where he was. Then, with diflficulty Eve was moved from
where she lay and received in the arms of the men below.
She moaned and cried out with pain, but did not recover
consciousness.

Watt was travelling about farther down with his dull
light, sometimes obscured, sometimes visible. One of the
men shouted to him to bring the lantern up, but his call
was disregarded, and next moment Watt and his lantern
were forgotten, as another came down the face of the cliff,
lowered by Barbara.

Then the men moved away with their burden, and one
went before with the light exploring the way. Barbara
above knelt at the edge of the rock and prayed, and as she
prayed her tears fell over her cheeks.

At length the little cluster of men appeared with their
light through the trees, approaching the Rock from the
wood ; they had reached the path and were coming along
it. Jasper took the lantern and led the way.

354

EVE

* Lay her here,' he said, ' near her father, where there
is moss, till we can get a couple of gates.' Then, sud-
denly, as the men were about to obey him, he uttered an
exclamation of horror. He had put the lantern down
beside Mr. Jordan.

'Stand back,' he said to Barbara, who was coming up,
• stand back, I pray you ! '

But there was no need for her to stand back : she had
seen what he would have hidden from her. in the dark-
ness and loneliness, unobserved, Mr. Jordan had torn
away his bandages, and his blood had deluged the turf.
It had ceased to flow now — for he wa^ dead.

CHAPTER LIV.

ANOTHER LOAD.

The sad procession moved to Morwell out of the wood,
preceded by the man Westlake, mountr d on Jasper^ horse,
riding hard for the doctor. Then came a stable-boy with
the lantern, and after the light two gates — first, that on
which was laid the dead body of Mr. Jordan ; then another,
followed closely by Barbara, on which lay Eve hieathing,
but now not even moaning. As the procession was half
through the first field the btll of the house tolled. West-
lake had communicated the news to the servant-maids, and
one of them at once went to the bell.

Lagging behind all came Joseph Woodman, the police-
man. The King of France in the ballad marched up a
hill, and then marched down again, having accomplished
nothing. Joseph had reversed the process : he had lei-
surely marched down the hill, and then more leisurely
marched up it again ; but the result was the same as that
attained by the King of France.

On reaching Morwell Jasper said in a low^ voice to the
men, • You must return witli me : there is another to be

ANOTHER LOAD

i55

sought for. Who saw the boy with the lantern last ? He
may have found him by this time.'

Tlien Joseph saifl slowly, • As I was down by the
boat-house I saw something.'
What did you see ? '

' I saw up on the hill-side a lantern travelling thi."? way,
then that way, so ' — he made a zigzag indication in the air
with his finger. • It went very slow. It went, so to
speak, like a drop o' rain on a window-pane, that goes this
way, then it goes a little more that way, then it goes quite
contrary, to the other side. Then it changes its direction
once again and it goes a little faster.'

' I wish you would go faster,' said Jasper impatiently.
' What did you see at last ? '

' I'm getting into it, but I must go my own pace,' said
Joseph with unruffled composure. * You understand me,
brothers — I'm not speaking of a drop o' rain on a window-
glass, but of a lantern-light on the hill-side — and bless
you, that hill- side was like a black wall rising up on my
right hand into the very sky. Well then, the light it
travelled like a drop o' rain on a glass — first to this side,
then to that. You've seen drops o' rain how they travel '
— he appealed to all who listened. * And I reckon you
know how that all to once like the drop, after having
travelled first this road, then that road, in a queer con-
trary fashion, and very slow, all to once like, as I s&id,
down it runs like a winking of the eye and is gone. So
exactly was it with thinky (that) there light. It rambled
about on the face of the blackness : first it crawled tiiis
way, then it crept that ; always, brothers, going a little
lower and then— to once — whish ! — I saw it shoot like
a falling star — I mean a raindrop — and I saw it no
more.'

'And then?'

' Why — and then I came back the same road I went
down.'

* You did not go into the bushes in search ? '

356

EVE

* How should I ? ' answered Joseph, ' I'd my best uni-
form on. I'd come out courting, not thief-catching.'

' And you know nothing further ? '

' How should I ? Didn't I say I went back up the road
same way as I'd conie down ? I warn't bound to get my
new cloth coat and trousers tore all abroad by brimbles,
not for nobody. I know my duty better than that. The
county pays for 'em.'

Directed by this poor indication, Jasper led the men
back into the wood and down the woodman's truck
road, that led by a long sweep to the bottom of the
clififs.

The search was for a long time ineffectual ; but at
length, at the foot of a rock, they came on the object of
their quest — the body of Martin — among fragments of
fallen crag, and over it, clinging to his brother with
one arm, the hand passed through the ring of a battered
lantern, was Walter. The light was extinguished in the
lantern and the light was beaten out of the brothers.
Jasper looked into the poor boy's face — a scornful smile
still lingered on the lips.

Apparently he had discovered his brother's body and
then had tried to drag it away down the steep slope to-
wards the old mine, in the hopes of hiding there and find-
ing that Martin was stunned, not dead ; but in the dark-
ness he had stumbled over another precipice or slidden
down a run of shale and been shot with his burden over a
rock. Again the sad procession was formed. The two
gates that had been already used were put in requisition a
second time, and the bodies of Martin and Watt were
carried to Morwell and laid in the hall, side by side, and
he who carried a light placed it at their head.

