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^ /APPLIED IMHGE I,

1653 East Main Street

Rochester. New York 14609 USA

(716) 482 - 0300 - Phone

(716) 288 -5989 -Fox

inc

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'7 '/

f- '

Sc. "

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

MOYLE
CHURCH-TOWN

A NOVEL

JOHN TREVENA

ALFRED A. KNOPF

NEW YORK

1915

^■^

Ctftyright in tht Britisk Emfir* hy
MiUt &• Boon Limittd

Printtd in Grtat Britain bf IViUiam Brtndon 6* Son LimiM
Pljm'^th, Bnglaml

0y4iJ4»i

CONTENTS

CHAPTB*
I.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.
XIII.

PART I

A Few Lines of Forgotten History
John Clabar is Dismissed and Red

Cap Appears ....
A Couple of Uncommon Gentlebien
A Peculiar Visitor to Coinagehall
Jacob Hears Good Tidings
Cherry Comes to Her Father's

Cottage
Ruth Receives the Spring
The Place is Haunted
A Sad Dog Tells His Story
Sir Thomas Opens His Book
Ruth Comes to the End of her

Captivity

The Adventures of Ruth IN Fairyland 113
The Attorney Enjoys a Stroke. of

Great Good Fortune . . .127

PACK

19
30

45
59
64
72
87

PART II

I. The Coming of a New Religion 139

II. The Ingenious Mr. Francis Barclay 151

III. Jacob Plays a Game of Find the Lady 163

vii

vitt CONTENTS

CH APTBIl •■»—

IV. Ruth Begins to Travel . . • i75
V. The Quack Doctor Swears to Amend i88
VI. Two Young People Fall Out upon

THE Way 202

VII. Certain Curious Discoveries are

Made 210

VIII. Two Young People Try to Settle
their Differences in the Usual

Manner 222

IX. Martin is Expelled from the Wood-
lands 234

X. The Younger Son does but Little

Good for Himself . . 246

PART III
I. Ruth and her Medical Attendant

Arrive at Salisbury . . . 258
II. A Foolish Old Gentleman Entertains

Two Distinguished Guests . . 266

III. A Very Curious Form of Hospitality 283

IV. Ruth Continues her Travels . . 298
V. Jacob Gives a Party . .313

VI. A Day of Quarrels Ending Well . 323

VII. Jacob's Last Stake . . . -333

VIII. Jacob Argues fcr the Last Time . 343

IX. Only John Clabar is Unhappy . 352

X. The Great Fire and What Followed 364

MOYLE GHURCH-TOWN

PART I

CHAPTER I

A FEW LINES OF FORGOTTEN HISTORY

There was never a place like Cornwall for ghosts
and fairies. People far east of Tamar might boast
of local imps and apparitions ; nor would any envious
Saxon deny that Dartmoor was a famous upland with
its dancing maidens, mischievous pixies, whist-hounds,
and hunting parsons, whose bodies were as dead as
door-nails, but whose spirits frisked maliciously upon
earth, until " laid " by the spells of magic in snuff-
boxes and beer-bottles. Besides, the evil one himself
was always going up and down between Tavistock
and Widdecombe, collecting the signatures of those
who were ready to dispose of their souls in return for
services. Did he not once have a set-to with Sir
Francis Drake ; from which contest my lord Beelzebub
retired with two of the blackest eyes ever recorded,
and a nose which had never been so mauled since
St. Dunstan caught it in his pincers ?

If any man declares that Cornish ghosts and fairies
are not superior to all British imps and apparitions,
whatsoever, we challenge that person to meet us
next full moon upon the summit of Whist Tor
— ^now known as Yes Tor — ^where the Master of the
Black Hunt was wont to kennel the Windy Hoimds ;

2 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

and there, having pommeled him sorely with fist and
argument, we shall leave him to be pinched to death.

" Ah I here's an error in the first page," cries the
man with the long forefinger. " West-country fairies
are as British as a Yorkshire boggart."

Wise man, remember we are dealing with the
crooked writing and yellow parchment of folk-lore :
these records are much decayed, the sheets fall to
pieces in our hands, while the ink comes away in flakes.
Hast ever heard of the man in the moon ? Of course
you have, but that is no reason why you should point
the long forefinger and look ctmning. The man in
the moon is British for this reason :

Once upon a time the territory which is now the
moon broke off from this earth ; and if it had not
broken off it must have become a part of the British
Empire ; while the man in the moon would have
pulled a stick from his faggot, fastened to it the Union
Jack, and sung " By Jingo 1 " ever afterwards. That
is good folk-lore reasoning and sound romantic logic.
Some of us happen to know that, when the moon was
switched off into space, there was no West of England
beyond Pljmiouth : daiing folk will argue there was
no Plymouth either, but we shall reply that, as the
Sound was there, the town could not have been far
off. The very day after the man in the moon left
with all his land — it is clearly established that he was
being troubled a great deal by certain commissioners
who lived in mud huts beside the Thames upon the
precise site where, by a curious coincidence, certain
speech-grinding chambers were subsequently erected
— a mighty wave struck the extreme western coast ;
and when it had subsided the mayor and corporation
of Plymouth were amazed to behold, floating to-
wards them, a big island, which had obviously just
risen from the bottom of the sea ; for it was all wet
and glistening, besides being covered with shell-
fish and seaweed. It reached the mainland with

LINES OF FORGOTTEN HISTORY 3

such a bump that the mayor and corporation fell in
a dignified fashion upon their backs, while those of
no account sprawled anyhow upon their faces : re-
covering their feet, they hastened to explore the
island, which had already fastened itself to the main-
land, so neatly tha.t not even a seam was visible ;
and quickly dis'-overed it to be populated by all
sorts of ghosts, fairies, witches and giants, some of
whom ran off into Devonshire at once, and took to
Dartmoor, where they have remained ever since.
The people of Plymouth were excited, for even in
those days such an event was of no ordinary occurrence.
They had heard about the unpatriotic conduct of the
man in the moon, and how he had quitted because of
taxes ; therefore they comprehended that a new
piece of territory had been added to the mainland
by what the town clerk called the law of compensation.
The mayor happened to notice what appeared to him
as a huge wall — it was really a giant's castle — so he
said to one of his Vices, "If we could get over that
wall we might grow com." Town coimcUlors and
vulgar people took up his words : one cried " Com ! "
another shouted " Wall ! " And finally they agreed
to call the new country Cornwall.

This must be true history, because it is sound folk-
lore ; and it entirely explains why the good Coraish-
man has ever since claimed to belong to a coimtry
whose connection with the rest of England is nothing
more than a sentimental one. It also explains why
the " naughty folk " of Comwall are not British : they
are a race apart, and once upon a time they all lived
together at the bottom of the sea. As a matter of
fact they live there at the present time ; because an
hundred years ago they became frightened by the
alphabet, and before they had recovered properly
from that shock they were stunned by the railway.
Witches and fairies are not afraid of parsons and
lawyers, but they cannot endure alphabets and rail-

(

4 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

ways. So soon as a little girl learnt to read and write
C-a-t, the fairies ran away from her. And immediately
the railway came bustling through the land, giants
and witches, not only retired from business, but
departed altogether. Some full moon we shall stand
upon the summit of Whist Tor at midnight, light our
candle and whistle for our book, and then perhaps we
shall explain this thing also.

CHAPTER II

JOHN CLABAR IS DISMISSED AND RED CAP APPEARS

Nobody in the church-town of Moyle questioned
the existence of ghosts and fairies during the reign
of Queen Anne. If there were angels upon the scale
of creation higher than mortals, then it was only
reasonable to suppose there were fairies below. The
curate, in his earnest fashion, insisted upon the angels,
and proved their existence at least once yearly by
Greek quotations from the Fathers, and Latin passages
from Pagan writers, before an indifferent and slumber-
ing congregation ; the curate being far more learned
than his vicar, who was a great personage, fuU of
honours and offices, and one of Her Majesty's chaplains
to boot, but he had never been to Cornwall in his
life. Neither had any angels visited that neighbour-
hood within living memory, although visitors from
the lower end of the scale were plentiful. Toby
Penrice could hardly cross the fields, upon one of his
courting expeditions, without running into a revel
of little people ; while every respectable fisherman or
labourer had some tale to tell at the close of day :
how he was called to the help of some fairy wench in
difficulty, or had discovered some maliceful little
demon chopping at his nets.

There was Mother Gothal who lived in a hovel upon
Poldrifty Downs ; an old witch who turned flour into
sand, and had ruined, according to that greater witch
gossip, many a maiden who had been foolish enough
to pass the hag without wearing a charm. There

6 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

were Sir Thomas Just and his Lady Manuela, both
of whom had lately arrived from the East, fully
qualified to practise all the higher enchantments.
There was also the little attorney, Jacob Grambla,
respected by everybody and feared by all. He, it
was believed, had parted with his soul to the devil,
and some of the more daring tongues would dwell
upon the exact occasion when ♦he transaction was
completed ; that fearful night vhen the window of
the lawyer's office shone with a horrible blue light,
while laughter as feariul sounded along the single
street of Moyle, so that even the curate dared not go
to bed \mtil he had fastened a pentacle upon his door-
post.

No coaches passed through Moyle church-town;
nor were there any roads in the modem sense. Deep
lanes afforded the only means of entering the place ;
they were so steep and rough that it was a dan-
ger to descend them after dark, and so well hidden
from the fields above as to be death-jumps for the
fox-hunters. The inhabitants were hemmed in upon
every side by moor and sea. The market-folk who
came into Moyle every Saturday moromg, to buy and
sell and chatter, were not visitors, ►^ut parishioners
who knew every yard of the way and despised its
dangers. The lanes were noisy each Saturday evenmg,
when the good folk, many of them ripe, were returning
to their lonely homesteads ; and it was a pvetty sight
to watch their lights drifting in a long procession
across the downs ; for each cart or jingle carried a
great lantern and a crowbar, which was necessary to
remove rocks which ad fallen from the banks or
sometimes to raise j vehicle when it had plunged
into a fathom of t ^.

Jacob Grambla was busy upon mr-'-et-days. He
appeared upon Moyle street, always t .c and frown-
■"g, never chattering idle gossip ; buc reaching one
larmer after another, touching him lightly with one

JOHN CLABAR IS DISMISSED 7

finger — startling the poor fellow — and whispering,
"Do ye need me, friend ? Can I be of some service
to you ? " Many a yeoman, strong in the arm but
dull in the head, resisted voice and sting for years,
but 3aelded at last ; while the commoner people went
with him, not willingly, for they were afraid of the
little lawyer, but, much like the children, compelled
to follow the pied piper, they entered the office in the
middle of Moyle church-town, and were none of them
much the richer for their visit. But every man had
his trouble, and each woman her difficulty ; and there
was nobody in their small world able to give advice
and help save Jacob Grambla.

No tongue called a pleasantry to him. No hand
stayed the meagre figure in dirty black suit, little
shrunken wig, small-clothes unfastened at the knees,
and worsted stockings creased upon ^!te shanks. The
majority were glad to see him depart from them.
Yet some, who had fallen into perU of debt, would
wait, and hope in a fearful fashion, for that sliding
tread, thrilling finger-touch, and question of judgment,
" Do ye need me, friend ? "

One evening Jacob scurried up to"/n in his shadow-
less way — he would spend half a day upon the downs
— passed up the steps beneath the signboard " Jacob
Grambla, Attorney at the law," entered the office,
which consisted of two " rooms " ; a hen-coop at
the back, where John Clabar sat half the day brooding,
the other half copying ; a rabbit-hutch in the front,
where a small quaint window bellied into the street —
pedestrians after dark collided with it and cursed such
architecture — a kind of parchment cupboard where
all manner of secrets lay in dust, where the hates of
the parish thrilled and its conscience mattered ; and
here Jacob pulled up his stockings, scried at the cob-
webs, crackled a deed, kicked at the turves on the
hearth — for it was roaring March and misty — then
whispered gently :

8 MOYLE CHXJRCH-TOWN

" John Clabar is there. I cannot see him, but he
hears me speaking. What is he doirtg ? What has he
been doing these twenty years ? "

" Thinking," a voice replied from the dark back-
ground.

" Thinking for twenty years ! Then he is now a
wise man, a philosopher. He should visit the book-
sellers of London, and ask them what offer they make
for the thoughts of twenty years. He should issue
a prospectus and invite subscriptions for his printed
thoughts. No, no, John Clabar. It will not do.
Your thoughts are not worth one penny. I have
been thinlung for more than twenty years — but I
think in guineas. You think in pens and pothooks.
I will ask you questions, Joh.. ; I will examine you.
Out of the wisdom of twenty years you shall answer.
What think you of me, John Clabar ? What manner
of man am I — not as an attorney at the law, not as
a master. Am I not a charitable man ? "

" I care not," replied the trembling voice.

" He cares not," said the frowning Jacob. " Yet he
has sat at my elbow for twenty years. That was not
wisdom answering, John Clabar. It was the truth.
To care not is to think ill. Is it not true gossip will
say to neighbour, ' This Grambla has sold his soul to
the devil ? ' Do you believe I have sold my soul,
John Clabar ? "

" Why do you ask these questions ? What matters
it to me what contract you have signed ? I share not
in your profits," said the vo'-^e.

" Why, that is a pood answer, a pretty argument.
Ecce signiun, John Clabar ! Neither do you share
the loss. If the devil comes for me, rot one spell
do you mutter, not an abracadabra do you whispei.
No partnership, no fellowship. Is that the motto of
a trusted servant ? "

There ca .e a fluttering in the coop, and out of the
darkness proceeded the white-lined face of a weary

me," Jacob muttered.
Why did ye not answer

and to get guineas we
we scheme ; and to get

JOHN CLABAR IS DISMISSED 9

scribbler. The head was grey, for this clerk wore his
own hair like all poor men, while his clothes were so
black they could not be seen against that background.

" When did I swear to be your trusted servant ? "
asked the head.

" The dog would bite
" Blockhead, John Clabar !

me straight ? No devil can claim what no man has.
Souls I They be for curates. Bodies are for the world,
and guineas are for bodies ;
think; and to get guineas

guineas we catch fools, John Clabar," said Jacob, his
voice ending in the hoarsest whisper.

" The sands are out," Clabar muttered, one white
hand indicating an hour-glass at his side, the other
stealing for his hat.

" Clerk reminds preacher that the congregation
wakes," sneered Jacob. " The work is over — ^the
last pen mended — and now you would go. The sands
are running out, John Ciabar. I will provide you a
discourse from that text, but I would not weary you.
My firstly for to-day, and my secondly for to-morrow.
I shall now discuss charity, that most excellent virtue,
lacking which no man may prosper ; but let him not
forget, John Clabar, where the good thing has its
beginning, or he shall walk bare-footed in the world.
Twenty years you have mended my pens and copied
my crabbed hand, out of charity, for I did not need
you. Have I not often taken my ease in this chair,
that I might afford you occupation — out of charity ?
And each Saturday have I not rendered you one
guinea— out of charity ? One thousand and forty
golden guineas have passed from this hand to that.
A fortune, a heap of gold, a hill of silver, a mountain
of copper I How many folk in Moyle parish, or, for
cliat matter, how many between here and Tamar,
shall go to their mattress or hole in the wall, and dis-
cover there one half of a thousand and forty guineas.

10 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

to bring gladness to the eye and un honest smart to
the body ? Yet such a fortune I have lavished upon
you, John Clabar, out of charity."

" Was there no debt ? " the voice muttered.

" A debt ! No, by all the angels ! Would rob me
of my virtue, ungrateful scoundrel ? Would repay me
always with a peevish face and whining tongue ?
Go, John Clabar ! Go to your home, and thank God
for it— and make much of it. My secondly you shall
hear to-morrow."

Even in those days a Comishman's to-morrow did
not mean the next day. When Jacob stretched him-
self in bed he had a fit of shivering ; he felt sick when
he looked out upon a raw March morning r he per-
ceived that the atmosphere around him was charged
with witchcraft ; and while drinking the small beer,
and consuming the sUce of pig's cheek, which the
maiden Ruth placed upon his breakfast table, he
muttered the names of Sir Thomas Just and Lady
Manuela several times. Then he scurried from Coinage-
hall, as his house was named ; flitted through the lanes
with the rapid but silent progress of a raven ; came
out upon Poldrifty Downs— more easy in mind when
his face felt the wind, and the toes of his great square
shoes kicked crooked stems of heather — until he drew
up at the entrance to the hut where Mother Gothal
lived.

" An accursed home— God bless it," the attorney
mumbled, as he groped through a cloud of peat-smoke.
" Mammy, my dear, appear from your hell-fumes.
Jacob Grambla, attorney at the law, waits upon you
with his fee. Come out and advise the adviser of
Moyle parish," he called in a shrill but friendly fashion ;
for with all his learning Jacob had much fear of Mother
Gothal.

" Aw, master, I never looked to see ye so early.
You'm the first to come up to-day," said the old woman
as she crept out to point downwards at the lake of mist

JOHN CLABAR IS DISMISSED

beneath which Moyle church-town lay submerged ;
then putting up a hand to comb the greasy locks from
her furrowed forehead, " I ha' slept ill to-night,"
she said, trying to fold her rags into some semblance
of decency. " The wind was roaring, and the whist-
hounds were abroad."

" You can lay 'em, Mammy. Dogs or devils, you
can lay 'em deep in Dozmare Pool. Bring out a bucket
of fair water. Mammy dear. There's mischief in the
air. I feel it in my heart and in my bones. I want
your eye to see it for me."

" Aw, master, it hain't lawful," began the old
woman faintly.

" I'll tell nobody. If they drag you to the pond,
I will break the lot of them. There's not a body in
Cornwall who can tell the future like old Mother
Gothal. Hark ye, Mammy ! Come nearer — God send
this wind don't carry. Would Sir Thomas and his
lady stoop to me ? "

" You talk so learned, master," the old dame pro-
tested.

" You, a witch, who can mutter the Bible back-
wards ! Play no games with me, or I'll crush your
roof. Who is brewing this trouble for me ? Tell me
that."

The old woman brought the buck«^t of water. The
attorney flung a shilling into it ; then Mother Gothal
bent, muttered a few words, and stared at the reflection
of her harmless old face, and beyond it to the bright
coin at the bottom.

"Do ye see nothing yet ? " cried Jacob, while the
dame was searching her imagination for pictures and
phrases.

" There's a black power agin ye, master," she whis-
pered.

" Let that discover it," Jacob shouted, dropping
a guinea in the water.

" A face I " muttered the old woman, her wits

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

sharpened by the gold. " Master, don't ye stir. A
gentleman, sure enough. He bain't young, nor old
neither."

" Sir Thomas ! " snarled the lawyer.

" Master ! 'tis wrote here in the water, 'tis wrote
large ; beware of money, beware of gold ! " cried
Mother Gothal, her imagination prospering upon
suggestion. " Now the water be black — there's nought
else."

" It was the face of Sir Thomas ? "

" Master, it might ha' been."

" And the gold ? Not the gold of the Clabars ? "

" 'Tis the gold of the man whose face I saw in the
water."

"It is well — it is very well," said the satisfied
attorney. " Sir Thomas would throw no gold at me.
I shall visit you again. Mammy dear. One word
before I go. You know my clerk, John Clabar ? "

" Surely, master."

" He is the last of the house ? "

" Master, you ha' forgot "

" No other man ? "

" His daughter — Cherry."

" Forgot ! " shouted the attorney. " I never was
told. Where is she hid ? The wife died — dieH upon
the straw, with the rain drip, drip upon her," he
muttered.

" I mind the night well," said Mother Gothal.
" 'Twas warm before the big storm, but that dark
you could feel it. I was abed, and heard a voice calling.
Young Squire Clabar "

" He is no squire."

" Well, master, 'twas the name they called 'en.
He was but a boy — young John Clabar — as handsome
a dark lad as ever danced the hay."