Mr. Coyshe had arrived. For three of those brought
in no medical aid was of avail. -

Barbara, always practical and self-possessed, had
ordered the cook to prepare supper for the men. Then the
two dead brothers were left where they had been laid, with

:)r^t:

ANOTHER LOAD

357

the dull lantern burning at their head, and the hungry
searchers went to the kitchen to refresh.

Joseph ensconced himself by the fire, and Jane drew
close to him.

* I reckon,' said the policeman, ' I'll have some hot
grog.' Then he slid his arm round Jane's waist and said,
' In the midst of death we are in life. Is that really, now,
giblet pie ? The cold joint I don't fancy '—ho gave Jane a
smack on the cheek. ' Jane, I'll have a good help of the
giblet pie, please, and the workmen can finish the cold
veal. I like my grog hot and strong and with three lumps
of double-refined sugar. You'll take a sip first, Jane, and
I'll drink where your honeyed lips have a-sipped. When
you come to consider it in a proper spirit ' — he drew Jane
closer to his side — * there's a deal of truth in Scriptur'. In
the midst of death we are in life. Why, Jane, we shall
enjoy ourselves this evening as much as if we were at a
love-feast. I've a sweet tooth, Jane — a very sweet tooth.'

CHAPTER LV.

WHAT EVERY FOOL KNOWS.

Jaspeb stood on the staircase waiting. Then he heard a
step descend. There was no light : the maids, in the ex-
citement and confusion, had forgotten their duties. No
lamp on the staircase, none in the hall. Only in the latter
the dull glimmer of the horn lantern that irradiated but
did not illumine the faces of two who were dead. The oak
door at the foot of the stairs was ajar, and a feeble light
from this lantern penetrated to the staircase. The window
admitted some greyness from the overcast sky.

' Tell me, Barbara,' he said, * what is the doctor's
report ? '

Jasper ! ' Then Barbara's strength gave way, and

358

EVE

she burst into a flood of tears. He put his arm round lier,
and she rested her head on his breast and cried herself
out. She needed this relief. She had kept control over
herself by the strength of her will. There was no one in
the house to think for her, to arrange anything ; she had
the care of everything on her, beside her great sorrow for
her father, and fear for Eve. As for the servant girls, they
were more trouble than help. Men were in the kitchen ;
that sufficed to turn their heads and make them leave un-
done all they ought to have done, and do just those things
they ought not to do. At this moment, after the strain,
the presence of a sympathetic heart opened the fountain of
her tears and broke down her self-restraint.

Jasper did not interrupt her, though he was anxious to
know the result of Mr. Coyshe's 'jxamination. He waited
patiently, with the weeping girl in his arms, till she looked
up and said, * Thank you, dear friend, for letting me cry
here : it has done me good.'

' Now, Barbara, tell me all.'

' Jasper, the doctor says that Eve will live.'

* God'r; name be praised for that ! '

' Bui iie says that she will be nothing but a poor cripple
ail her days.'

* Then we must tako care of her.'

* Yes, Jasper, I will devote my life to her.*

* We will, Barbara.'

She took his hand and pressed it between both hers.

' But,' she said hesitatingly, * what if Mr. Coyshe '

She did not finish the sentence.

' Wait till Mr. Coyshe claims her.'

* He is engaged to her, so of course he will, the more
readily now that she is such a poor crushed worm.'

Jasper said nothing. He knew Mr. Coyshe better than
Barbara, perhaps. He had taken his measure when he
went with him. over the farm alter the signing of the
will.

' This place is hers by her father's will,' said Jasper;

WHAT EVERY FOOL KNOWS

359

' and, should the surgeon draw back, she will need you and
me to look after her interests.'

* Yes,' said Barbara, ' she will need us both.*

Then she withdrew her hands and returned upstairs.

A ew days later Mr. Coyshe took occasion to clear the
ground. He explained to Barbara that his engagement
must be considered at an end. He was very sorry, but he
must look out for his own interests, as he had neither
parent alive to look out for them for him. It would be
quite impossible for him to get on with a wife who was a
cripple.

' You are premature, Mr. Coyshe,' said Miss Jordan
stiffly. ' If you had waited till my sister were able to
speak and act, she would have, herself, released you.'

* Exactly,' said the unabashed surgeon ; ' but I am so
considerate of the feelings of the lady, that I spare her the
trouble.'

And now let us spread the golden wings of fancy, and
fly the scenes of sorrow — but fly, no j in space, but in time ;
measure not miles, but months.

It is autumn, far on into September, and Michaelmas
has brought with it the last days of summer. Not this
the autumn that \v^e saw coming on, with the turning dog-
wood and bird-cherry, but another.

In the garden the colchicum has raised its pale lilac
flowers. The Michaelmas daisy is surrounded by the
humming-bird moth with transparent wings, but wings
that vibrate so fast that they can only be seen as a quiver
of light. The mountain ash is hung with clusters of
clear crimson berries, and the redbreasts and finches are
about it, tearing improvidently at the store, thoughtless
of the coming winter, and strewing the soil with wasted
coral.