" He called you to his wife— and the cliild was born
that night ? "

" As fine a babe, master, as ever I handled."

JOHN CLABAR IS DISMISSED 13

" You carried her away. You made her invisible.
Had you come and told me, I would have filled your
stocking with guineas. Where is the brat ? "

" She is twenty-one years old this day, master.
She was took to Plymouth, where her mother's folks
ha' lived time out of mind. A lady came for the
child, and carried her away. ' Cherry of Coinagehall,'
she i.aid. 'Tis an old name of the Clabars."

" Cherry of Coinagehall," repeated Jacob, com-
pelling his face to smile. " A pretty jest. Mammy.
And John Clabar has deceived me these twenty years."

Jacob Grambla wore the same face for every man.
It was fixed like the surface of a rock, and the changes
upon it were produced by the effects of darkness and
hght, sunshine and storm ; just as '-le stone might be
blackened by rain or whitened by moonshine. Clabar
could not tell whether ^''j man behind that face was
pleased or angry. The .erk reached the steps of the
office — each worn like the stone before some wonder-
working image— at nine by the church clock, and set
the hour-glass running; nine times it had to nm
before the day's imprisonment was over. Eight times
it ran before the attorney spoke :

" 'Tis a pretty hand you write, John Clabar, but,
mark you, there is no knowledge in round writing.
'Tis not the stroke of the t, nor the dot of the i, but
the learning that matters. I write, and you copy ; I
speak, and you echo. A monkey or parrot might do
as well, and cost but litule. The quarry cliff in Bezurrel
Woods will copy words in air. I may stand beside the
water of the pool, and call, ' This indenture witnesseth.'
and the cry is forthwith returned. That is excellent
good copying, but there is no knowledge in it. If I
fall into error, the voice in the air will not correct me."

" I am not here to correct errors. If a word be mis-
spelt in your draft, it is misspelt in my copying," said
Clabar.

" Then I say you are but a simulacrum with the

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

pen," the attorney continued. " I address the cliff,
and am answered without fee ; yet for your answers
I must spend a golden guinea."

" Make echo your clerk," muttered Clabar, with a
show of courage new to him.

" 'Tis a happy thought, John Clabar. I will take
pen, ink, and parchment to Bezurrel Woods, and
bind the echo by indenture. See you not the trend
of my argument ? A dull fellow will always copy the
man who is wise. Will hold his head in the like fashion,
practise his gesture, ay, and imitate the very knot of
his shoe-lace. You record my fault in spelling because,
say you, this Grambla is wise, he has a method in his
error, 'tis some trick of the law. You think well of
me, John Clabar ; you fear me ; you imitate me. I
have a daughter."

The attorney played with these words, and let each
escape him slowly. He stared into the coop, sucked
his lips, while his eyes were fixed upon the nodding
head and the hand which trifled with a sand-box.

"Now is echo dumb," said Jacob. "Cherry of
Coinagehall. A maid twenty-one years of age, dwell-
ing, methinks, in Plymouth. A broad-faced wench,
I warrant ye. Sandy complexion, hair of tow, and
face of freckles."

" You have been to Mother Gothal," said Clabar
quietly.

" I have kept you in my office twenty years, and
now for the fir^.t time you argue conclusions from the
premises."

" And now for the first time you accept an old
woman's tale," the clerk replied.

" A wise woman — ^who would not dare deceive me."

" Who is herself deceived," said Clabar sternly.

"There is deep dealing here." said Jacob, rising
and approaching the coop. " Do you not wonder,
John Clabar, how 'tis the people fear me? Yet
methinks there is no parishioner in Moyle so mean in

JOHN CLABAR IS DISMISSED

stature as myself. You are twice my bulk. You
could at this moment put out your arm, take yonder
shutter, and fell me to the groimd. Ay, any fisher-
wife in Moyle could whip me. Rise, John Clabar !
Get to your home, and again I say make much of it.
Turn not your insolent back upon me, but withdraw
as you would proceed from the presence of the Queen
— and I would have you bow as you depart. Lower,
you rogue ! Walk not as a free man, but slink away
like a dog. A daughter named Cherry ! With that
fruit I will poison ye. How the fool blunders ! Yet
he has twice the size and strength of Jacob Grambla ! "

In the dark of the night Mother Gothal came to
Clabar's mean abode, where he had lived in solitude
for many years, and lifted up her voice in protesta-
tion:

" Aw, Squire, dear 'ad, I ha' told Master Grambla
about the maid, as you bid me ; but trouble will
come of it, I tell ye. He comes and says, ' Scry for
me, Mammy ' ; though I knows no more about such
trade than the simplest maid in Moyle. He fancies
I be a witch, and if I tells 'en I bain't, he don't believe ;
and if I didn't do as he asks of me, he'd be the first
to tie my hands and feet."

" Continue to serve him," said Clabar. " But serve
me too, and if the day ever comes when Coinagehall
is mine "

" It will. Squire. I knows 'twiU."

Clabar held the old woman's arm, and wuispered
at her ear.

" Aw, bless my dear soul and body ! What be
telling to me. Squire ? Wam't I there ? Didn't I
bring the maid into the world ? Didn't her coo to
me ? What maid had ever such a bud of a nose,
and the like of they two little blossoms of eyes, and
such a cherry-ripe skin vn' a dimple grown already ?
Don't ye be so foolish. Squire."

" She herself put it into my mind," said Clabar.

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

r r

" A maid is always in danger. A maid may so easily be
injured."

" Lord love ye, lad ! Master Grambla will ride to
Plymouth, and find out for himself. Or he'l! raise the
devil to tell him."

" Cherry is coming here."

" Alleluia ! " cried the dame. " I don't know what
it means, but I say it to Heaven, and they'll know there
likely. Alleluia, Squire ! 'Tis the beginning of the
end, and the end be always good."

" If I do not go to her, she will come to me. I am
afraid, but she insists," Clabar went on.

" When master comes to puzzle me wi' questions,
I shall tell 'en I mistook," Mother Gothal answered.

The days lengthened, and primroses were budding
in the lanes. It was Sunday, and Clabar, walking out
to win energy from sunshine, met Toby Penrice,
whom he regarded as fool and idler ; for he did no
work, although a man of forty, and lived upon the
money his father had bequeathed to him, lodging in
the house of one Caheme, a rhinder. The usual words
of greeting passed, and Clabar was moving on, when
Toby pushed his hat over one eye, pulled at his long
hair, and asked, " Where be you agoing to live now.
Master Clabar ? "

" I am not shifting," replied the clerk.

" Hey, not shifting ! " cried Toby. " Well, that's
the funniest thing as ever I heard on."

" Who told you I was sliifting ? " asked Clabar.

" Master Grambla told me, and he ha* given me
writing what ses I be to have your cottage this month."

" When did he give you the promise ? "

" Last night."

" Very well, Toby ; I see you know everything.
The cottage belongs to Grambla. He may do what
he wills with it."

The clerk spoke like a man at his ease, but walked
on sick at heart.

JOHN CLABAR IS DISMISSED 17

It was useless to address the attorney, who chose
his own moment to make announcements. Day
after day passed, and it seemed as if the little man
would never speak ; but upon the following Saturday
evening, as dusk drew on, Jacob sat upright over
the ledger, balanced the great book between both
hands, then closed it with a loud report.

" John Clabar, give me signs of your attention,"
he began, speaking more rapidly thaui was his wont.
" You heard the closing of this volume. From to-day
we part. The book is closed. I have drawn the
balance. My fortune would not furnish the rake with
funds for a week's carousal. Give me some signs,
John Clabar."

The clerk rose and walked out into the hutch.
The space was so small that the two men almost
filled it.

" An honest face," the attorney muttered. " If
prayers would give me such a face I would go on my
knees this moment."

" You have givren my home to another. You
brought my father to ruin, my wife to the grave.

And now "

" I have a guinea here — ^your last. Insult me with
lies, and I withhold it. I took you in without one
word of writing ; I gave you a home v,'ithout one word
of writing. As you came, you shall go. The tongue
accepted and the tongue dismisses."

" What ill have I done ? " began Clabar, but
stopped ; for he would not plead.

" If a guinea rolled upon the floor, j'ou would
gather it, and return it to me. If an incautious word
escaped my lips, that you would not retain. You
shall leave Moyle, John Clabar," said Jacob swiftly.
" Never ! " cried the clerk.

" I now dismiss you. Twenty years, days in that
comer, nights in my cottage, have consumed your
manhood. Shame on you, John, to choose a life of

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

f \

charity! Take your guinea. This day sennight
quit your home— and Moyle."

" I will never, so long as I may live, dwell out of
sight of my father's house. That I swear," cried
Clabar loudly.

The attorney said nothing. He had turned from
Clabar towards the window. As that voice rang
out he fell back in a state of terror, reached for his
snuff-box, and plunged into the dust two trembling
fingers. The sound of the door closing behind the
man, who was not again to enter that cramped comer,
caused Jacob to start towards the window.

" Nothing— nothing there," he whispered.

John Clabar descended the worn steps, his head
low, his shoe-laces trailing. His footsteps died away.
It was nearly dark upon the street, and opposite the
rushlights began to glimmer faintly. There was no
rain, but the passing clouds were black. For the
second time a shuffling sounded beneath the window
which bellied into the street ; a red-peaked cap
appeared behind one of the small central panes, two
fixed eyes, a wounded face. An apparition stood
there, staring into the office, its nose against the
glass, one shrunken finger pointing at Jacob Grambla,
who had not strength to stretch his hand towards
the shutter.

CHAPTER Til

A COUPLE OF UNCOMMON GENTLEMEN

The light was fading as a carriage drew up at the door
of a small inn. A grave gentleman alighted, wrapped
in a cloak ; his head covered with a black hat of
unusual size, and not of EngUsh make. He entered,
while the landlord followed, honoured by the patronage,
but terrified at the presence, of Sir Thomas Just.

" Sir, you are arrived in good time, for this road
after dark is a peril to man and beast. Sir, there
is a mud-hole yonder which would hold a hay- wain,"
said the bowing and obsequious man. " Sir, permit
me to bring candles — wax candles for your honour —
and to offer you the best entertainment my poor
house affords. Sir, had your honour sent me word
by the mail of your coming, I should have been better
prepared. Sir, is the fire to your liking ? These
turves are not fuel for your honour ; but, alack,
I had no warning. I have charcoal, and fir-logs, ay,
and sea-coal also at the disposal of yt'T honour.
Sir, will it please your honour to be at ease ? "

" Bring logs, and build a cheerful fire," Sir Thomas
ordered. " Weary travellers should be welcomed
by a blaze which polishes the root-beams, not by
yonder handful of red ashes."

" When will it please your honour to dine ? "

" Immediately my guest arrives. Prepare dinner
for two, and bedchambers also."

" Sir ! " exclaimed the troubled landlord. " There
is no other house near, and the last coach has passed."

" Nevertheless, I shall not dine alone. Harkye,

•0 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

landlord I Set a servant, at the door, and bid him
to call me when a traveller passes with his face west-
ward."

Producing a coin, he sent it spinning to the roof,
sajTng, "Heads he comes this way. Tails he does
not. Set your shoe upon the coin, landlord. It has
fallen heads. My thousand guineas to your penny
it is heads."

" Even so, your honour," stammered the worthy
man, while he stared at the enchanted coin.

When the host had hurried out, Sir Thomas laughed
like a boy, then murmured, " To conquer the people
we must play these childish tricks. This coin is but
a brass token, bought from a Roman gipsy, with a
head of the goddess Fortune upon each side."

He drew a paper of the Spectator from the folds of
his cloak, and seated himself upon an oaken settle.

The night was barely dark, for less than an hour
had gone, when a voice called at the door. Another
answered— less harsh but a trifle hoarse— and unme-
diately Sir Thomas pushed his paper towards the table
and crossed the room, his face wearing an expression
of great kindness. The fat landlord struck his body
with the opening door, and his ears with the announce-
ment, " Sir, the young gentleman ! "

" Ask him to attend me here," replied the baronet.

"Sir, he is unwilling."

Sir Thomas stepped out, calling in the voice of
authority, " Stay, young gentleman ! You are my
guest to-night."

Taking the stranger— a strong but shrinking youth
— by the hand, he drew him in, and they turned to-
gether, Sir Thomas calling, " Landlord, dinner ! "
before addressing the young traveller with words of
welcoming reproof : " Confess that yonder moorland
offers nothing to equal this glow of firelight upon the
oak, and warm light of candles."

" There will soon be moonshine upon the granite,

UNCOMMON GENTLEMEN

and the gleam of the fairy moss," the young man
answered.

" Good things when a man has dined."

" I have a little bread, and there is alwa3rs water
upon the moor."

" There are robbers upon the highway."

" They cannot rob the traveller who carries no
purse."

"They may kill him before they find he has no
purse. Do you carry a charm ? "

" I have a good one," said the young man. " But
you might curse me if you saw it."

" You do not belong to the wandering race ; you
go alone, and you are too fair. Young man, yonr
fairness puzzles me. You are no Egyptian, and yet
I think you have been with them."

" They are thieves and murderers. The young man
who goes with them is lost. I have been with heroes
who have sailed to the Indies and sunk the French
in every sea — the sailors who roll between Dock and
Plymouth, and are kind to man and beast. You may
tell me God made braver men, but I shall not believe
you."

" God might have made braver, but would not.
What is your charm, young man ? "

"This," said the other; and he crossed himself,
then added, " Now you will let me go."

" Give me your hand," cried Sir Thomas, starting
forward.

The landlord meanwhile had retired to the kitchen,
where — after boxing the ears of the cook-maid for
neglecting the spit— he detained his busy wife with
dark sayings :

" I like not the looks of that young man. He is no
honest mortal, I tell ye, Bess."

" All sorts come to an inn. His honesty don't matter
to we," replied the woman.

" You don't come to my point, Bess. I say he

.li

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWr

ant honest flesh and soul like me and you. Sir Thomas
says, 'Dinner and chambers for two, landlord,' then
he whistles in a manner of his own, and this young
gentleman comes along the road."

" Did hear him whistle ? " asked she.

" My ears were charmed," he explained. " I like
not the face o' mun. 'Tis the face of body without
soul. 'Tis more of a spiritual complexion than a
mortal face. 'Tis a knavish face, too, I warrant."

" Sir Thomas may call all the saints and devils in
Cornwall, if he do but i-ay the reckoning, say I. Let
the young stranger be, master; for, mind ye, Sir
Thomas listens to every word you'm saying," the
housewife whispered.

" My dear soul I " muttered the simpleton. " Can
he hear through two walls ? "

" Through twenty, if he sets his mind to it. An't
he a magician, and an't he been reading from his
book this last hour ? "

" Didn't the horseshoe drop down from the door
last night ? " cried the cook-maid.

"So it did— get on with thy duties, hussy ! "
shouted the master, " Bess, my woman, 'tis an ill
night for we. Last week was bom in this parish a
lamb which had one head, and two bodies, and eight
legs. 'Tis a warning to all men speedily to repent
and to meet the Lord, who gives us these signs of his
coming. And what am I but a miserable sinner ?
This fowl now roasting for his honour's dinner — aw,
my dear, I stole mun, and that's the truth on't."

He blabbed the confession into his wife's ear lest
the maid should catch it.

" You'm daft," she whispered sharply. " I reared
that fowl myself."

"Ay, but I stole the egg." muttered the land-
lord, drawing his good lady into the passage. " The
Lord will ruin me for a few bits o' shell. I won't tell
ye where I found 'em."

UNCOMMON GENTLEMEN

" Master I " cried the ostler, entering at that
moment from the yard. " There be a big ugly toad
beside the water barrel, and her spits at me every
time I goes by."

" Sir Thomas ha' brought her," cried the land-
lord. " Her will hop into the house, and turn into
an old Jezebel at midnight. I'll tell ye, wife. I went
into Farmer Trezona's yard, and picked up they
eggs. The fowls yonder an't rightly ours, save by
adoption. I'll carry 'em to Trezona's yard, and if
they comes back here — as 'tis their nature to do —
I'll accept it as a sign of forgiveness, and will steal
no more. But harkye, wife, when Sir Thomas puts
the fork into a bit o' breast, and gets the meat into
his mouth, and has a fair proper taste o' mun, he'll
know the truth — the breast be a fearful place for
secrets — he'll know by his magic, and he'll call me
and say, ' Landlord, how comes it this bird was
bom from a stolen egg ? ' "

A door beyond opened, and the baronet's stem
voice was heard calling.

" Coming, sir, coming. Sir, dinner is ready," faltered
the host. "Do ye go in, Bess. I would have you
show cc 'i age. 'i ell him I am taken with a faintness
— a shortness of breath, wife. I go to the cellar,
and on Sunday, Bess — on every Sunday — we will
to church."

The good man retired, while his lady went into
the presence of the guests. As she entered Sir Thomas
was bending at the table to snuff the candles ; and
being a woman of sense, when her mind was not be-
mused by superstition, she was stmck by the kindli-
ness of his face.

" You have but little regard for the stomachs of
hungry men," said the baronet reprovingly.

" Sir, dinner is coming this moment. My husband
is taken with a kind of ague, and I have been attend-
ing to him."

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" Bid him walk outside. The moorland air of
Cornwall is your best physician. You good people
spend too much of your liv. L.c*ween cellar and
latchen. You dwell in th vo.'uir) yet you forget
God made it ; and you wo tU. maki ior yourselves a
httle town in your home."

" Sir, we must stay to receive travellers. Will it
please your honour to drink wine ? " asked the woman
of business.

" If your ale is good, bring us a qua:t. If it is ill,
bring us spring water. How do you answer ? "

" Sir, the ale is good, I know, for I brewed it mjrself ;
audit is made from the spring water of which you speak."

" Then we shall drink it with a relish. Stay, my
good woman ! "

The housewife turned from the door, thinking of
her husband.

" I find a slight rent in my cloak. Bring me presently
a needle and some thread."

" Sir, if you will permit me "

" But I do not. This young gentleman has been
to sea, and he will sail you a cockleshell against any
fisherman in Cornwall. He will also repair this rent
like any goodwife. For you must know the sailor
handles the needle as readily as the oar. He who
fights the ocean by day, and during evening sews
buttons on his small-clothes, is the man for England."

Dinner wa.« then placed upon the table, and par-
taken of by vhe guests with hearty appetite : the
breast of the fowl retaining its secrets, much to the
satisfaction of the host who by now was partaking
of something cordial with the coachman of the baronet,
and was already inclined to forget his resolution to
amend. The night was calm, but the ostler, pointing
to the half moon upon her back over the heights of
granite, prophesied a wind from the north by midnight.

"Now, young sir," began Sir Thomas, when the
cloth had been removed, the candles snuffed, and the

UNCOMMON GENTLEMEN

fire replenished, " you may feel in the mood to tell
me something concerning yourself. I am particularly
desirous of learning what led you to seek membership
in the great and glorious Church which has been the
support of my own family throughout its history.
You have not acquired this savage custom, although
you have been much among the sailors ? " he asked,
extending the long pipe he was about to fill.^
" That would very likely spoil my dinner.'
" I am glad of it. I like not to see a yoi ng man
smoking. It is, as I have said, a savage custom,
borrowed from the Indians— yet methinks soothing.
Men adopt a foul habit during an age of barbarity,
and cannot escape from it when they grow otherwise
refined. Yet no man should use this tobacco until
his beard has come. You shall instead ply the needle
and repair me this rent in my cloak."

" Gladly," said the young man, putting out a firm
hand for the garment, then smoothing the raw edges
with cunning fingers. " Sir, I would do more than
this for you," he went on warmly. " I now ask pardon
for my churlish behaviour, both upon the highway,
when you stopped your carriage and invited me to
ride, and here, in this room, when you pressed me to
be your guest."
" You did not trust me ? "
" Why, sir, to speak plainly, I was afraid."
" You mistrusted my foreign appearance ? "
" I did not know you, sir, and I could not guess
you respected my poverty. The traveller who must
go on foot is the sport of every lackey on horseback.
I was not to know you wished me well, and so in a
spirit of bravado I made the sign of the Cross. Ah,
sir, those who are joined together by that sign may
indeed trust one another."

" You speak well," murmured Sir Thomas, looking
with almost painful interest at the face which was
beautiful in the glow of firelight.

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" I go now to join my father," the youth continued.
" I have lived in the town of Dock with honest folk.
They have a shop which supplies fishermen and sailors
with the articles they require. I served them as
apprentice."

" How did you obtain education ? "

" Sir, I have but little."

" Yet you speak like one of gentle blood."

" An old dame in the same street taught me letters
and figures, but could do no more. I have cried for
books, sir. I would read even political pamphlets
and street ballads till I had them by heart. A few of
my sailor friends lent me books, and one who was —
who liked me well, sir — stole a book for me. Oh, sir !
it was the Bible. Had I reproved him for it, I should
have been a worse sinner than himself. I did not
confess — I could not have parted with the book.
I have it here, in my bundle. I knew God would
pardon me for accepting and keeping it, but I would
rather be punished — ay, suffer many more years
in Purgatory — than have missed it. Sir, when I saw
that paper of the Spectator in your hand, I could have
snatched it from you. If it is written by Mr. Addison,
will you let me read it ? "

"It is written by Mr. Addison, child, and to-
morrow you shall have it for your own," said Sir
Thomas kindly.

" Thank you, sir. Thank you. I do not know
why you are so kind. ^ believe it is your nature that
makes you so, and I know it is your religion. Now
I shall tell you how I was led to the true Church.
There is a Mass-room in Dock. Not many know of
it, but you will know. It is in the house of an Irish
gentleman."

" I have heard of it," said Sir Thomas.

" The priest. Father Daly, goes about in disguise.
An Irish sailor took me to that Mass-room. I had
told him I wanted a religion, and I could not find one

UNCOMMON GENTLEMEN

in the English Church. I was willing to be a Protestant,
if I could find God. But I found nothing there except
half-drunken parsons and snoring congregations. So
I went with my friend to the Mass-room, and during
that hour I seemed to be looking into h aven. Then
Father Daly spoke to me, and was as kind as yourself.
He asked me if I had been baptised, but I did not
know. Yet I could never have been baptised by a
true priest."

" Take i re, young gentleman ! " cried Sir Thomas.

" Do I offend you, sir ? " asked the youth hurriedly.

" Nay, you are pleasing me very well. I would have
you control your voice, for it appears to me yours is
an emotional nature."

" Why, yes, sir," the other murmured, plying the
needle with rapid dexterity.

" It is true that our religion is more favoured
by those who shed tears readily," Sir Thomas con-
tinued. " The priests, I am told, convert very few
men, but women listen to them gladly."

"Are not the people called Nonconformists emotional,
sir — men as well as women ? "

" I am told so," said Sir Thomas gravely. " This is
a heresy which will grow. A wild sect— wild as the
winds of England— but a dangerous. Young sir, you
wonder that I stopped my carriage whe: ^w you
upon the road ? "

" I wonder no longer, now that I know me kind-
ness of your heart."

" Yet it is not my custom to help the wanderer on
his way."

" You would not wish to share your carriage with a

Romany."

" I oleerved you in the clear light walking before
me to the west," said Sir Thomas deliberate' " I
noted how loosely your garments hung about you.
Youngjman, yours is an ill tailor."

" I plead poverty, sir."

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" It is a good defence ; yet you may know a better.
I perceived also the movement of your arms. A man
commonly swings his from the shoulders ; your hands
moved only from the wrists. I saw then your shoes,
although small, were too large ; you limped a trifle,
therefore I knew the largeness of your shoes had caused
blisters. At last I saw your face ; and I ordered the
coachman to halt."

" You thought I was weary, sir ? "

" I had no thought for your 'veariness. I wondered
at your strength, while I admired your features.
You aie marvellously strong, young man."

" I am strong, sir, because I have accustomed my
body to much walking and rowing. Daily I have
used certain exercises shown me by the sailors. I
believe, sir, I can defend myself."

" Yet you are timid."

" I feel a dread of those things I cannot understand.
Sir, I fear spiders."

" Yet they are easily comprehended. By what
name were you received into the Church ? "

" I am called Peter."

Sir Thomas left his seat, and took his stand before
the hearth. The rent in his cloak was b - now repaired.

" Should it not rather have been Pet^onilla ? " he
asked sternly.

" Why, sir ? " the yotmg man muttered.

" Give me the cloak."

The youth held it out, rising as he did so, and saying
hoarsely, "The landlady to-morrow will pass a hot
iron across the stitches."

" I thank you," said the magician, bringing the
work near the candlelight and examining it closely.

" Where does your father live ? " he then asked
sharply.

" Moyle Church-town."

" Ah I " exclaimed Sir Thomas. " I know the
village. Your father dwells there. His name is "

UNCOMMON GENTLEMEN

" John Clabar."

" Know you any others in that parish ? "

" Only by name and report;, sir. I trust to find a
friend for my father and myself in Sir Thomas Just,
who is lord of the place ; for he and his good lady are
both Catholics."

" I will speak well of you ; for Sir Thomas is my
oldest friend, and his lady is very dear to me. To-
morrow you travel to Moyle in my carriage. I go in
that direction also."

" Sir, you are heaping favours upon me."

" Have you not repaired my cloak ? Are we not
both of the true faith ? Nay, more — come, child,
your name ! "

" I have told you, sir."

" Your work betrays you. Each of these fine stitches
is a maiden's signature. You are wise to pass along
tht roads in male attire ; but God made you woman,
therefore nobler than a man, for a woman reigns in
heaven."

" The name by which my father knows me is Cherry,"
she whispered.

" It grows late ; I will now call for candles. May
you sleep, child, as I would have your future to be."

" Will you not tell me your name ? I would use
it in my prayers," she said.

" At a better time and place you shall know my
name," he answered.

The night was wild from midnight to the dawn ;
then all the roads were silent. As the travellers were
about to enter the carriage, which showed darkly
against the morning mist, the landlord, now restored
to his easy confidence, approached Sir Thomas, hat
in hand, and respectfully addressed him :

" Sir, I would wish you to remember I am an honest
m"-i. Sir, I w^ould humbly thank you to strike your
hand upon this penny, and to say what is needful, so
that it may fall heads always at my bidding."

CHAPTER IV

A PECULIAR VISITOR TO COINAGEHALL

Jacob Grambla hurried across his fields by a crooked
pathway. Behind, Moyle lay in darkness ; Coinagehall
in front was black ; above, the sky threatened. The
attorney shivered and chattered as he ran ; for that
pathway continued until it joined a church-way, which
made it haunted ground.

" I know not why we fear these spirits," he cried
aloud. " They do us no hurt ; they may not even
speak till we address them. 'Tis the time of their
coming — twilight, midnight, the hour before dawn. A
man fears nought at midday. 'Tis the staring eye, the
coldness of their presence. They steal no money — they
use no knife. I fear them not, for God is merciful.
He protects his children. Accursed fowls ! " for an owl
had screamed, and another answered. " How they
freeze a man's marrow ! This is not fear — perplexity,
weariness. That movement yonder in the dead fern,
as of some one crawling — not fear. The law is strong.
A wind from off the downs — a. sailful of wind — it plays
at ghost in the dead grass."

Another fearful glance behind, and he reached the
porch. The house was old and much decayed ; for ivy
had loosened stonework, and woodwork had known
no paint for many years. It was a house which groaned
and did not laugh, although it had been merry. Some
of the upstairs rooms, then closed, recalled that mirth,
for they were furnished after a simple fashion, and
feminine trifles were still lying upon shelves : the
drowsy rustling of leaves was their lullaby, the silky

VISITOR TO COINAGEHALL

silence of dust their requiem. But in the garden flowers
of generations ago fought on. The Ciabars had been
rooted out ; yet their poppies and cornflowers — which
passed through all stages of existence in one year —
endured. Stone and mortar were Jacob's ; but the
Ciabars owned the spirit of the place.

" Ruth, my child I " called the attorney, as he
shuffled along a black passage. " Is there no candle in
Coinagehall ? I must procure more light. I must
illumine every window. Ghost and demon — ay, and
red-capped goblins flee from the light. The moon
serves us ill — was made to rule the night, says preacher.
The moon lights no house, save with horror ; a man
will do better with his rushlight. What is the moon
but a thief's lantern ? Hail, holy firelight ! "

Yet Jacob stiffened as he stood in the doorway of
his kitchen, and saw in the only gleam of light between
that place and Moyle the maiden he called daughter.
Ruth sat, or rather crouched, in a rush-bottomed chair ;
her dark hair in confusion, new colour upon her cheeks,
younger life in her eyes ; with her face turned half
fiercely towards the man who owned her feet and
hands, but never yet had sought to win her heart.
For one moment she seemed to threaten. Jacob saw
that and yielded.

" Waiting, Ruth. Waiting and listening," he
whispered.

Creeping forward, he sniffed in the dark comers,
tested the shutters, and looked confounded.

" The man has been here," he muttered.

" Who saw him ? " she cried, springing up from the
low seat. Then she glanced at the door, bit her lower
lip, and turned towards the fire to hide her face.

" Death and confusion ! " cried the lawyer. " An
evil spirit in Coinagehall ! My house is haunted."

" An evU. spirit ! " Ruth repeated. " He is white
in the face — trembling in every limb," she murmured,
watching over her shoulder as Jacob opened the door

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

to listen, and to whisper every moment. " No sound —
no movement. A restless spirit would not lie so quiet."

" Are you afraid ? " she called.

" Nay, child, I do not fear. I have some religion,
I know some spells — I will to Mother Gothal m the
morning. So yon would ask me questions ! " he cried
with a grin. " You would examine me — browbeat
me, I doubt not. Light another candle — light many
— and set them in the comers. Only the wicked love
to sit in darkness. Why did you watch this door ? "

" I heard your footsteps."

" You were never wont to watch for me. What
brings this colom- to your cheeks, this gladness into
your eyes ? Are you in league with the devil and his
angels ? Your mother, I believe, was no better than
a witch." He stopped with a frown, always glancing
from door to window, and shrinking at every move-
ment of the wind. Never before had he mentioned
to Ruth the name of mother.

" Ah ! speak to me of her. Tell me of my mother,"
the girl prayed.

" The devil take you ! " Jacob shouted, glad of the
courage in his voice. " You would ask questions. You
would command. Go to the pot and bring me supper
— and keep that tongue from everlasting chatter."

" May I not know my mother ? " she cried.

" Curse you, wench ! Would you surround me with
spirits of the dead ? "

" She is dead I Ah well, the saddest dreams are
true. I will serve you, Mr. Grambla," she whispered,
and turned towards the '^earth, seeing the flames leap-
ing through a mist of tears.

" Do you no longer call me father ? " demanded
the attorney.

" 'Tis a holy name, and you give me no right to
use it."

" Upon this night you defy me. Why upon this
night do you refuse to call me father ? "

VISITOR TO COINAGEHALL

Upon this night I feel a woman," came Ruth's
clear answer. " The greatest happiness of woman is
to love. So much is it the greatest happiness that
even to minister to a worthy man is a joy to her ; be-
cause, if that is not love, it is at least love's counter-
feit."

" Where did you come by learning ? " asked Jacob
mockingly.

" I was bom with what little I possess."

" A man brings nothing into the world," he mut-
tered. " A woman brings malhecho. That word was
your mother's — she had Spanish blood. Her grand-
father was cast upon the rocks while flying from
Drake's pinnace Minion — you see, I have some history
—even as you shall be, if you defy me. Enough of
this," he cried angrily. " I am not your father, but
your master. I would you had fallen as a child and
bitten out your tongue."

Ruth said no more, but busied herself by preparing
the humble meal ; yet the high colour remained on
her cheeks, and her eyes were bright. She was discover-
ing her woman's strength. Jacob sat huddled in his
chair, its straight back towering high above his head ;
while a clock wheezed and ticked heavily behind,
and the night wind sighed. His head jerked, his
hands twitched. He shuddered again and began to
prowl the kitchen, tapping the woodwork with his
cane. Terror, which made him restless, forced the
question from him, " At what hour did this evil spirit
enter my house ? "

" Not long before sunset," Ruth replied.

" Was he wearing the red cap ? "

Faintly she answered, " Yes."

" So he has terrified you. That is good. You also
feel it. Had he a wounded face ? "

" I did not note it."

" He has a running woimd beneath the cap," said
the attorney with a convulsion of his whole body.

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" He can put it on and off at will. The face is ghastly
—dead flesh with living eyes Did he speak ? "
'' He said he had escaped," she faltered
" From the grave— from hell," cried Jacob wildly.
" What did he say of me ? "
" He made no mention of you."
'' Did he not say what was his business here ? "
'' I believe he had come here by chance."
" You fool ! No spirit acts without design. He
came to Coinagehall that he might stamp his accursed
image upon the rooms and passages. How long did
he remain ? "
'' I know not— I was amazed," said Ruth.
" Did see him withdraw ? "

" One instant he stood there," said Ruth boldly,
yet with a certain cunning, as she pointed at the door-
way. " Then he was gone."

" Ay, 'tis the wa- of them." muttered the haunted
man. " They come like wind at the lattice, and as
suddenly depart. So you addressed him— 'tis true you
have some courage. How did he answer ? "

" He said this was surely a very ancient house. A
good place for a man who would hide :u \y from the
world." Ruth answered with secret joy.
" Did he promise to return ? "
" I did not hear him. He confessed it was a house
much to his liking."

The attorney groaned and came towards the hearth,
pushing his dry hands near the flames. " The spirit
of a Clabar," he muttered. " Listen, girl ! " he cried,
snatching at Ruth's arm. "Last evening, while I
stood beside the window of my office— John Clabar
having departed— this foul creature stood before me
Its ghastly countenance against the glass. John
Clabar is a rogue, child. Mark that well ! A base
feUow, and perchance a wizard. He knows too many
books, he thinks too deeply— he plans to ruin me. I
did my duty by discharging him. This evening was

VISITOR TO COINAGEHALL 35

wild in Moyle. The sun went down in a whirlwind—
a wind of enchantment, I warrant— and again I looked
out, and the evil one was there. Presently he departed,
and with him went the wind. Others have seen him
— Caheme the rhinder, Gweek the fishernian— he made
mouths at them, and they went home sweating He
is but five feet in height, wears a blood-red cap, black
clothing— his neck scaly like a fish, and the face all
dead— a fearful sight ! I have no stomach for my
supper. To-night I fear— to-night . . ." His voice
fadod away into gasps of terror. Shuffling again to
the door, he opened it and listened.

" Do you believe this is John Clabar's work ? "
asked Ruth composedly.

" I fear Sir Thomas has a kindness for the rogue.
If he has whispered to John Clabar. if he has taught
the villain from his books of Eastern magic . . .'*

Again his voice failed, and it was left to Ruth to add,
"Then you are ruined."

Will ye be silent, wench ! " cried Jacob wildly.
" Taunt me no more ; or, by the soul of your witch-
mother, I will whip you soundly."

It so happei.ed that a great calm prevailed outside :
not a leaf of ivy was in motion, not a twig tapped the
windows. Jacob's custom was to retire after supper
to his bedroom adjoining the kitchen, with a quart
of small ale ; and he would nace the floor, weaving his
plots and muttering his pla ."or half the night. At
the usual time he crept away without a word.

Ruth heard the door close— then a sound of scuffling,
a scream which made her tremble ; and Jacob stumbled
back with livid face. A breath of cold air came with
him.

'' He has entered by the window— lain upon my
bed ! Hides now behind the clothes-press ' " he
whispered as if choking.

" Ah, heavens ! I had forgot to close the wmdow "
murmured Ruth, wringing her hands in sore distrei.

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" I'll go there no more," gasped Jacob. " Nay, but
the box beneath my bed— filled with papers, my mort-
gages, my assignments, the deed of Coinagehall, the
ruin of the Clabars. Ruth, I will be a father to ye—
will find ye a rich husband, a man who fears God even
as I — will send you to fair with a golden guinea.
Drive away the evil one, I implore ye. A text of
Scripture — I have forgot. Go with your fingers crossed.
Drive him forth in the holy name. My conveyances,
my parchments, and my guineas ! "

" There is no man," said Ruth calmly, though she
trembled. " If you dare not return alone, walk behini
me. I fear no window open to the night." Then, as
if struck by some memory, she fied from the kitchen,
bearing a lighted candle, and ran to the lawyer's room.

The bed-curtains were drawn back. Some man had
lately been lying there ; for the impression of his
body, and imprint of his head, were deeply made.

" It is true," she called in a troubled voice. " The
man has been here."

" My box 1 " cried Jacob.

" Safe and imtouched. He went away, as I told
you, hours ago."

" Ay, but he will return," the attorney muttered,
as he dared to approach the room. " Why did you not
tell me he entered by this window and spread himself
upon my bed ? "

" I had forgot."

" He laid upon my bed to curse my slimibers — give
me foul dreams. I'll lie here no more. Carry my box
into your chamber. I will lie there. You fear no evil.
Come you into here and sleep."

" Gladly," said Ruth. " But I cannot lift the box
unless you aid me."

Until the sky was grey Jacob sat, surrounded by
candlelight ; and he made no plots. With the coming
of day he slept, but cried out horribly, for Red Cap
was master of his slumbers. When Ruth knocked

VISITOR TO COINAGEHALL

he rose and. having flung on his clothes, came briskly
to the kitchen, a strong man armed by sunshine.

" I go to Mother Gothal for a spell. With it I shall
lay this evil creature/' said he in the voice of confidence.
" When the wicked dies, the spirit must wander, seek-
ing some strong and learned man who may give him
rest ; not parson, mind ye, nor yet whining clerk ;
but the man of the law, the headman, he who guards
the secrets of the people. I'll do it, I warrant. I'll lay
this Red Cap beneath the biggest rock upon the top
of Great Gwentor."

Taking hat and cane, and drawing a cloak about
him— for the little man was careful of his health —
Jacob made bnskly for the outer door, which Ruth
had left open, the morning being bright, the air soft.
One step from the threshold Jacob turned. Sunlight,
streaming into the house and falling upon part of the
unused stairway, showed him footprints dimly out-
lined by the dust.

Jacob advanced to the foot of the stairs and sum-
moned Ruth. She came, and he stepped aside, admit
ting the sun as evidence.

" Who has ascended my stairs ? " he asked.

" I went up to open a window, where I sit and look
out upon the fields," she answered.

" I perceive also the footprints of larger shoes."

" May not the man have gone that way ? "

" Some mystery is here," said the attorney firmly.
" You have not told me all. Did this vile monster
come alone ? "

" I saw no more than one."

" Did see him climb the stairs ? "

" I told you I was amazed."

" During the night I heard movements, as of some
creature passing from room to room."

" I heard the noise of lats, and the scufifling of owls."

" I shall ascend," said Jacob, mounting the first
stair fearfully.

38 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" Take care ! " cried Ruth.

" What mean you ? There was terror in that cry,"
he muttered.

" The rooms are dark."

" Then you shall pass up before me, and throw back
the shutters."

" I dare not," she murmured.

" I thought you had no fear," he scofted.

" I fear this Red Cap. If he placed a hand upon me
I should die with terror."

" Think you he waits in hiding ? I would not
trouble him," said Jacob, shrinking against the panels
of the wall.

" Go up ! " she cried sharply. " Go up, if you dare,
and discover for yourself."

She stepped back into shadow, her bosom heaving,
her hands shaking pitifully. Jacob faltered, and when
she put a hand across her eyes his knees failed so that
he almost fell upon the stairs.

" Nay, I have no spell. I am not armed against the
devil," he cried. " To-morrow I shall be prepared.
I will be master of my house."