Eve is seated in the sun outside the house, in the {gar-
den, and on her knees is a baby — Barbara's child, and yet
Eve's also, for if Barbara gave it life, Eve gave it a name.
Before her sister Barbara Imeels, now just restored from

\ ,

36o

EVE

lier confinement, a little pale and large in eye, looking up
at her sister and then down at the child. Jasper stands
by contemplating the pretty group.

' Eve,' said Barbara in a low tremulous voice, ' I have
had for some moiit} .? on my heart a great fear lest, when
my little one came, I should love it with all my heart, and
rob you. I had tb<> same fear before I married Jasper,
lest he should snatcl. some of my love away from the dear
suffering sister who needs all. But now I have no f)Uch
fear any more, for love, I find, is a great mystery — it is
infinitely divisible, yet ever complete. It is like' — she
lowered her voice reverently — * it is like what we Catholics
believe about the body of our Lord, the very Sacrament of
Love. That is in Heaven and in every church. It is on
every altar, and in every communicant, entire. I thought
once that when I had a husband, and then a little child,
love would suffer diminution — that I could not share love
without lessening the portion of each. But it is not so.
I love my baby with my whole undivided heart ; I love
you, my sister, equally with my whole undivided heart ;
and I love my husband also,' she turned and smiled at
Jasper, ' with my very whole and undivided heart. It is a
great mystery, but love is divine, and divine things are
perceived and believed by the heart, though beyond the
reason.'

' So,' said Eve, smiling, and with her blue eyes filling,
' my dear, dear Barbara, once so prosaic and so practical,
i.T becoming an idealist and poetical.'

' Wherever unselfish love reigns, there is poetry,' said
Jasper ; ' the sweetest of the songs of life is the song of
self-sacrificing love. Barbara never was prosaic. She
was always an idealist ; but, my dear Eve, the heart needs
culture to see and distinguish true poetry from false senti-
ment. That you lacked at one time. That you have now.
I once knew a little girl, light of heart, and loving only
self, with no earnest purpose, blown about by every
caprice. Now I see a change — a change from base ele-

WHAT EVERY FOOL KNOWS ^

361

nient to a divine presence. I see a sweet face as of old,
but I see something in it, new-born ; a soul full of self-
reproach and passionate love ; a heart that is innocent as
of old, but yet that has learned a great deal, and all good,
through suffering. I see a life that was once purposeless
now instinct with purpose —the purpose to live for duty, in
self-sacrifice, and not for pleasure. My dear Eve, the
great and solemn priest Pain has laid his hands on you
and broken you, and held you up to Heaven, and you
are not what you were, and yet — and yet are the same.'

Eve could not speak. She put her arms round hei
sister's neck, and clung to her, and the tears flowed from
both their eyes, and fell upon the tiny Eve lying on the
knees of the elder Eve.

But though they were clasped over the child, no shadow
fell on its little face. The baby laughed.

•

Some years ago — the author cannot at the moment say
how many, nor does it matter -he paid a visit to Morwell,
and saw the sad havoc that had been wrought to the vene-
rable hunting-lodge of the Abbots of Tavistock. The old
hall had disappeared, a floor had been put across it, and it
had been converted into an upper and lower story of rooms.
One wing had been transformed into a range of moclol
cottages for labourers. The house of the Jordans was now
a farm.

The author asked if he might see the remains of anti-
quity within the house.

An old woman who had answered his knock and ring,
replied, ' There are none— all have been swept away.'

' But,' said he, • in my childhood I remember that the
place was full of interest ; and by the way, what has be-
come of the good people who lived here ? I have been in
another part of the country, and indeed a great deal
abroad.'

' Do you mean Mr. Jasper ? '

* No ; Jasper, no— the name began with J.'

362

EVE

* The old Squire Jordan your honour means, no doubt.
He be dead ages ago. Mr. Jasper married Miss Jordan —
Miss Barbara we called her. When Miss Eve died, they
went away to Buckfastleigh, where they had a house and
a factory. There was a queer matter about the old
squire's death — did you never hear of that, sir ? '

' I heard something ; but I was very young then.'
' My Joseph could tell you all about it better than I.'
' Who is your Joseph ? '

' Well, sir, I'm ashamed to say it, but he'ii n , sweet-
heart, who's been a-courting of me these fifty year, '
' Not married yet ? '

* He's a slow man is Joseph. I reckon he'd 'a' spoken
out if he d been able at last, but the paralysis took 'm in
the legs. He put off and off — and I encouraged hj;n all I
could ; but he always was a slow man.'

* Where is he now?'

* Oh, he's with his married sister. He sits in a chair,
and when I can I run to 'm and take him some backy or
barley-sugar. He's vastly fond o' sucking sticks 0' barley-
sugar. Gentlefolks as come here sometimes give me a
shilling, and I lay that out on getting Joseph what he
likes. He always had a sweet tooth.'

' Then you love him still ? '

The old woman looked at me with surprise. Her hand
and head shook.

' Of course I does : love is eternal — every fool knows
that.'

THB EKD.

i.-.