Ruth remained in the silent hall, some time after
Jacob had departed, leaning against the blackened
woodwork with her eyes closed ; until the emotion,
and her thoughts of vengeance, passed, and the sun-
shine became pure again. Then she moved like one
aroused from sleep.

" Thank God he did not go up," she whispered.
" Had he done so — ^would they have spared me ? "

Still trembling, she passed into the garden. It was
a happy day of resurrection for trees and plants, of
new life for bees, and release for butterflies. The
breeze came balmy from the sea, scented from the
woodlands of Bezurrel, like sweet wine from Gwentor.
Ruth put back her face to kiss a sunbeam, and, as
her whole body thrilled, she threw out her hands,
crying the one word : " Spring 1 "

CHAPTER V

JACOB HEARS GOOD TIDINGS

By seeing ghosts men may win honour in their own
community. Caheme the rhinder and Gweek the
fisherman, humble parishioners, became in a night
elevated into local demagogues ; a position which, not
knowing how to use, they abused by a wildness of
speech and a staggering gait ; for the temptation to
crack a bottle with ghost-seers was not to be resisted
by the soberest. Even the curate neglected to consider
the hard problem of providing food and clothing for
a wife and eight children upon a stipend of less than
a guinea weekly, in order that he might visit each
celebrity with breathless questions ; receiving such
answers as were suggested by memory, added to
imagination, and confirmed by liquor.

Curate. "It is reported that an apparition has
been seen by you near the office of Mr. Grambla.
As the visit of this unhappy spirit is a great matter
to the parish, and may indeed precede some dire calam-
ity, it is my duty to obtain from your lips a statement
as to time and place, together with a full description,
so that I may prepare a particular account of this
portent for the information of the Vicar, and the con-
fusion of those persons who in their folly deny the
resurrection of the dead."

Caherne. " I saw mun sure enough. Was outside
the window at Master Grambla's, and he stared and
stood, and I could see the wall through the body and
clothes of mun. Was no higher than a pony — four
feet, I reckon — and when he walked he never touched

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

ground, save 'twas a bump here and there, as it might
be a stone jumping down hill. And he wore a hat,
bloody red 'twas — ^lawyer says 'twas a cap, but I
swear to the papist hat — husband o' the scarlet woman
he be, parson. Never made a sound what I could hear.
Got littler and littler till he wam't no more than a dot ;
what jumped about as 'twas a fly, and went out sudden
like."

Gweek. " I saw mun going down Moyle town, to-
wards churchyard, just after the sim went, and the air
was misty like. He looked solid then, and the same
as living folk. He was small at first, no bigger than a
little child, but he got bigger and taller while he went
along, till he got such a monstrous size I couldn't see
nought else for ghost. And he moved heavy, and
dragged himself along so slow he seemed in mortal
pain ; and as he went he breathed out fire and smoke,
that I went faint to see mim. He wore red clothes
and a little yellow cap — ^yellow I knows 'twas, a sort
o' sandy yellow — and he made fearful noises — ^bellowed
like a bull 'a did — ^but I heard no talk what I could
sense. He got bigger, till his head went right into a
monstrous great black cloud along the tucking field,
and he went on blowing fire, and roaring, and he
reached out a great foot as though to kick me ofE
the land, and I fell on my knees, that faint and tremb-
ling, and I knew no more. And God's my witness,
parson, that's the truth."

The curate's knowledge of Greek, Latin, and the
Fathers assisted him not at all to reconcile these
statements. Parishioners in general accepted the story
which each individual fancy had evolved after hearing
the versions of Caheme and Gweek. Nobody could
swear to a personal adventure with a spirit ; yet all
knew others who had been affrighted by some visitation.

When Jacob Grambla beheld a knot of gossips
assembled upon the street, cunning mind conquered
trembling body. " 'Tis an ill day for master when

JACOB HEARS GOOD TIDINGS 41

servants find him whipped," said the mind. Then he
joined the people, giving each one a welcome, and
inquired it anything was amiss.

"The ghost, master ! The ghost ! " cried several voices.

" For shame, neighbours ! Shame upon ye to stand
idle when the sun calls ye to the fields," cried Jacob.
" Seek for ghost upon All Hallows. Tell of them on
Christmas Eve. What is a ghost, neighbours? A
phantom of the dead, as ye know ; and the dead are
more in number than the sand of the shore. If it be
true they watch over us, then are we visible to them.
Why then should they not appear before our eyes ?
The man who sees a ghost may call himself happy,
for part of the mystery of heaven i? ^ .\. ^'"' to him."

"The man's an angel when h . heaven,

master. A ghost, I warrant, is nearer 10 the devil,"
said an old man shrewdly.

" I'll hear no blasphemy," said Jacob sharply. " The
man who sees a phantom receives a blessing. A ghost
comes to warn us our time is short — ^there's a blessing I
He comes to assure us of a future state — ^there's a
blessing ! And he comes to seek a blessing for himself.
This Red Cap, neighbours "

" Did ye speak with him, master ? "

" Ay, I showed him no fear ; for when a man,
mark you, shows terror for a phantom, his heart is
not right — ^he does not love his fellow-creatures. I
put my head out from the window, and inquired his
name and business. He did not tell his name ; per-
chance he has forgot it. He groaned, neighbours, and
said he found no rest ; for he had been murdered, and
the man who killed him lives unpunished — ^in this
parish and church-town of Moyle."
^ A murmuring went up from his listeners, who by
now occupied the whole width of the street.

" Neighbours," continued the triumphant Jacob,
" to whom should this poor spirit come but to the
attorney at the law of Moyle ? "

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" There ha' never been seen the like o' mun in town
or country," cried the old man who knew history.

" He was a sailor, wrecked and cast ashore ; and
his belt was well lined with guineas. His murderer
cast the body back to sea, and 'twas beaten to shreds
against the rocks. Get you to your duties, neigh-
bours," cried the attorney with a wave of the hand.
" And forget not to pray that the parish be not cursed
for one man's sin."

" Who is the man ? " cried some ; but many were
silent, for they had memories of wild nights and
wrecking.

" Nay, friends, am I not a man of Moyle, a parish-
ioner, and one of yourselves ? " Jacob answered with
a smile ; winning the innocent by his loyalty, and
the guilty by his silence. " I guard the secret until
this man turns against me. He is not Caheme, nor
yet Gweek. I know the murderer well, I see him each
day — he is not among you now. He is, I doubt, a
worthless fellow. I go now to the labours of the day
— ^and you have yours."

But none came upon business that morning, although
the curate came for profit ; being minded to write a
volume dealing with Cornish apparitions, which were
numerous, and to carry the manuscript to booksellers
of London ; and the curate had a tedious length of
sentence. After his departure Jacob stepped out, for
the street by now was empty, locked his door, then
went by the stony track ascending Poldrifty and lead-
ing to the hovel of the witch.

" You'm haunte.-, ' said Mother Gothal with a
chuckle, which the attorney attributed to professional
satisfaction of having a case in hand. " I ha' heard
the tale. What Moyle be telling I know. And I know
what Moyle don't. I see whist things up here, master
—I see little folk and black dogs, and brindled cats wi'
tails like trees. As for ghostes, I take no notice o'
they 'cept to brush 'em off. They'm often thick as

JACOB HEARS GOOD TIDINGS

flics. You won't get away from Red Cap, master.
Bless ye I Iknows old Red Cap. One of the artfullest,
he be."

" Give me a spell, Mammy. Tell me how to lay him,"
implored Jacob, cunning man of the world no longer.

" I'll do the best I can, master ; but Red Cap ain't
one of the ordinary. He be what us calls one of the
Devil's Beauties. He won't go for my spells, nor for
your textes neither. Takes a learned man to lay he-
one from Oxford, master, who knows the black-letter ;
or one from the East. A black gentleman from Arabia
would lay him, I warrant, and send him to the Red
Sea for ever and ever. Sir Thomas would lay Red
Cap m his snuff-box, and take no time over it neither ;
but he's a mighty magician, while I be nought but a
poor witch body."

" He has been to Coinagehall — lain upon my bed —
ascended my stairs. I dare not sleep iu my own house."

" Red Cap be a fearful lad, master. I knows 'en
well. I can't do nought save give you a brew to set
upon the doorstep. If he drinks my broth, he'll have
to go, whether he wants to or no. I'll give ye
magic bottle to set aside the brew ; for when he ha.
drunk, he must go into the first thing handy, and that
will be my bottle. Then you must cork 'en m tight,
and bring me the bottle wi' the old lad inside mun.
But harkye, master ! Do ye know what Red Cap
wants with ye ? Have ye spoke to the old lad ? "

" The sight of him dries my tongue. Would you
have me speak to him ? "

" Surely, master. How do us know he ain't been
sent to tell ye something good ? " whispered the old
woman in an artful fashion.

" By heaven ! I never thought of that," cried Jacob.

" You speak to 'en, master. There be as many
different sorts o' ghostes as there be o' folkses. Some
be good, and some be bad. One lot o' ghostes tries to
hurt a man, and another lot does their best vj help

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

him. When I hear the tale I says to myself. This
may be a mighty bit o' luck for master.' "

" Go on, Mammy dear. Go on ! " gasped the lawyer.

" This Red Cap, master, be wonderful well known
to us quality witches. He'm a mischievous lad some-
times, and terrible hard to shake off, but he ain't always
naughty. He'm like mortals, wi' virtues as well as vices.
He be one o' the sort we know as money ghostes."

" Get to the end, Mammy. A money ghost ! You

said money ? " . , „ xv

" Us knows 'en by the red cap," contmued Mother
Gothal. " That be the sure sign of a money ghost.
They comes to poor gentlemen, what be worthy, and
tells 'em of gold hidden m some place, of treasure in

the ground "

" Heavf:i and heU 1 " broke in the lawyer wildly.
" You would fool me— nay, you dare not. Say the
words agam, my beautiful Mammy— gold hidden in
some place ! You know everything. You know I
am poor and— before God— honest. Treasure in the
ground 1 I'll build you a house, buy you a silk gown.
May Red Cap come to-night I I'll speak to him. I want
no brew to drive away good angels. I shall swallow a
bumper of brandy, and so win courage. Gold in the
groimd ! I would dig up Poldrifty Downs to find it."

Mother Gothal sat at the door of her miserable home
and laughed ; while Jacob scurried down the trackway
between golden furze-bushes which smelt to him of

guineas.

" Aw, run, my tawny-faced one, to thy ruin I " she
chuckled. " You come to me, learned man of Moyle,
to the wise woman who knows not the letters of the
alphabet. A ghost is an evil conscience, Jacob Gram-
bla. Eh, eh ! the lone old woman body with a beard
must take to witchery for a living, I warrant my
tawny-faced one would be running t'other way, had
any one told 'en how I love the Clabars— had any one
told 'en Sir Thomas Just was with me yesterday."

CHAPTER VI

CHERRY COMES TO HER FATHER'S COTTAGE

John Clabar arose at the usual time, but his mind
was not fully awake, and he started when sounds
came up from the living-room. A bitter taste of
dreams remained, making new happiness short of
memory. The scene was poverty ; before him lay
homelessness ; behind lurked the savage shape of
the attorney. Yet the sunshine, and that glad voice
singing I

He opened the door and called, " Cherry I "

" Father ! " came the answer.

" I have been starved," Clabar murmured. " That
one word feeds me — the name I have never heard
before though I grow old." Then he called, " I bade
you lie until I came to you."

" Thoughts would not let me stay abed— nor would
my duty. When was a woman last in here ? "

The man could not answer; for her mother had
been the last to keep his home tidy, and she had died
before many of the oaks around had burst from acorns.
He dressed, descended the few stairs, and held out his
arms with the cry, " Cherry, my child ! "

They embraced and were tender to each other.
Had Toby Penrice been at his game of spying, he
must have ridiculed, supposing he had seen two men
in love ; for there was little of the woman about
Cherry save her heart.

" Child ! " she cried merriiy. " A child far broader
than yourself. A child who could sling you upon her

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

back and carry you a mile. A child who will knock
down your enemies. There's a child indeed I "

" A fond and foolish word," said Clabar. " I must
now accustom my tongue to another."

" Peter, sir," said she with a bow. " Peter, the
sailor lad, who can use hands or feet against any man
in Moyle. Who can carry a sack of com to the top
of Gwentor, sir. Who can sweep a room and bake
bread, sir. Who can fan himself, and patch his face,
and prove a mighty fine lady too, sir. Young Peter,
who b proud of his name and father, who has sworn,
moreover, by the Mass to whip the scoundrel Grambla,
with his sister Cherry — twins in one body — salute
you, sir."

" This will not do," said Clabar seriously. " I
call you Cherry no longer. 'Twas your mother's
name for her unborn child. June it was when we
declared our passion in an orchard. Cherries were
hanging from the trees, and to these she pointed,
saying, ' Is not the love of two hearts like berries on
one stem — two bodies joined together in one growth ? '
And in the dark hour following your birth she whis-
pered, 'This is my fruit — my Cherry — and it kills
the tree.' The name of Peter does not fit my tongue."

" If you cannot regard me as son," she said ; then
laughed and added, " I have no other clothes."

" The plot is fixed," said Clabar. "It is known
I have received my son. Our enemy cannot learn
the truth, for only Mother Gothal was present at
your birth, and she is true to us ; nor were you
christened here. We are the last of the Clabars,
the only flaw in Grambla's title to our home. He
fears no woman, however strong. He knows of a
himdred ways to ruin women ; but a man may with-
stand his bitter heart and lying tongue. A maid must
be always weak because her honour is open to attack ;
even upon slight suspicion both Church and law
will torture her — force her to end her life, or drive

COMES TO HER FATHER'S COTTAGE 47

her from the place. But a man, it seems, may rise
in the good opinion of his fellows by offending. A
man causes a maid to stumble — that is gallantry.
The maiden tempts a man, and that's a crime."

" Can you find anything of the maiden here ? Do
you not behold a pretty fellow ? "

" Your golden curls, and a certain way of speak-
ing "

" If I am betrayed my head will do it. But I can
speak as hoarsely as a drunkard. I passed among
the sailors of Dock, and none suspected me — and
saucy chambermaids would kiss their hands to me.
Had I told them I was a maid, none would have be-
lieved me because of my strength. Beauty is good,
but strength is far better. Yesterday there was one
man of Moyle, to-day there are two."

With this proud boast she went on sweeping ; but
Clabar chided her, for it seemed to him she meant
to clean the ot too thoroughly ; and indeed the work
[was needed. Twenty years of a man's housekeeping
jhad proved the Satumian age for mice and spiders.
I " Presently I shall tell you my reason. First let
lus breakfast," said he in a somewhat respectful
imanner.

Taking a brown jug from the dresser, Clabar was
aaking for the lean-to where stood the cask of ale,
i^hen Cherry called him back and invited him to
consider a pan of water near boiling on the hearth.

" What would you do with hot water ? " asked
the puzzled man.

" This packet," she said, " was given me by a sailor

vho had been round the world. He gave one half

to his mother, and the other to me, because I had

taught him the letters— as Cherry. He would not

•lave bestowed the gift on Peter. It is the Chinese leaf

i^hich people of quality now diink in the morning."

" Is it not what they call tea ? " asked Clabar,

liffing at the contents of the packet.

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

.. y„, »d 'tis ""rtJL"' ^TtoeW 'ti^ told. Sir
•• Ladv Tust uses the leat largeiy, * •**»

roS ^?.l^ »X»a: »ia to taste very
well with meat. _^. . _. •_ Movie ? " she cried.

..;»D*Scrd"^yJcrhrp^?reat .^. ^

they are to be »»»«l'75p'(^'j!tPji sir Thomas has

"Pish I" she laughed. .^rtLe the brew,
gift of the devU. And now. father, taste tne
whUe I broU these herring. countenance,

Clabar sipped at the tea with a wry ^.u

then shook'his ^^-d in, ^^^^S^aU^his is bitter stuff.
" Nay, give me ale, ne saw. ,

^^h^r Cga^.j^^the E„^» Xi
have his beer. Good ale is the omy ^^ ^^^

people. This tea. I ^^^.^;,^^ ^"'d?^emiess-in
Eastern vices-a .f^^ J^^^S^y d^^ who cannot
favour therefore with '^'^r^^f^^lJ'^ Without some
be aroused to the pleasures of the day ^
cordial. Nay. Cheery honest co^jt^^^^^^^ ^^^^

l^ee'^^^SJ Jt^r^tStidoV^d letls start the

day in English ^^^^^ ^^ breakfast, and Cherry
They seated themselves X ^^^ ^^^^ ^^

5"^^ ^n'LwV b.^ S d.t^^^ her with the
SSer?^''"^>- each a histor^ .f twenty yea.
to tell and hear."

COMES TO HER FATHER'S COTTAGE 49

" Mine is half twenty," replied Cheny.

Yet her record was by far the longest, for the daugh-
ter had done more in one month tlum her lather in a
year. Cherry spoke of adventures by land and sea,
of fighting and free ways of living, more like a young
roisterer of the town than a modest maiden; but
through all her narrative was sounded the two clear
notes of the struggle to educate her mind and her
devotion for the Catholic religion. While Clabar had
only to tell of days in the lawyer's office, and years
of lonely nights, with such matters of family history
as he thought the girl should know.
^ " I am sorry you are papist," he said at length.
" Yet I know not. Sir Thomas may on that account
show you some kindness."

" What manner of gentleman is he ? " she asked
with much anxiety.

" A mystic," said Clabar, lowering his voice.
A magician ?

" A wonderful enchanter. 'Tis true he is English,
though to us he more nearly resembles an Eastern sage.
He has dwelt in the East— I know not where— acquiring
the magic of the country. Upon succeeding to the
title he came here, it being his father's wish that he
should occupy Bezurrel. His lady has no liking for
the place."

•' Is she English ? "

" Ther^ j nothing of England in her except pride.
'Tis said ;ie is of gipsy blood. She has beauty, but
nokind. jss. Sir Thomas and his lady are alike ; both
stem and cold. They tell the future from the stars,
call up storms, hold converse with the dead. The old
baronet was confined at the last, and died like a beast
which has no understanding. Thesonmayend likewise."

"Father, are not these stories told because Sir
Thomas is a papist ? "

" I cannot tell," said Clabar. " Bezurrel is a house
of secrets, ?jid not one leaks out, for the servants are

MCYLE CHURCH-TOWN

University of Oxford."
•' Are they ^^^"^l^J^^L have seen ' oti' i^ssing

here and discuss them? ,^d_ ■ ^ j

•• I like the name ; '' °^ * P^?r_y idad iticnd
Cherry. " And I do ^"^^^'^^^^l^ before Sir
oi the i™ P""^^l^^ WUchshallbemyfirst
Thomas. Now for tt»P'^\'/;t,^ be the whipping
labour? Give me *««to^^; ^* ^XnagehaU.*^
ol old Grambla bom M°y'? '*''" threaten-lay not a
•' Cherry. I Pr^V V^^ toptod to father?^ " He
finger upon the man, ^P^^^ ^o^e creature ol
may set a spy T?^"*;^7"i^ hour ago I forbade
his may listen at the "loor. An^™ ^to Grambla.

you to d«».'^ '""^elineL^^^next week we

"^^i: yttoJ^'^^eive, chad, we shall soon be home-

"^ xl^re's many a worse fate than s^e^ingm the ai.
The homeless iolk are often the mgt n-p^^ ^

COBfES TO HER FATHER'S COTTAGE 51

needful. My breeches have pockets large enou^, bnt
they are empty. My head is full. If strength were
guineas we might live in ease."

" I have saved a guinea every month," said Clabar.

" Twenty times twelve guineas I " cried Cherry
with vast excitement. " Here is wealth with freedom I
But where is all this money ? "

" Beneath the flooring of my bedroom."

" It must out from there. I may not know Gram-
bla, but I have some knowledge of his nature. He
will suppose you have saved, for he knows how meanly
you have lived. He may rob you while we are atooadf.
Listen, father 1 Presently we go out, and I shall make
a parcel of your guineas and carry them imtil we find
a home. To-morrow I wait upon Sir Thomas, and you
attend me."

" Nay, child," cried Clabar. " Sir Thomas has never
taken notice of me."

" He shall take notice of your daughter, yet remain
unconscious of the honour while welcoming your
son."

" Neither man nor woman of Moyle church-town is
welcomed to Bezurrel."

"Precedent is against us; therefore we banish
precedent. To be repulsed will not harm us."

" I have some pride remaining. The fields of Coin-
agehall reach to Bezurrel Woods. The yeomen
Clabars were friends once of the titled Justs. I will
not go."

" Father," said the young athlete calmly. " You
shall go."

The man would have wasted more breath in his
resistance, had not the sound of voices filled the room.
He advanced to the window, and soon two parties of
parishioners came along, shouting at each other.
Clabar listened to the high-pitched dialect, whik
amazement grew upon his face. Then he said to his
daughter, "Since Grambla dismissed me from his

-f1'

52 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

service I have not left this house ; and now there has
something happened I must hear of."

He passed out into the street and called the men,
who thereupon gathered round him, each eager to
tell his tale and make it long ; so that many minut^
passed before Clabar rejoined his daughter to add
his wondering words towards the ghostly snowbaU :

" A phantom has appeared in Moyle— a most fearful
apparition ! It has been seen in the churchyard, at
Coinagehall, within Grambla's office. It has passed
along the street of Moyle, driving the folk into theu"
houses by breathing fire upon their faces. It has an-
nounced a great pestilence— an invasion of the French
—I know not what. It has denounced at least a
dozen men by name for thieves and murderers ; and
has sworn to haunt this place till the villains are aU
hanged. Two men, it is said, have been a^eady
deprived of reason; one woman, touched by the
creature, now lies at death's door. It wears a yellow
robe— the sign of pestUence ; and spotted with blood
—a token of war. It walks at twilight."

" A ghost ! " cried Cherry. " Well, I would behold
a creature so much talked of, but so seldom seen."

" This is surely the work of Sir Thomas and his

lady." . , t-'i i 1 »»

" Why must they terrify the mhabitants i
" They who practise the black art must abide by
the consequences," said Clabar solemnly. "The
prophets of old were holy, yet they foretold nothing
but evU. Sir Thomas and his lady summon spmts
from the dead ; but they may not bring the souls of
the righteous back to earth. The wicked alone may
answer to their call."

" Father," she said, " you were never brought up
to the ways of the counting-house."
" What is your meaning ? " he asked impatiently.
" The man of business keeps a book, in which he
places upon one side the money he receives, and upon

COMES TO HER FATHER'S COTTAGE 53

the other what sums he pays out. But the money he
receives is not altogether profit, for he must deduct
the sums he pays out ; and when he has done that he
may find no profit remaining. When you are told a
strange story, you shall place upon one side all that
your reason accepts, and upon the other what it
rejects ; and by deducting one from the other you
eliminate details and obtain the truth. And if there
should be no remainder, you may know the whole
story to be false. A ghost has been seen in Moyle.
Well, that is possible : reason accepts a ghost. It has
appeared in the churchyard, which is indeed a likely
place; also at Coinagehall and within Grambla's
office. If a ghost be seen in one place, imagination
will cause it to appear in twenty places. We may
however write down Coinagehall and Grambla's office
upon the credit side of reason ; for these two places
have a clear connection. The rest we may debit. A
sailor who has gone round the world cannot tell his
story without detail; neither will the countryman
who has seen a ghost. The story may be true, but
not the details ; for the story proceeds from his
memory, and the details from his fancy."

"You confound me with your learning," Clabar
muttered, rubbing his simple head.

" Ah, father, a town life sharpens wit. I do not see
the hand of Sir Thomas here, but I can suspect the
cunning mind of Grambla. If a man can raise spirits,
which I believe is possible, who could do it better than
a vile attorney ? He knows of my coming. He there-
fore invokes the aid of the devil against me. One
thing he does not know," she continued, producing
a small crucifix. " I am safe from every power of
evil, by day, by twilight, and by night."

"There may be truth in what you say," Clabar
admitted. " Yet I have doubts. No man b more
terrified by the night than Grambla ; I have walked
behind, and heard him scream like a woman when a

54 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

bramWe has caught his cloak. I wiU learn mOTC of this
matter. Mother Gothal will inform me ; and she wdl
be here to-day, for she longs to see you. If Grambla
be haunted by this apparition, he will not rest tm he
has gone to her. If he has raised this spint he does
not need her. Thus we shall know."

" Let's talk of graves no longer. We are for long
life and happiness I " cried Cherry. " Take me to your
room, and produce this hoard of guineas ; for I would
count them to make sure none be missmg. See, father,
the day is glorious I We will walk together— to Com-

^"Yoii are beside yourself, child," said Clabar
sharply. " Should we be seen trespassing upon the

land stolen by Grambla from my father- "

" But we shall not be seen. Where all men tear to
tread, the trespasser is safe. Grambla sits in his laur
spinning conveyances. His only servant is the poor
maid Ruth. Should she spy John Clabar and his
daughter— then, by my soul, John Clabar s son shaU

kneel before her." u- u t 1,0,1

" You preach the gospel of courage, which I had
come near forgetting." said Clabar, strivmg to hft
and straighten his bowed shoulders. I foDow you
to my father's house, my golden Cherry.

"Plain Peter," she corrected, pinchmg his arm
lightly " The sailor lad from Devon side of Tamar.
You find no cherries in the month of March. Call
Peter," she whispered, " and he shall answer with a

daughter's love." , . ^ ,. v -j

They were upstairs, warming their bodies beside a

heap of dingy guineas, when a great knockmg fell upon

the door. Cherry covered and concealed the treasure ;

her father hurried to the lattice window ; while the

pounding of fists upon the door went on.
" 'Tis Mother Gothal," cried Clabar, much reheved.

" I feared it might be some officer of Justice and the

law."

COMES TO HER FATHER'S COTTAGE 55

" There you are wrong," said Cherry. " For law is
to justice as darkness is to light. When I have counted
and secured these guineas I will come down to you,"
she called as he departed.

" Where's the maid ? " cried Mother Gothal, while
the door was yet opening. " Where's the little cherry-
ripe lady I brought into this sinful world, and dangled
in my arms — do ye mind that night, John Clabar
Squire ; tb " wind and the rain, and the lanterns on
the cliff ? Shut the door close, do ye. I be afeard o'
Master Grambla and his ways. I come across the
fields. Mr, my dear gentleman, bring me a cup of ale.
I was stugged to the knees in mire, and I be choked
wi' March dust — a good thing, they says, but bad to
stomach — ^and my old heart be to the gallop like a
runaway horse. Where be my dear maid? They
calls me a witch. Squire Clabar. They says I ri(te
over Poldrifty Downs across a bit o' crooked furze
stick. Stars o' heaven, I'd like to sense that trade.
I wouldn't walk to Moyle if I could fly. Draw the worst
ale. Squire dear. I be so dry wi' dust I ha' no taste."

" I am glad you are come. Mother," said Clabar,
returning with the ale. " I have a question to ask
about the ghost."

" Ah, ah I " gasped the old woman as she drank.
" I'll talk no ghostes nor yet GramUas. I'U say nought
till I ha' seen the maid. I brought her into the world,
mind ye. Her would never ha' lived without the old
witch body. But I wam't old then. I was a lusty
woman, I says, and a fine-looking woman, and I lived
in a cottage wi' two floors, and I had a feather bed,
and a dre^r full o' cloam. Squire Clabar. I ha' lived
to see the maid come home, and, please the good Lord,
I'll live to a better day, and see her and you back in
your own place "

"Are you not still talking?" Clabar broke in,
extending his hand (ar the empty cup. " Ah, the
young gentleman comes I "

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" The young gentleman I " cried Mother Gothal.

" My son— young Peter ! "

The old woman rose in a fluster. She bowed to the
mighty youth ; she stared at the stalwart shoulders ;
then she started forward with the cry. " My dear, I
know ye ! I would never ha' known your father's
son, but I know your mother's daughter."

And the old soul wept over Cherry's hand and kissed

"Sit down. Mother," said Clabar, "and Cherry
shall inform you how she has added the strength of
a man to a maiden's comeliness."

" I'll take no rest, and drink no ale, till I ha' returned
thanks to the Lord Ahnighty for this great miracle.
No such thing has ever come to pass since folk were
made— a man and maiden two in one 1 'Tis brave
magic, I tell ye. 'Tis the holy magic o' the Lord, who
sets his hand on folk and changes 'em. I ha' seen the
like o' you— I don't know where I saw ye. Maybe
when I was sot upon Poldrif ty in the evening, wi' dark-
ness coming down upon me ; or in the night wi' the
old moon shining on the rocks, and a bit of misty
stuff around me. I ha' thought of some one strong
like you, and beautiful as well ; and I ha' said to my-
self, ' Jacob Grambla be the man of Moyle, but there
shall be a better man of Moyle than he.'"

Then Mother Gothal fell back upon a chair and
called for ale.

" You was strong as a little baby," she continued.
" You hadn't been in this world o' lies two days avore
you kicked the basin o' pap into the fire. Out o' my
hand you kicked mun — ^and I was a lusty woman then,
aw, and a fine-looking woman too, as Squire will tell
ye. Didn't I say her would grow monstrous strong.
Squire Clabar, when her kicked the pap into the fire ? "

" I believe she was a week old," said the father.

" Two days, I tell ye— I mind it well. Her was so
powerful strong, her tore the cloam. Her never took

COMES TO HER FATHER'S COTTAGE 57

to pap like other babies. Her craved for meat avore
the teeth had come. My dear, I be old Mother Gothal,
who nursed you in these old arms — I was a fine woman
then — ^and hid you away from Master Grambla — and
I knows you would never be standing here all big and
beautiful, if it wam't for me."

" I am grateful, Mother," said Cherry. " I shall
come to Poldrifty to tell you what I have done and
seen ; and sometimes I will bring in wood for you and
carry water. Father, we must find a safe place for the
guineas. Shall we ask Mother Gothal to hide them
for us ? "

" It is a good thought," said Clabar ; but when
he had explained the matter to Mother Gothal she
threw up her hands and cried :

" Tempt me wi' guineas 1 Ask a weak and sinful
body to hide your money ! You would never see one
o' they guineas again, Squire Clabar. I would dig a
pit under a stone, and put 'em away, and I wouldn't
tell ye where I hid 'em, and I would fight ye both if
you went near 'em. Trust me with guineas and you
raise the devil I I had a house once — aw, a house wi'
two floors — ^and a black gown tor Simdays, and a white
gown for fair-day, and a man to work for me. And
now I be an old witch body, biding in a hole of turves
and stone. Give me all they golden guineas to watch
for ye, and I would get me again a house wi' two floors,
and a gown for Sunday, and another for fair-day, and
maybe a man to work for me ; for I be a wicked woman
—aw, and a cunning woman— when I smells a guinea.
See how my fingers be bent to take 'em while I'm
talking ! "

" Then we must find another way," said Clabar.
" And now. Mother, what of the ghost ? "

The old woman drew on her cap of mystery as she
answered, " He ha' come for Master Grambla."

" He did not raise it ? "

" Master Grambla raise the dead ! Have ye served

MOYLE CHXJRCH-TOWN

the man these years, Squire Clabar, and yet do not
know how he walks a mUe at night rather than see
the graves in the churchyard ? "

" I did not think it," Clabar muttered.

" 'Tisn't the ghost of a Clabar," cried Mother Gothal.
" 'Tis a little old man like, and it wears a big red cap.''

" Who has summoned it from the world of spirits ?

"Evil conscience," Cherry murmured.

" Is it Sir Thomas, Mother ? " o, , :>

" Who raises spirits from the dead. Squire Clabar ?
Folk be always talking about heaven, but when there
comes a sign from heaven they swear 'tis the devil s
work. You know I hain't a witch ; but I sits up over
on Poldrifty, and I sees a thing or two. I hear the wind,
and I watch the clouds, and I feel good sunshine— and
I earn a bit o' food by lying, and get me a few sticks for
the fire— but there be plenty going on what I can t
sense. A bad man don't last. Squire Clabar, not even m
this world. The devil drives 'en on, but the Lord be at
the side o' the pit, and pushes 'en back, and gives 'en
another chance— seventy chances the Lord gives a
wicked man. Master Grambla ha' brought you to
this from Coinagehall," said the old woman, wavmg
her crooked stick from wall to wall of the poor cottage.

"To worse than this," groaned Clabar. "Next
week we are homeless." ,,

" But the Lord ha' worked two mbacles for ye,
cried Mother Gothal, pointing the stick at Cherry.
" The Lord ha' sent you son and daughter in one body ;
and he sends a spirit to ruin Master Grambla."

CHAPTER VII

RUTH RECEIVES THE SPRING

Though her mind was in the house, Ruth tarried long
in the sunshine ; fearful lest Jacob might conquer
terror and return. Besides, the spring was in her blood.
So she wandered through what had been the pleasance
of a family which cared for flowers and herbs ; as a
nun, imprisoned by the rules of her order, might have
lingered among the ruins of her desecrated cloister.

Clabars of the past included a love of gardens among
their virtues. They had preserved many of the plants
grown by the monks, both in herb-groimd and flower-
piece ; and not only had improved upon the old but
had introduced the new. To Jacob the fairest flower-
ing plant was but a conspicuous weed ; he would have
preferred docks and nettles because such growths were
strong, assertive in their roots and lives, and noted
destroyers of the weak.

The boimdaries of that nearly vanished garden were
marked by walks beneath yews, and giant box-hedges ;
and the space thus enclosed lay neglected because
there was no profit to be made by conquering the gross
legions of the weeds ; while fruit, herb, and vegetable
in season were brought to Coinagehall by parishioners ;
either as gifts, or as settlement of some slight claim ;
for money was scarce, so that many a poor fisherman
hardly handled a coin during the year, but paid his
debts, or bought what articles he needed, with the
contents of his pilchard creel.

Flowers, like sunshme, gave themselves to the
attorney, as to the Clabars ; more, they struggled to

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

gve themselves, and fought from couch-grass through
the bramble-many dying in the attempt— to attrwt
his notice ; just as the sun would conquer rain-clouds
to restore a wounded and despairing footpad. Daffo-
dds and anemones enriched the grass, with hepaticas
Wee handfuls of jewels the dawn had scattered : along
the shaded ways primroses were plentiful, and here
crown imperials gave a flush of life. The crocus opened
rts golden chalice to the bees, wall-flowers surrounded
Kutn with theu- passionate perfume ; and the ahnond-
tree, more lovely than a robed princess, blushed a warm
bT S b6^^^^ nakedness before the swelling shrub-

Ruth walked not there to think of Jacob Grambla :
flowers and sweet smells in the air had nothing in
mnmon with his meagre body and fustian clothes.
Nor of ghostly Red Cap ; for the spring morning could
not agree with apparitions. She was thinking of her-
self . supremely selfish ; wondering what would happen •
trymg to create a future which might fit the events
of yesterday— and succeeding. But then she bought
her future ready-made, and paid for it with hope de-
teired. It was a dreaming walk, and the only realities
outside her body were sunshine and soft breezes. There
was no ruined garden visibly present ; neither flower
nor leaf. And within her body was a mind Ut with
a new understanding of nature, a brain touched by
fancy, ajid a heart panting for aU that life had pro-
mised. Yet she was afraid.

^^r'^^'u*^^.^''*^^''*^^^^ *^^ ^^' and stood at the
foot of the stau^. her eyes upon those dusty footmarks.
She had advanced on tiptoe, terrified by the sounds of
her own presence. She longed to ascend, yet. like Jacob;
dared not set foot in the upstairs rooms. In spite of
the perfect light she shrank from those miused cham-
h!!?«i K /2 °°« .Perhaps was the figure which might
haunt her life, guidmg it towards happiness, or lea&g
It to rum ; and life was such a precious thing because

RUTH RECEIVES THE SPRING 6i

itcame but once ; and went too often like the thread
teoken^ the spinning-wheel, or like thTWef hW^I
t^t hibernating butterfly, then drifting do^the
st«rs towards the promis^ summer, and frSrniKM

Even the insect made a sound of fluttering caSinir

'^ folS^? descended from the haunted chamSS to
forsake the house. A small thing to increS her
nervousness, but upon this day even flies were pr^hets
It was necessary to ascend the staiS. bi? fet ^

neios, so that she might wm some confidence bv exer-

^Tdav' wSltm'* ^'"^"^^"^ ^^y withTSplS .
wav tn c^y r? ®*^ ''^'y y°"°g • sunshine might rive
way to sleet by noon. She would go to the f aimstSd

who^?h staff ofor"^^ '"»[!? ^"^S the constable
sea?ch^hp Tr K ^''^ ? ^^*^ "g^t l^and. would
""fhiS^^t^^uSir."^^ ^* -S^^ ^ ^- <iuty to
The sun was free upon the fields, but bevond fh«

^ZU'^.T. ^'?^^ ^^^^^ ^ ^e^ whe^pi^!
ro^ were dashed with spr:»y. Ruth was awakenW

woJid wh^ Za f^4'- «^^ eyes'^k^^t^^;
m^r^lii , ^^ Changed in one night and become
ma^eUously younger. Never befcJe hTd s^^.
covered music m running water. Never had she thought
Is 7,^,^^*^<^^^t>^?en the love of heaven and fJe

^erwhisi'reSbX^^^^ ^'"'"''''^ primroS iLd
tn^i„X ?S ^^^^^ ^ ^^^^ ears before. She bent
to pluck a bloom, and kissed it.

folly - leaW fh! K ""' ^^ conscious of her

haZ c. i ^ ^^ ^°"^® unguarded. Jacob might
of hi n ^ 'Pessenger to explore the unknown leS
of his own demesne. Some gentleman ofX r^a?

6t MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

finding the door open, might have been tempted by «»
flUence wHhin to search the rooms, and to plunge His
thievish hands into the attorney's hoard <rf stolen
goineas. Even the curate might have caUed m her
Ibsence. hoping to exorcise Red Cap with Greek quota-
tions and a discreet use of the magic pcntade. Kutn
shivered at the thought of a stranger's ascent towards
the haunted chambers, whether armed with stafi ol
office, pistols of lawlessness, or cabalistic lore.

Her mind was more at ease when she entered, agam
on tiptoe, and faUed to find fresh footprints m the dust.
After all, as the old clock in the kitchen mformed her
with many a wheeze and chuckle, the day was scarce
one half-hour older. Ruth was accustomed m her
loneliness to chatter with the clock ; but this mornmg
aU her words were whispers, and they were addressed

to her own new mind. . ^v u *^

The time had come when she must go to the haunted
chamber which-as she knew well— contamcd a great
bedstead whereon all manner of Cornish worthies had
reposed. So she left the kitchen, snuling a httle, but
grave about the eyes ; and as she crossed the haU
a robin burst into song from a rose-bush near the
porch ; and Ruth longed to understand the language

of that bird. , , , ^^ ,

The stairs did not creak, for they were oak and
disdained all weakness. One by one Ruth clunbed to
the twenty-fourth and last, counting them and won-
dering at the end where she had passed the step which
marked her year ; for she did not know her age. The
robin sang on, another answered, and the house
became ioyous. The birds were about to mate, to
make the home, and to rear the yoimg ; so they sang
in the joy of marriage, and their pride of plumage, to
teU the world no springtime should be lost.

Yet ioy of life and sunshine go together. Shadows
were deep and sounds were muffled along the pa^ag^'
where spiders had acquired long leaseholds of the

RUTH RECEIVES THE SPRING

windows, and wainscoting was freehold of the mice ; as
darkness lurks in comers of the cathedral while the
choir sing Easter anthems. Because of the gloom and
damp, Ruth felt s(Mne sadness ; but a black cobweb
fell n'om a pane like a filthy rag as she passed by, and
the tight streamed th. :ugh ; and she was glad again,
for the sun seemed with her.

More than robins were singing in the garden ;
blackbirds and thrushes had joined in ; and her heart
answered — how noisily it went, a** ^e tapped the
chamber door, and bravely cried :

" Ghost, awake 1 Good ghost, it is time to hide."

CHAPTER VIII

THE PLACE IS HAUNTED

The forenoon was spent before Clabcur and his
daughter, who walked with long strides, clutching the
parcel of guineas, reached the fields of Coinagehall ;
and at one of the high hedges they came by chance
upon Toby Penrice whistling carelessly while he cut a
hazel twig. Cherry caught sight of the big figure at
some distance, but Clabar was not distmbed, for they
were still upon the right of way.

" I told you nobody dared to trespass. I had forgot
Toby," he said.

" Is this fellow a limatic ? " she asked.

" A very :>imple, poor, and idle gentleman. His
father left him a small property, which he sold, and
now lives upon the capital. I fear the money will not
last his time, for 'tis said Grambla had it for invest-
ment. He is abo friendly to Toby, and has given him
our cottage as a sign of his fatal kindliness. Toby will
pay dear, I fancy, for the hares he has stolen from
Coinagehall, ay, and for the stick he is now cutting
from the hedge. — Good morning, Toby," he called.
" Do you make a spring to catch a rabbit ? "

" Good morning, Mr. Clabar," replied the idler.
" Here is weather to set us all a-singing. Here is black-
thorn in the bloom already. I get me a fork of hazel
to find water, Mr. Clabar ; for I promised a farmer of
the next parish to discover a spring upon his land, and
the divining rod is the siu-est way to find it."

He was staring at the stalwart Cherry as he spoke.

IHHI

THE PLACE IS HAUNTED

" Here is my son Peter, just arrived from Plymouth."
said Clabar awkwardly.

"Your servant, sir." mumbled Toby, fumbling
with his knife. " I shall be happy to serve you. sir.
If you are iond of the angle, 1 will show you where the
best trout lie. I will sell ymx a dog, or buy you a horse ;
and if you have need of a fishing net I wUl make one
for you. Sir, I promise yo^ no man knows thb parish
of Moyle half so well as I do. I will teach you every
path and lane within ten miles, and if you have a liking
for good ale you may trust me — ay, sir, you may trust
me there."

" I thank you for your kmdness," said Cherry in
her deepest voice.

" A good bass truly," said Toby, still fixed in the
same attitude. " 'Twouid go with the bassoon. We
need a mighty voice to go with the basso<m played by
Master TrUlian. Sir, I would have you know we sing
the psalms right merrily in Moyle. We will sing
against any parish, sir. Master Trillian is blacksmith,
and a mighty man in wind. Last Easter mom, when
we lifted up their heads, O ye gates, he blew the wig
of Master Smart, who pla3rs the flute, clean off his
head. Sir, you are a man of Moyle, I take it."

" I was bom here," replied Cherry.

"Then you are a parishioner and a Comishman.
Sir. the men of Cornwall will not be English until the
river Tamar b removed by Act of Parliament. I have
some history ; I was taught by my father, who was
a famous man. Sir, he had a ewe wliich bore three
lambs five years in succession, and not one was
lost. My father was painted, standing beside the ewe,
with a wreaih of laurel upon his head."

" What was upon the head of the ewe ? " asked
Cherry.

" Why, sfa", nothing. She was a brute beast which hath
no understanding. My f athor desired a lamb to appear
upon his tomb ; butthe mason byan error carved a ram."

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" I have seen the lamb painted upon windows of
churches in Plymouth," said Cherry.

"Sir, this was envy," replied Toby. " The church-
wardens knew of my father's fame, and desired the
panshionere to believe their ewes were no less proUfic."
Come, whispered Clabar. " This feUow would
stand the whole day talking." Then he said aloud,

1 go with my son around these lanes, which are the
boundanes of Coinagehall. We must not linger."

.. xxZ^^^ *^*^^ y°" beware of robbers," said Toby.
Why so ? Our parish roads are said to be free
from that vermin."

"Yesterday in the afternoon, as I set nets for rabbits
yonder, replied Toby, pointing into the forbidden
temtory, I saw a young man crawling in the shade.
He seemed to be wounded, but when I came near he
ran and got away. I heard him groan and, fearing he
p ayed decoy and would have led me into some secret
P .fl?^^^"^® ^^ S^S ^ay hidden, I turned me back."

^^ There are ghosts in Moyle," said Clabar.

^^ And they ^e given to groaning," Cherry added.
Ghosts and strangers are the like to me," said
loby I welcome neither one nor t'other. But I
would sooner face a spirit than a cut-purse. 'Tis ill
to be frighted, but worse to be killed ; for a man, look
ye will get over his fright and know a pretty tale to
ten the parish ; but he will not get over his kUling till
the day of judgment. Mr. Clabar, sir, I wish you
happiness. I take your cottage because Mr. Grambla
says I must. He would send me to jail, su-, for evading
the game laws, for trespassing upon his property, for
taking his hares— he would frame a dozen indictments
agamst me.

" Say nothing, Toby. I believe you are an honest
man. said Clabar shortly.

* "J^^^l ^"' ^^ ^^^" "^^^* ag^"^- I wUl teach you
to hunt the otter. Sir. you will pardon me." cried
loby, fumblmg again with knife and fork of hazel.

THE PLACE IS HAUNTED

have walked this parish since I was a child. I have
seen all manner of folk, both young and old— I have
some learning, sir, and have traveUed, twenty miles
to the west, and as many to the east. But. sir. I have
never set eyes upon a gentleman like you."

" I come from the town," said Cherry.

A v""' J ^ y°""^ gentlemen of the town are strong
and handsome, I wonder no longer why the maidens
desire to go there. Were tlie ladies as handsome as
the men, I would even travel to the town myself—
and did one smile upon me I would stay there " he
declared.

"This is a very curious feUow," remarked Cherry,
as they idled down the lane.

" And one I would beg you to distrust," her father
answered. " Let us sttmd within this coppice till he goes
off to ^er— I see he glances at his watch, the sun."
Is he one of Grambla's creatures ? "
"I think he has not wit enough ; but he is friendly
with the rascal, and doubtless gives him information
even if they do not both drive their geese to the same
market. As you see. this Toby is an idler, yet one who
must be always doing something. He will make whips
for the farmers, or dress a fly for anglers ; train a doe
or accustom a horse to harness ; and is. I am told
skilful at knotting twine. He follows the hunt, and i^
ready to give a hand when needed ; whUe sometimes he
will carry a message from this parish to the next He
is much m favour with the farmers, for he informs them
when gipsies have settled upon their land, or when
poachers have set their gins ; though in my opinion
he IS himself the greatest poacher in the country. He
IS. m short, a meddlesome fellow, and something of
a spy ; but you will not find he informs against anv
person that is stronger than himself."
" He is not married ? "

" Nay, he has courted every maid from fourteen
upwards ; all like his face no better than his prospects

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

There is no Ugly Club in Moyle. such as exists in the
nietropolis ; else Toby would surely be elected to the
chair of president."

When the subject of these remarks was seen whist-
ling his way to Moyle, father and daughter left the
coppice for the fields, and described a devious course
towards the house. Clabar was unwilling to draw too
^^fJ^-iu ^^^"^' ^"" °* ardour, went ahead.

• *u , ??^^ °'^^ ^ '"^'^ ^ *^e ^ouse, and her place
is the kitchen," she declared.

"She might look out by chance and discover us.
Then she would tell her father, not out of ill-will but
to give excuse for speaking. Our coming would be an
adventure in her life."

'.', 5Jj^ ^^^^ °^y see us from the upstair windows."
These rooms are closed and now deserted," sighed
Clabar heavily. ^

"You are mistaken!" exclahned Cherry, a few
moments later. " See ! a window stands open."

There I was bom. It was the chamber of my
parents. -^

of a fi"^ re^.P^y ^^^^ deceived me, I saw the movement

" Let us not hasten." said Clabar.

" Two generations of Clabar run from the natural
daughter of a thief I " said Cherry scornfully " This
way, father, towards the thick shrubbery. We wiU
make through it untU we come opposite the door We
lose ^jpity by cowardice, not by prudence."

What did you see at the window ? " asked Clabar •
tothe hou^^*^*^ Jacob might have returned suddenly

"A movement only, as of a figure passing— or per-
haps a curtain shaken by the breeze."
, They gained the shrubbery and passed through
mto the garden, proceeding without difficulty behind
yew and laurel, until they reached a Judas tree, which
Clabar recognised as standing nearly opposite the

THE PLACE IS HAUNTED 69

porch. They waited some minutes, and when no sound
reached their ears, advanced until only a few bushes
separated their bodies from the opm space. Standing
there, a few paces from the house— the door of which
was closed— Clabar pointed out the various rooms
upon that side, and in a trembling voice recalled manv
an mcident of family history.

"Beneath that chimney-stack I slept as a boy.
Behmd that window I stood upon wet days to call
the sunshme back. Down those steps I feU, when a
child, and cut my forehead grievously. Along that
path, now covered with grass— where the Jilacs grow—
was my mother's favourite walk. Across that field—
I see It as a lawn— my father would pace at evenine
groaning at the state of his affairs."

So he ran on. bringing the old years back without
their life.

" This place is haunted indeed," the daughter mur-
mured. ^

" By worthy folk to Clabars ; by demons to a Gram-
Dla, he answered.

'' Is it richly furnished ? "

"Nay, child. This house is now an empty shell,
through wmch our name moans each time the wind
blows. Weighty furr: nre remains— the old beds and
clothes-prases— I kno, not what else, save a picture
or two. I have not stood here since I was young Mv
Edor*^!^^ present, and some day his past shaU lie

They wandered a little further through the shrub-
bery, and came out upon the other side of the house
where it was shady after midday ; and in their eager-
ness forgot to hide. Here a dim pathway went towards
the outbuildmgs. to be lost at the bend among bushes of
box and laurel, so that any one passing towards them
would have appeared with suddenness. Both were en-
grossed and took no heed of the sUence ; for birds had
ceased to sing. Then a blackbird flew past screaming

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

They looked at each other, and Clabar aroused him-
self from thought to pursue with sad eyes the flight of
the frightened bird.
I' There is nobody," said Cherry.
" We have spent an hour already upon folly," he
said impatiently. " I do not come here again. ' The
sight of the old place sets my heart back. Come,
Cherry! tl ere is a wall here we can climb. If we came
like owners we will go like thieves."

" Ah ! " she exclaimed. " Father ! Father ! "
Startled by her voice and sudden pallor, Clabar
started round— for he had turned to go— and looked
out into the shade.

A man walked slowly before the hedge of box and
laurel, looking down upon the grass. He wore a
remarkable hat, not unlike an orange-basket, an
enormous ruff, a slashed doublet with slit sleeves, a
long cloak, a pair of trunk-hose, and square shoes
adorned with roses. He wore no wig, and his hair was
twisted on each side of his head in a peculiar fashion.

A woman appeared upon the pathway, advancing
towards the man with the same sluggish steps ; and
her face was practically invisible, for she wore a hood
of thick velvet which projected on each side of her
head ; between her yellow ruff and this quaint head-
gear the face was ahnost lost : her gown, trailing
upon the grass, appeared as heavy as armom-, for it
was stiff with embroidery of silver ; her shoes were
also square-toed, while her stockings were scarlet.
"^ What are they ? " whispered Cherry at length.
"Spirits of our ancestors," her father muttered,
placmg a hand before his eyes.

Those garments were not made since the revolu-
tion. They were the fashion in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth," she murmured.

The silent couple were now pacing the turf, where
had been formeriy the bowling-green ; side by side as
if related, but strangers to the worid they walked in.

THE PLACE IS HAUNTED

" Can you give them names ? " asked Cherry.

" I have seen his portrait. It hangs above the fire-
place in the dining-room."

" And the woman ? "

" His wife, and my grandmother. I know them by
their dresses."

" His ruff looks as full of holes as a lawyer's con-
science. Ghosts seen in day-time do not freeze my
blood. I will address them."

'' Stay ! " muttered Clabar.

" I will go. If they are ghosts they come to warn us,
and these gentry may not speak to a mortal till they
are addressed."

But before she could break clear of the bushes the
ghostly pair withdrew in the same silent manner ; and
when Cherry reached the path they had departed.
She tried to follow, but the place was deserted and as
silent as it had been. Clabar was leaning against a
tree, seeing nothing, but sighing woefully.

Cherry returned cind in a valiant mood opened the
front door, entered the house, and advanced into the
kitchen. There was no sign of life in Coinagehall,
beyond the clock, a garrulous body which wheezed a
welcome gladly. The fire, she perceived, was dead.

" I make nothing of this," she told her father. " I
looked into the dining-room — 'tis now a bed-chamber
—and saw the portrait. It is the figure that we saw."

" The father and mother of my parents."

"^ Where is the maiden Ruth ? "

"Gone into town upon some duty. A poor weak
timid maid, who lacks the spirit to wish a man good
morning. Come I we will return across the fields —
I care not who sees us now. This place is haunted,
this parish is enchanted."

"Let us believe rather," replied Cherry, "these
spirits of our ancestors appeared, not to warn us, nor
yet to frighten us away ; but to welcome John Clabar
and his daughter home to Coinagehall."

CHAPTER IX

A SAD DOG TELLS HIS STORY

" n ^^i' !^^^ ^ P'®"y *"<^k'" replied her gaUant.
But what if they should teU upon me ? "

««* n!' **^®y ^^ '*®^®'' ^°- ^^tf;r Clabai would
not wish any one to know he had trespassed here ; and
tor the same reason the young man with him will keep
sil^t. I shall not tell of them-nay. I cannot beW

^f °'*'.. ? *"".? *^« ^«"»d be to discl^l^
ality, which at this moment I do not possess. While

tSo'dT' ^^^® °"* °^ ***® ^"™*° *^y *^®* *^*

.ol' '^^*5i*^^ ^ P^'^ ^ ^ evil spirit wearing a red
cap. said the Elizabethan gentleman. " T(^y i
go in the gala dress of a yeoman of old time."
.. An<i, to-morrow you shaU be yourself again."

rict 1 ^ °1?^"'" ^^ *^^ g^^t solemnly. " is to
nsk playing the part of spirit without a mask/'
^^ I trust, su:. you are jesting." she faltered.
A true word. lady. I have broken jail. But let

{S«m tofh°^**;^ "^-'"^'^^ garments, and restore
them to the clothes-presses." he said briskly. " Thev
smell to me hke grave-clothes ; and. to be honest,
this fashion does not suit you."

Ruth and her stranger were hidden in the coach-
house, which was separated from the garden by a wall
T^Z^^ of weedy court. They stoSd at the foot of

H^5^i.^^^^^ *° *^^ ^^y^*^^ • ^d behind the trap-
door above they would have made themselves sa^

A SAD DOG TELLS HIS STORY 73

had Cherry followed. The man was young and hand-
some, but in so weak a condition he seemed hardly
able to support the weight of his borrowed garments ;
while he breathed heavily as if exhausted by the slight
adventure.

" Come with me to the house," said Ruth with a
dangerous tenderness. "The spies are gone. The
man whom I call father does not return till evening.
He dines at the village ordinary."
" He is a small man ? "
" Who fights with his brain."
" This morning I heard you dare him to go up ;
I learnt then the manner of man he is. So I stood
behind the door, with the knife you gave me ready."

" I wished him to go, yet I hoped he would stay ;
for I knew you must kill him."
As Ruth made this admission they entered the house.
" Alone I would have struck him once and left the
result to heaven. If he recovered of the wound— well,"
said the young man calmly. " My sentence cannot
be increased; but knowing you would have shared
it as my accomplice, I should have killed."
II For my sike," she murmured.
" Lady, your honour is in my keeping," he answered,
overhearing her. " You give me all the aids to live,
and each hour increases my weight of debt. You buy
me with your pity and your kindness. Yesterday I
reached this parish at the end of my power, looking
forward to death in a ditch— for I had eaten nothing
these three days— and prepared to surrender to any
stripling. What manner of man is your constable ? "
"He is very stout, and 'tis said no hero," she
answered lightly.

" I know his sort. One thrust in the paunch and
he lies on his back."

" Sit here while I prepare your dinner," ordered
Ruth. She had cast of! the head-gear, but retained
the cumbersome go\vn which swept the floor.

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" At last I came to this estate at break of day "
^ hero continued " Seeing a copse. I chose thit
place to die in. I lay for some hours, and in the
madness of my hunger devoured a vast quantity of
the small yellow flowers which grow there "

" They saved your life." cried Ruth. " These prim-
roses are excellent for salad."

The flowers had but continued my misery without
you, he answered. " I was aroused by the barking of
dogs, and, fearing lest some sportsman might enter
the copse, I came out and began to cross the fields.
A man. with the form of a fanner and the face
of a fool, challenged me, and with my last strength
I ran towards the house. Agam I lay in the
bushes. Then, with the knowledge that my end
was near, I crawled out into the garden, and, seeing
a wmdow open, I clunbed into the room and fell
upon the bed. When my senses departed I did not
expect to see the world again."

u liJ^f T^ ^°'"^°* y°" ^^^ ^^^ "PO»i the bed," said
Kutn. I am a poor conspirator. It was indeed
fortunate my master had seen a ghost, and was on
that account too frightened to catch me in my speech.
He spoke of a man, and I supposed he meant you.
Then he spoke of an evil spirit wearing a red cap, and
1 had the wit to make you the ghostly substitute. But
1 must warn you, sir, Jacob Grambla is too cunning a
lawyer to be deceived for long. He will assuredly

""? n°i^°^ ^**y ^ *"* consuming so much food."
leu him worms were in the meat, and you were
forced to throw it out."

" ^ ^.^^'^^^ ^* *iave thought of that ingenious
answer, said Ruth simply. " I beg you now go
upstairs and change your garments. When you return

IJT^ }^''\y°''J '^"^^'" waiting; and you must
eat heartily for I can give you no more until the
morning. And while you are eating I wUl put off
this frippery. ^

A SAD DOG TELLS HIS STORY 75

" I obey the commandments of my lady, though
I have neglected those of the Church ; but in that
respect I hope to amend," said the stranger.

He bowed and made for the door, but turned
suddenly, and, taking her hands, pressed them to-
gether against his heart and did not trust himself
to speak. It was done like a gentleman, and Ruth
replied like a modest little lady with sighs and
blushes and unruly eyes. Then he withdrew quickly,
while she pressed her hands upon her heated face, and
did not think she was a kitchen-wench; for by
welcoming a poor wayfarer she was entertaining a
kmg's son in disguise.
"This morning I was afraid of my stranger, but
i i "°^ ^ ^°^ him— and could even tell secrets to him,"
(1 she said to her old companion the olock, which could
only reply with jealous wheezings and spasmodic
jerking of a hand which had not pointed truly the
last twelvemonth.

When her hero descended in his own shabby
raiment, Ruth felt again a little cowardice, and
slipped away to don her workaday clothing, while
the gentleman dined. After a decent interval she
returned to the kitchen, and fed upon scraps with a
mouse's appetite, and there was silence between
them for some time.

" Does nobody ever come to this house ? " he asked
at length.

"An old woman from the fann below brings
what we require. Some poor folk call with fish
and vegetables. There come also pedlare with their
trifles to tempt maids, and Romans with their
brushes and baskets. But none of these can pass the
door." *^

" Does the lawyer receive no company ? "
" Nay, he is to be found each day at his office. He
IS not of the gentry, and he keeps no servants."
" Is he not a man of fortune ? "

76 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

•• I know nothing of that, but I beUev« him to be
poor."

" Does he pay you for serving him ? "

She shook her head and smiled.

" These are your wages then : a Uttle food, a skep-
mg place, garments to cover you, and solitude," said
the young man fiercely.

"I tell him what articles I require, and sometimes
he buys them. I have never held a coin in my hand
with the knowledge it was mine."

The stranger rose and walked weakly to the window.
He stood there and without turning spoke. " Some
day you shall have fine dresses and a purse of gold I
swear it."

" Come now," said Ruth, so soon as she could com-
mand her voice. " Let us make plans. We are assured
of solitude for the next three hours ; afterwards every
moment is a time of danger. ' '

" I am not to lie in this house to-night ? " he ask^d
retummg slowly to the fire-place.

" I believe Mr. Grambla will come earlier than usual,
for he IS now afraid to he abroad at twilight " she
answered. " I will carry blankets into the loft, and
there you shall lie until strong enough to leave me—
to go upon your business, sir, I would say," cried Ruth
m much confusion.

"I thank you," said the young man deeply. " I
have so much to thank you for. I know not which
act of kmdness to place first. Lady, I owe no man
a penny, nor any woman thanks but you. This b the
first debt I have contracted and. by the God of
Heaven, the interest shall be paid before I go— ay
and part of the capital, if need be. with my life."

Oh. sir ! " gasped Ruth. " Nay, sir. remember we
are here alone. I believe, sir. you are a gentleman,
though I know not your name ; while I am but a poor
maid, who never saw her parents, has a borrowed
name, a rogue for father, and no friends."

A SAD DOG TELLS HIS STORY 77

•• Save one."

" And he came yesterday."

" From jaU, where he lay awaiting death."

" I will be your judge/'^ said Ruth. " I discharge
you, prisoner."

" What if the prisoner will not accept discharge ?
If he insists upon being bound ? "

" Then he mu<l be removed by force," said Ruth,
and skipped away, laughing happily, yet wondering
why she grew so fearless.

An hour later aU traces of an uninvited guest had
been obliterated from the upstair room, blankets been
carried to the loft, dinner things washed ; and as the
evening was still far off, maiden and interloper seated
themselves beside the kitchen fire, the one with her
knitting, the other with his thought-.
^ "We have two hours of safety yet," said Ruth.
" Even if the master should return so long before his
time, we shall hear the sound of his footsteps and the
opening of the door. Then you must escape by the
back and run for the loft."

"And now let me tell you my story," said the
stranger.

" I shall be happy to listen," said Ruth. " But
if you close my ears, you are to keep yoiur own wide
open."

"You called me a gentleman," began the way-
farer, " and I believe i have some right to that title ;
for my father, after he retired from trade, was pleased
to forget he had stood behind the counter, and was
indeed not displeased when mistaken for a buck. My
name, lady, is Job Cay. If it sounds tmpleasantly upon
your ears, I beg of you to blame my father, who
numbered among his eccentricities a curious liking
for brevity. Both in speaking and writing he would
confine himself to words of one syllable ; and when a
longer word was unavoidable, he would set the
syllables apart il writing a letter, or if speaking he

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MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

I I !

would seek to explain his meaning by signs and
gestures. He wrote so ill a hand that one day I in-
quired how much had been spent upon his education ;
and this was the only occasion I knew him to answer
with an oath — yet even that was a word of one syllable.
I was called Job because my father could not discover
a shorter name ; although he satisfied his love for
brevity by addressing me as J. He gave me only two
pieces of advice, and both were useless. The first was,
never use two words when one will serve your purpose ;
and the second, laugh all your life at love. These
pieces of advice I followed, lady, until I presently
discovered that a man of one word is apt to t^ treated
shortly by his fellows, and when a man laughs at love,
all women laugh at him."

" Was not your father something of an oddity ? "
inquired Ruth.

" He was, lady, and for that reason I describe him
to you ; for you must know a son inherits some part of
his father's character. Old Ned, as the author of my
being styled himself, with his accustomed shortness,
was what is known as a regular being. He rose at seven,
breakfasted at eight, walked until two, dined at that
hour, dozed till four, drank coffee at Tom's at six,
retired to bed at nine. And that was his whole life.
He allowed himself one pinch of snuff before breakfast,
two pinches before dinner, three during the after-
noon, and four going to bed. You are now as well
acquainted with this man of brevity — who would, I be-
lieve, have taken the name of Short, had it not been
for purposes of business longer than Cay — as I am
myself.

"My mother ruled the household, for she had early
joined a Society of Married Ladies, who agreed among
themselves that every altercation between husband
and wife should be settled by the members at their
weekly meeting, the husband not being admitted to
avoid contention. My father retired from the contest

A SAD DOG TELLS HIS STORY

when he discovered his wife was able to bring the
weight and influence of the Society to bear against him ;
and he refrained from a.gument because it upset the
regularity of his 1" 'e, and he was unable to do justice to
his intelligence by the use of monosyllables. Therefore
it happened that my career was marred at the outset
by the folly and ignorance of a doting mother. Had
she been blessed with a large family, my mother would
have distributed that affection, which she lavished
entirely upon me, tho only child. My father sent me to
school, but during the first winter my mother brought
me away, fearing lest I should suffer from the cold ;
and when I informed her the master had whipped me
for some fault, she would not suffer me to return.
Finding me not unwilling to resume my studies, she
relented ; but when I showed her my books, she declared
immediately that her darling should not injure his
fine eyes — so she was pleased to style them — by
poring over the nasty barbarous letters of the Greek
language. My case was referred to the Society, and
when the President had informed my mother that
Greek and Latin had been written by the heathen, she
cast my school books at once upon the fire, and
decided to undertake herself my education. The
only classic with which she was acquainted chanced
to be Hoyle's Short Treatise upon Whist ; and this, I
will confess, she taught me thoroughly.

" I was approaching manhood, and winning the
character of a fine gentleman, when I was deprived of
both my parents by the smallpox. They died within
a week of each other, and it was well my mother did
not survive her husband who, as I speedily discovered,
had i ivested his savings in an annuity, and had been
unable to discover words sufficiently short to acquaint
his wife and son of the fact that his death would make
them paupers. My father, who desired to give me a
full education, I now despise ; for my mother, who forced
ignorance upon me, and taught me gambling, I have the

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

kindliest feeling. But I have come to hate Hoyle's
treatise, and with all my soul I loathe the Society
of Married Ladies. The advice I received from my
father you have heard. The maxims instilled into me
by my mother were, to avoid a cold, a quarrel, and
a naughty woman. The young man who escapes this
trinity of mischief is not mortal.

" I was now in my eighteenth year left entirely
dependent on my uncle, an old bachelor who is almost
as great an oddity as his brother. He received me
at his home near Salisbury with a great deal of kind-
ness and, not being himself conspicuous for learning,
failed to observe my ignorance untU certain of his friends
spoke to him on the subject. He then decided to send
me to the curate of an adjoining parish for one year, in
order that I might complete the education which I had
never properly commenced, and before parting with me
promised to leave me a great part of his fortune if
I continued to please him. Placed with my tutor,
a kind and worthy man, I made but slow progress,
for he was a scholar while I was a dunce, and he
attempted to bring me to the top of the ladder
before I could with safety balance upon the lowest
rung. However, I learnt as much as I could, and
returned to my uncle at the expiration of the year,
with the intention of showing him I had not neglected
my opportimities for improvement.

" From that time nothing went well with me. I
was nineteen, and desirous of airing my knowledge ;
so I talked against my uncle and his friends, and,
having a good memory, repeated many of the phrases
I had gathered from the lips of my worthy tutor. I
talked for victory, but ended with defeat. My uncle
grew old and quarrelsome, and had been always
master at his table. His friends, recognising that
he had no conversation, did not cross him, while
I contradicted him even upon such a matter as the
proper time for sowing peas and beans, although I

A SAD DOG TELLS HIS STORY

had no knowledge of that art. Soon I experienced
nothing but the severest treatment. If I disctissed
a subject, I was called presumptuous. If I remained
silent, I was styled a sullen dog. I endured this harsh-
ness with as much patience as I coiud show, until
the old gentleman took to upbraiding me for an
ungrateful scoundrel before the servants ; and, per-
ceiving at last he had taken a strong dislike to ire, I
retired to the house of a gentleman who had snown
me kindness and requested him to find me some em-
plojmient. This he very politely promised to do, and
I then disclosed the treatment I had received from
my uncle. He frowned at this, and desired me to seek
a reconciliation. Instead of doing so, I sent a message
to inform my imcle I could no longer seek the hospi-
tality of a relation who had daily reproached me
with poverty and reminded me I was dependent upon
his bounty. The same day one of his servants brought
me a guinea wrapped in paper, upon which I found
written a few angry words announcing his intention
of cutting me off entirely. I showed this with a laugh
to the gentleman with whom I stayed, but he made
no answer, and presently foimd an excuse for leaving
me. Nor did we meet again, for he sent his butler to
inform me he was setting out for town immediately,
and fdt obliged to state he could not foresee any
opportimity for continuing our friendship. The next
day I cast myself upon the world, with a pack of cards
in one pocket, and a guinea in the other. You have
now listened to my story."

" I was promising myself," said Ruth, " that the
most interesting part was yet to come."

" I have concluded the history of my gentlehood,"
replie ay. " What follows is the memoir of a sad
dog ; a record of ordinary adventure such as falls to
the lot of every homeless rascal. It would be tedious
telling, and might make no pleasant hearing. For
three years I have done battle with the world, giving

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

and receiving wounds. Yesterday I believed myself
defeated ; but thanks to you I live to fight again —
with greater courage."

" And with honesty ? "

" Ay^ that too may help."

" You have escaped from prison ! "

" In an ill moment, and half starving, I snatched a
purse from a fat parson who rolled beside the wall of
Exeter. I did not perceive he had a dog with him,
and the brute brought me down when I sought to run.
While awaiting the scaffold I managed to escape."

" You would surely have been hanged," she shud-
dered.

" The laws of this country would murder every man
of spirit. The person swore I had threatened to slit his
throat, though I spoke no word ; while another man
appeared against me, and took his oath I had also
robbed him, though I had never set eyes upon his
lying face before. 'Tis ill, mistress, to commit a crime ;
for that one breeds a score of damning charges."

" How have you earned a living ? " she asked
pityingly.

" In this way and that," he replied evasively. " I
have lately set up as a mountebank. I got some honest
shillings by the cards, so I bought a few dozen boxes
of pills which I believed would do no hurt, and a
parcel of blistering-plasters. I bought also an old
drum, and hired a one-legged sailor tO beat it ; but
the rascal stole my drum and I doubt not parted with it
for a dram. So I set out alone into the country,
finding too many practitioners in the town, and passed
through the villages until I reached Exeter ; having
by then exhausted my stock of pills and plasters,
and finding myself again without money, for my
capital had been spent upon food and lodging."

" Shall you persevere in the same profession when
you go from here ? " asked Ruth, unable to conceal her
interest, and supposing, in innocence, that a mounte-

A SAD DOG TELLS HIS STORY

bank was equally as expert as any neniber of the
Surgeons' College.

" I should do so if I could obtain a few guineas,"
he said eagerly. " I would then hire a room and
compound my own blisicring-plasters after a novel and
ingenious style. I should require plaster, vinegar of
squills, cantharides, with a plentiful stock of strong
linen upon which to spread the mixture. I find the
country folk buy them gladly. There is a fortune to be
had, mistress, by these same blistering-plasters, and
I could prepare a vast number in one day."

" What ailments do they cure ? " asked Ruth.

" Nay, you must not tease me with such questions.
It is enough for me to do the selling. I enter a village
and address the first dame I meet, somewhat after
this style :

" ' Well-a-day, my good woman, I see you are hipped.
I am the famous Doctor Alexander the Great, of whom
I doubt not you have heard. I have cured all London
town, and am now come to cure you. What, think
you, is the nature of your complaint ? '

" ' Why, doctor,' says she. ' I am well enough. I
have no sickness that I know of.'

" ' I can tell you are going to have a violent fever,'
say I. ' Your face is hot, and your breathing short.
Put out your tongue. Ah ! Ah ! I was afraid of it.
'Tis what I thought. Open your mouth wide that I
may look down your throat.'

" The good soul obeys, for she grows alarmed. I
glance at her tongue, explore her throat, and my face
becomes solemn as I say :

" ' I see clearly enough. Yes, yes, my poor woman,
I see ! I see ! '

What do ye see, doctor ? ' cries the dame.

'"I see the great avenue to the vital organs ; the
high road, madam, to your belly which, I '^o assure
you, upon my professional honour, is most ' .evously
infiamed.'

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" ' What be I to do for it ? ' she asks. ' To tell ye
the truth, doctor, I do be feeling a bit uneasy there.'

Before my time,' say I, ' your case would have
been hopeless. 'Tis a peculiarity of this disease,
which I find most common, that the patient feels no
pain till the inflammation reaches the heart. Now,
niy good woman, you may be swiftly cured by a
single application of Doctor Alexander's stimulating
and emollient blistering-plaster. One guinea to the
rich ; one shilling to the poor ; long life for all.'

" Immediately she buys a plaster and goes away
home in a mighty bustle ; while I pass on to seek
another patient. I address myself to women only,
for I find them better listeners than their husbands.
But as evening approaches I have half the men in
the place about me ; some sent by their wives, others
brought by their ailments; and I am not slow to
discover that my pills and plasters will cure them all.
If I had but five guineas I would lav them out on
plasters and acquire a fortune."

" Five guineas," Ruth murmured absently. " That
is not much."

" For the -ich man nothing. To the unfortunate who

hides from the law " He broke off, then added

sorrowfully, " I perceive I have lost your interest."

" Do not say so," she said, rising in some agitation,
yet looking away from him and listening. " I believe
I too am haunted," she whispered. These several
minutes I seem to have heard from time to time the
sound of footsteps."

'' It is not evening yet," he muttered, also rising.

" I know the master's step— 'tis slow and dragging.
This was quick, yet heavy."

" You are mistaken, dear lady,
whatever," he said encouragingly.

" I know not which way to turn
open. . . ."

More she would have said, but that moment came

I hear no sound
The doors stand

A SAD DOG TELLS HIS STOP

a knocking which filled the room where they were
standing, and passed with solemn echoes through
the house.

" Run I " she gasped. " I pray you hide— but do
not km."

" Shall I not stay to protect you ? "

" Your discovery ruins us both. Escape into the
bushes. You cannot reach the loft— that way is
barred."

The knocking had ceased ; and now a heavy footstep
sounded in the passage. Cay reached for his hat,
snatched a knife, and ran.

" The ghost ! " Ruth whispered, shrinking back.
" But why does he haunt me ? "

" Ruth Grambla I Are you within ? " a voice called
sternly.

" I am here, sir. I am coming," she said faintly,
and stepped forward ; but, before she could reach
the door leading to the back part of the house, a tall
dark stranger stood there ; and he was clad after the
fashion of a Romish priest.

" You were long in answering my knock," he said.

" Sir, I beg your pardon," said Ruth faintly.

" My food maid, I hope you are honest," the priest
continued.

*- ' ' " *his house all day alone ; I serve my father ;
^ ii ;r life," she faltered.
n: cried the priest. " Who is that yoimg

-*s just departed from you ? "
thmk, sir— I believe, sir, you are deceived,"
Ruth stammered.

" I believe so indeed ; but by you, Ruth Grambla,"
said the priest more sternly. " I have watched you
both from outside this window a long while. He was
telling you the story of his life."

" Su-, I will tell you no lies," she cried bravely. " He
is a poor gentleman, who has sinned a little, but has
suffered much from others. He came here by chance,

"I
Ihav

man
"I

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

starving and exhausted; I gave him food and shelter-
Kind sir, do not tell my father, or I am ruined."

" You are confessing to me, therefore I cannot tell
your father. Truth brings a great reward, Ruth
Grambla," said the priest gently. " I believe you are
honest. I know you have served faithfully a man who
has never rewarded you with the least affection. I
come to bless your life, and not to curse it. You do
not know me ? "

" Sir, I have never seen you before."

" I come to bring you a message, and not to spy
upon you. I would have you know, Ruth Grambla,
you are not friendless. God has his agents upon earth
to help the weak and fatherless. I am to tell you that
a friend, more powerful than the meagre Grambla,
watches over you. In every community there are men
who seek to ruin the lives of others ; but when one who
tries to do good— even by the power of magic and
enchantment— stands at the head of that community,
the evil-doer shall not go too far. I give you peace,
child. When you are in need of me I shall come to you.
But be not too open with this stranger ; do not offer
him too much. For he may yet deceive you."

The mysterious stranger departed by the way he
had come ; and Ruth was left alone in the kitchen,
standing between firelight and sunshine, with her body
also full of light and burning.

CHAPTER X

SIR THOMAS OPFNS HIS BOOK

Bezurrel Castle stood upon a slight eminence, and
from a window of the dining-room, placed at the
comer towards the church-town, both avenues leading
to the main entrance lay open. While Sir Thomas
breakfasted alone, in the foreign style to which he had
grown accustomed, he glanced from time to time along
the approach ascending from his woodlands ; and
presently he shook a little bell.

A black man, clothed in white, and looking every
inch the servant for a wizard, responded ; and his
master asked in the terrible language of magicians,
which nevertheless the meanest Frenchman might
have comprehended, " Is little Twitcher in the
kitchen ? "

" I believe, your h^/nour, he is walking in the park."

" Bid him coimne himself to his room for the present.
Two gentleman are^about to wait upon me. I desire
you to admit them to me here."

Black withdrew, and White leaned his elbows upon
the table to watch pair of loitering figures which
were not of one r d ; f or the taller and weaker
seemed inclined to retreat, while the other urged
him on, finally locking an arm within his, and using
somethhig stronger than persuasion until they felt
the eyes of the windows upon them, and then the taller
was allowed to go free. At once he dro^jped behind
his champion, and walked like one who suddenly
discovered beauty in hiL ooo^s.
^^ Thomas was satisfied b]' this unwilling tribute

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

to his powers, yet the true index to his character
expressed contempt.

' A pity," said he, " that men of the country, both
small and great, should suffer their souls to be con-
sumed by superstition. Our yeomen are brave in
body, but cowards in mind ; they will face cold steel
without a tremor, yet run from a rustling leaf at
night. Brave bodies are the result of centuries given
to ck il warfare ; cowardly minds are the inheritance
of igi^'^rance. The countryman lives in the world
which God created, but does not see it ; for he staggers
along a path of his own fancy, lighted by his wild
imagination ; hb body wide awake, his mind just
conscious. If the scholar would rule this sleeping
congregation, he must descend to cunning and play
upon then- fears."

The magician ceased his musings, for the door
opened, and two gentlemen were annoimced.

" John Qabar, I am pleased to welcome you. Nay,
if you please, I shake hands with Peter first. This
son may not wait until his father has been honoured.
I am not sorry, sir, you have no son. Your daughter
makes amends."
" My friend ! The gentleman of the inn ! " cried Cherry.
" Whose cloak you mended."
" It was but a poor return," she stammered. " I
am bewildered. Sir Thomas, here is my father."

" Why, John Clabar, do you fear me ? Come, sir,
you are an honest man, and can look one in the face.
You and your daughter are welcome to Bezurrel."

" I thank you. Sir Thomas," whispered Clabar.
" Sir, I know your powers. My daughter, sir, did
not wish to deceive you. I was assured you would
tell her sex before we entered- i house. This disguise,
sir, is to protect her against our enemy."

" You do not understand, father. Sir Thomas is
the kind gentleman who met me upon the road, and
invited me to be his guest."

SIR THOMAS OPENS HIS BOOK

" Nay, I forced you."

" Ah I but there was magic in that too." muttered
Clabar.

" My father, sir, has lived alone so long," ^aid she,
" that I fear he has forgot his manners."

" Nay, child t I am a Clabar of Coinagehall," the
father replied, stepping forward from the wall, against
which he had been standing like a full-length Tx>rtrait.
" Sir, our ancestors were friendly. There was l broken
place in the hedge where my father would cross to
visit yours."

" And that is a high road, John Clabar, which is
ever open between son and son," added Sir Thomas,
as their hands met.

" Sir, I have not deserved this kindness. Speak
for me. Cherry," said Clabar, i .treating again towards
the w£dl.

" I speak first for myself," she said. " Sir Thomas,
I would have deceived you, but could not ; (or you
set so many traps about me, and I fell into the most
womanly of them all. You compelled me to forget
my part, and caught me with a needle. I feel no
shame at being trapped by you."

" Because I possess a certain power of divination ? "

"Indeed, I believe that is true. But did you not
also deceive me ? Were you not disguised as a stranger
whom I might not expect to see again ? "

" My disguise was so thin that a questior to the
innkeeper might have pierced it. I did not te'". you
my name, for I desired to learn whetliei you would
find the courage to wait upon me here, it is common
talk in Moyle that the man or woman who enters
Bezurrel must leave in a different form. What say
you, John ? "

" Sir, that is truth."

" When my father and I depart we shall be
different beings," said Cherry. " We shall be happy,
and there is as great difference between wretched

MCYLE CHURCH-TOWN

and happy people as there is between a man and a
brute."

II What is there here which shall make you happy ? "

" Your kindness and assistance. I do not fear
your voice, Sir Thomas, because I know your heart.
Peter beholds a frowning gentleman, but his sister
Cherry spies a smiling friend. The gentleman of
the inn cannot disguise his real nature by transforming
himself into Sir Thomas Just, the lord of Moyle
Church-town."

" The traveller may wear a skin which he puts off
at home." ^ .

" But he cannot change his birth-marks. You
promised me friendship; we are both Catholics.
You would not wish to break the promise — ^you
could not unless you forswore your faith."
^^ " You have answered well," said Su" Thomas.
" Clabar, be proud of your daughter. She was bom
when the planets were ambitious."

" She came into this world, sir, upon a wild and
stormy night, and her life meant death to my poor
lady." ^ ^

"Few lives begin and end with storm," replied
Sir Thomas. " It is better to face ill weather on
the outward voyage, when the ship is empty, than
to be cast upon the rocks returning home, and lose the
cargo. You seek my assistance," he went on sharply.
" You desire me to raise a storm which shall wreck
your enemy, and to find you a harbour where you
may safely lie. Will you follow me ? "

"It is folly talking," muttered Clabar, as thek
grave host led the way. " To this man all our thoughts
have tongues."

Sir Thomas brought them into the library, a long
room somewhat ill-lighted, for the 'vindows were
stained glass. As they entered a grey-bearded man
poring over a volume rose ; he bowed and withdrew,
after one searching glance at Cherry's face and figure.

SIR THOMAS OPENS HIS BOOK

" Father Benedict— my chaplain. A worthy man,
and still more worthy priest," explained Sir Thomas.

" Is the chapel near ? " asked Cherry eagerly.

" Presently I wUl lead you there, and show you the
private pathway from the garden. Mass is said at
eight, and Compline at nine. A place shall be reserved
for you."

Clabar shivered at these words which suggested
witchcraft to his simple mind ; for at such services,
he supposed, all manner of unquiet spirits were sum-
moned from their graves. He trembled also before
the shelves of dark and terrible books ; and when Sir
Thomas lifted a great volume upon a desk and opened
it with great solemnity, his courage failed entirely,
and he would certainly have fled had not Cherry held
him.

" Here is a library of rare books ; many in the
black-letter," said Sir Thomas, noticing Clabar's
fear.

" I do not doubt it, sir."

" With much potent magic ! "

" Ay, sir, I warrant you."

Sir Thomas appeared to be studying the characters
of the book before him. Presently he raised his head
and after a glance at Cherry which showed him she
was imder the same spell as her father — bewildered by
the odour of dry books and startled at his conduct
— ^he proceeded to speak slowly :

" Magicians of old have recorded the actions of
human lives, so that all we do, or think, or say may be
found written and explained in their books of know-
ledge. Draw near me, John. Consider this character."

" I behold it," whispered Clabar falsely ; for he
stood three yards away.

" You have been bound to Grambla twenty years
— this dark and crooked letter, mark you, stands for
that scoundrel. Here I discover the estate of Coinage-
hall falling into decay ; the rightful owner separated

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

from it by this cryptic sign, which may reveal a deed
got by fraud, or ahnost any act of villainy,"

" I would give a thousand guineas, had I so much,
for the eyes to read that book," whispered Clabar.

" Cherry is here implied by this symbol," the sage
continued. " It is a sign dominating the whole page.
It touches my life here— this mark, you must know,
is commonly used to signify a wizard— and here. Ah i
what do I see ? Here is a sign which baffles me. My
lady shall read it, for she is more skilled in this style
of letters than myself. Mistress Clabar, I pray you
walk warily as Peter, and as Cherry I beg you be most
careful ; lest you bring trouble on me and upon mv
house."

" That I will never do," she murmured. " You will
tell me what you see."

" As I may only read the stars when the night is
clear, so I cannot speak when the text is clouded,"
said Sir Thomas in the same deep voice. " I warn
you, and pass on."

He turned the page, then said with a change of
manner, " Why, John, I am sorry to see you are given
notice to quit your cottage. You are become a home-
less man."

" Sir, this is the business my daughter and I came
upon ; as, sir, you very well know."

" In the spring of the year birds build their nests ;
it is the season of home life. I met a wise man once,
who told me we are in some measure related to the
birds ; because, said he, kinship must exist between
two-legged creatures. Birds and human beings alike
sing in sunshine and are peevish in foul weather. Both
wear fine feathers when they go a-courting, both
must have a home to protect theu: young. But we
desire a home always, and custom has made one neces-
sary, unless we are birds of prey, like the highwayman,
who hovers upon the road to strike his weaker kind!
It is written that you come to me in the sprmg, asking

SIR THOMAS OPENS HIS BOOK

for materials to build your nest, and a place — ^here in-
deed is a tree, but you are not birds-— a place in my
woods of Bezurrel for your home."

" I know you are a prophet and a wizard," cried
Cherry. " For you can tell the future and read^our
secret thoughts."

" The mind is a great mansion containing many
rooms of mystery," said Sur Thomas, closing the musty
volume. " Many men spend their lives in the hall.
Few proceed further than the outward rooms. None
fully explore their own property. All are sometimes
frightened when the doors are opened."

"Sir, will you tell my future?" asked Cherry
boldly.

" The book is closed," replied the magician. " Con-
sider for a moment. We are happiest when we antici-
pate, when we make our future, and rely upon the
pleasures of imagination. A knowledge of the future
would destroy every form of happiness. The mind
lives its own life apart ; and it lives in a world our
bodies cannot enter. You have loved a woman, Clabar.
What was the world of wonder your mind then
wandered in ? A very different land from this where
your two bodies suffered. To know the future might
be to kill the separate existence of the mind. If the
book was lying open by your hand, you would not
take it — ^you could not dare to read."

" I would take it ; but the same moment I might
pray for blindness," Cherry murmured.

" The confession betrays your sex," replied Sir
Thomas. Then he asked, " What is that parcel you
are holding ? "

" If I answer, sir, I may be wasting breath."

" You might have done so with less use of breath ;
for you could have answered with the one word — gold."

" A small sum, sir, as you know ; but the savings
of twenty years," said Clabar.

"Tainted money honourably won. It is a danger

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

to be carrying that parcel ; for guineas betray them-
selves by clinking. This jingle is the miser's rhyme,
and the call-bell of the robber. You desire me to
make an investment for you ? "

" We have no home, sir, and can find no place to
hide our guineas. Will you take charge of them, and
allow my father to draw upon you ? "
" If you lend me money, I must pay you interest."
" You pay that, sir, already with your kindness."
" I will protect your guineas, and my steward shall
render you an account. But this is not the matter
which you come on. In Moyle you have an enemy,
and you seek to hide from him."

" Not to hide," said Cherry, " but to find a place
where we may live in safety. Grambla considers that
Coinagehall has now become his lawful property
because he has employed my father all these years.
He is a religious man, and after this fashion he satisfies
his conscience. Now he will strive his utmost to drive
us away from Moyle, for we are the last of the Clabars,
and with our disappearance his title is established.
He evicts my father, in the hope that he may be
starved, or compelled into some act of felony which
may prove his ruin ; and he will put forth all his
energy against me. As a woman I could not stand
before him. As a man I must have ground to stand
on."

" I am the lord of this parish," said Sir Thomas
sternly.

" True, sir. But Grambla has the influence which
you do not exert. If we do not live upon your land he
must defeat us."

" How can you hope to defeat him ? For he
possesses a legal right to Coinagehall. A title foimded
upon fraud is still a title."

" It can be shaken by the will of heaven."

" Or abandoned by the owner ? "

" Nay, sir ! " said Clabar respectfully.

SIR THOMAS OPENS HIS BOOK

" Not at the voice of conscience ? "

" I believe not, sir."

" I tell you it may. Permit a man to indulge freely
in his passions, and he will kill himself. Reproach him
every day, and in time he listens. Force him to listen,
and he must be shaken. If every parishioner of Moyle
called Grambla robber, he would not listen. Were
his own conscience to call him rogue, he might believe
it true. You desire a home beneath my protection ? "

" We turned aside as we came into your woodlands,"
began Cherry.

" Sir, we had no right there," Clabar faltered.

" Perhaps you hardly know how fair the place is,"
she continued. " The woods are very thick and descend
into sweet depths. A stream passes through, and its
banks are now bright with primroses."

" It is true I know little of Bezurrel Woods."

" There will soon be a summer's sky and warm
nights ; and while they last we might build and bur-
row. Sir, we have a little money, and it is already
in your keeping. Will you grant us a small piece of
your woodland, and take what rent seems to you
right ? We can raise some shelter. And we shall do
no damage, sir ; we shall not trap bird or beast, nor
destroy a single tree. Bezurrel Woods are full of song
and blossom ; and there, sir, we might play happily
at life."

" Through winter and wild weather, my child ? "

" Why not, sir ? We may forget our bodies, and live
with our minds."

" In poverty, child ? "

" The poor laugh more merrily than the rich, for
they fear no losses."

" You would face the realities of existence, and seek
to prove them false."

" The realities of existence, sir, are love, mercy,
knowledge, for the mind ; food to eat and clothes to
wear for the body. I cannot prove to be fal^ what

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

God made real ; nor would I try. We make life a
tragedy by turning our back upon realities, not by
accepting them. I believe, sir, men and women are
only true to themselves when they meet in the open
air."

" Would you invite them then to remain with their
comrades the birds ? "

" Why no, sir," said Cherry firmly. " But I would
ask them not to wipe off Natxu-e on the doormat. God
never created houses ; therefore we may be terrified
to lie in one. But flowers and tiees do not frighten
us because God made them."
" Do you not go in terror of your fellow-creatures ? "
" Because of the false realities of the devil in them,
sir."
" You have read many books, Cherry ? "
" Not so many as I could wish to read."
" And have read them wrongly," proceeded Sir
Thomas. " You would jest at life because you are
still young. You would make a sport of living because
your heart is Iree, and your mind has not been clouded
yet by sorrow. Love, mercy, knowledge are great
realities indeed; but will surround us with all the
suffering that the mind can bear. Happiest love must
one day feel the woimd of separation ; tenderest mercy
know the worst ingratitude ; every avenue of know-
ledge end in ignorance."

" I would not jest at life, Sir Thomas. I would
make it real with happiness," she answered. " I believe
many people leave a way open to sorrow. Nay more,
they prepare it 'vith every possible diligence, and say
to themselves, ' heie is sorrow's pathway.' They look
along it every morning of their lives, and wonder when
sorrow will be coming, and why sorrow is not yet in
sight. Sir, they force themselves into a state of misery,
and then blame God for it. But I would make a broad
highway for happiness, and if sorrow should chance
to come near, I would go out and cry, 'No way!

SIR THOMAS OPENS HIS BOOK

no way 1 You shall not walk along this road of happi-
ness.

" Very well indeed," Sir Thomas munnured, glanc-
ing in some wonder at the dark and sUent form of
Qabar.

" Life would be real in Bezurrel Woods among the
birds and flowers," she added.

" Sickness and death, child ! "

" Not realities, for the devil brought them. If my
father died, I should weep indeed, but not for long ;
I would not open sorrow's pathway. And if I caught
the -mall-pox, I would say to my body, ' lie you there
and recover,' and would go for a happy holiday to
my mind."

" Youth, not wisdom, speaking," Sir Thomas mut-
tered.

" That is true, sir. My tongue is joined to my heart,
not to my brain. I would rather live by my heart,
than by all the wisdom of the world. I would make
home with my heart, and were I queen, sir, I would
rule the people with my heart. In Bezunel Woods is
a pathway along which you permit parishioners to
waJk ; but I would allow no one to enter by my gate
if they brought sonow on their faces. I would tell
them a smile is lighter than a frown, and indeed it suits
you better. Therefore take up your smile here and
carry it."

" What if they could not be happy ? "

" It would be my business to teach them."

" And suppose they could not learn ? "

" Sir, there was never a man nor woman bom who
could not learn the simple task of knowing happiness.
'Tis true thc^.: may be many unwilling to learn, and
many more who have .lot found a teacher. Sir, if one
man in a crowd bursts into laughter, all the sour faces
will laugh to see his mirth ; he who laughs is the
master. But if he should bid the sour faces to laugh,
they would tell him to mind his business. God created

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

happiness as an act of worship to Himself; but when
the devil also attempted to create happiness it turned
into sorrow. Sir, melancholy is the worship of the
devil, and I'll have none of it."

" The brain is there," said Sir Thomas. Then he
turned to the silent Clabar and went on. " Go with
your daughter, and choose that part of Bezurrel Woods
where you would wish to live. Inform the steward,
and leave the rest to me. Do nothing yourselves and,
after choosing the site, go not into the woods until I
give you leave. Four days 1 Well, much may be done
in four spring days. There is an old spell I heard of in
the East which lightens a mason's labour admirably.
At the proper time I shall send for you. No words.
Cherry, for I see your tongue wishes to be pert ; and
in that mood I might not love you. Lay the parcel of
guineas upon this table. You will pardon me, but I
have much to see to," he said, going towards a door
which admitted to the garden, then turning to ring
a bell.

" Wait outside until I can send Father Benedict to
join you, and he will guide you to the chapel. This
is a day which marks a period. My sons have finished
their education at Oxford and are returning home.
Farewell, honest John Clabar. Cherry— do not forget
my warning."

CHAPTER XI

RUTH COMES TO THE END OF HER CAPTIVITY

Ruth and her doctor stood in the copse below
Coinagehall, while evening crept along, brightening the
primroses which were dull in sunlight. The atmosphere
was sullen, yet warm, and the impatient March
searched every nook to find a living thing.

" Nobody will come this way l:^fore dark, unless
it be Toby Penrice, and him you can hide from
behind these holly-bushes," said Ruth.

"The rogue has seen me once, and has since
talked of me at every doorstep."

"As another apparition. Moyle is haunted by
all manner of ghosts. Your presence here is known,
but to Grambla you are Red Cap, to the Clabars one
of their ancestors, while to gossips you are the evil
one himself."

" And to you, Ruth ? " he asked, holding both
her hands.

" To me," she murmured. " What but a dear
sinner who is about to leave me ? You are the spirit
of this season which comes to mock the wretched."

'' What do you mean, my Ruth ? "

" Spring comes to every youth and maiden, com-
manding them to love, and they must obey; but
those who are poor and in misery love in vain. So the
season is a mockery to them. They are bidden go to
church, but when they get there the door is locked.
Spring, like the world, was made for rich folk."

" I shall not play the part of a deceiving season. I
am yours eternally, dear Ruth."

zoo

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" You heard the gale and the rain last night. In
my dreams you were the wind of March, while I was
weeping April. You had blown past, and while I
smiled at your memory I wept to know that you
were gone."

" Could you forget May-day had to follow ? "

" I awoke," said Ruth sadly. " There was no May
for me."

" Yov cannot hinder it from coming. Yesterday
I knew you loved me "

" I did not say so."

" When a maiden makes no answer, she means yes."

" I protested."

" Yet you did not resist."

" Surely I forced you from me ! "

" And with the action drew yourself towards me."

" And caUed out I "

" Nay, you sighed and placed your head upon this
shoulder. Ah, dearest Ruth 1 "

" I must leave you," she murmured. " Grambla
may have returned home — is calling for me now.
This little wood has changed. Now when I walk I
shall hear your voice. I shall speak to the trees and
flowers, and they will answer — ^you! The sun will
smile of you. The stream and these meadows will
have a voice also, and will whisper — you ! "

" I leave you, but we do not part," said the young
mountebank. " You will be walking at my side ; I
shall hear your voice and feel your hand stealing into
mine. Every day I shall seek your advice, and when a
little good fortune comes I shall say, ' Was not that well
done, Ruthie ? ' "

" And I shall answer, ' This brings the summer
on.' Is it growing dark ? I cannot see."

" There is light here — light upon your hair, and
these two litt'f ears shine brightly."

" Oh, love ve in poverty 1 " she moaned. " Youths
and maidens i^ave so little, while the earth is rich."

THE END OF HER CAPTIVITY loi

"We are forced to get and take. We are not
allowed happiness untU we are exhausted by the
struggle to keep alive. Man fights while the maiden

waits*"

" She was never made for waiting. If she were
meant to wait God would have made her differently,
and He would have created a different world for her
to wait in. This spring season mocks the wretched,
but it also teaches them time must r be wasted,
not a day, not an hour. We are made so wonderfully,
yet how lit Je we are given— a few years of youth in
one short life ! And if we lose one hour we may miss
all. The trees do not wait ; birds and beasts do not
wait. Buds are opening all around us, birds are
mating, every living thing is seizing the great chance
which comes every year. Men and maids alone are
waiting— waiting 1 "

"There are no poor trees, poor buds; all are
wealthy. They hold all things in common, and each
takes a share," he ai\swered heavily. " But poor men
and maids must fight for years, and then not obtain
their share of good things."

" Fields, woods, and houses are owned by Sir
Thomas Just. He takes the shares of hundreds,
while you have nothing — ^and I have not even a
name. The poor are forced to steal."

" My Ruthie is no robber."

" What can I give you ? " she cried, breaking
away from him. " I cannot let you depart from me
with empty hands. You honour me, sir, with your
love."

" You give me yours."

" I have no fortune — a kitchen-wench, a scrubber
of floors I My love by custom goes to the kind gentle-
man who deigns to smile upon me ; and my hand
to some dull labourer. Yet you would make me your
wife in sight of heaven."

" Have you not saved my life ? I loved you out of

Z03

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

gratitude, I loved you out of pity; and at last I
loved you for yourself alone."

"Take these I " cried Ruth, forcing primroses into
his hands. " They are not mine to give, yet what else
is there ? Take these also I " she continued, plucking
the taU daffodils. " Here is a ribbon from my neck
And here is a handkerchief. Now I have given you
all I can. Nay, here are kisses I " And she flung
herself upon him, weeping wildly.

" Dear heart, what ails you ? " he whispered.

" My master shall not say his servant has no dowry,"
she Gobbec*. " I give you yellow flowers, the first of the
year. See I I thrust them into your pocket, and bid
♦hem turn into gold. Hear the petals clink together I "

••Ruth! dear Ruth, be cahn I "

" Uy all the fields of Coinagehall you shall carry
them with you. Four days ago we met— both starving.
I gave you food, and in return you fed me with your
kindness and your presence— and yesterday with the
only food that satisfies a woman."

" Kisses, sweetheart ; soft words, promises, oaths."

" Food of heaven, satisfying only while the sweet
taste remains, then leaving the body more hungry
than before. Would you turn deceiver— poisoner ?
For the man who falsely swears to love poisons the
wells of heaven. Ah, I do not know what I am saying.
Pardon me, dearest poor gentleman I You have given
me so much— burdened me with memories which shall
aid my feet to run up hill. Shall some village woman
give you a shilling, while I send you away emptv-
handed ? " j j f j

" I have your heart to carry, and your love to hold
You give me all." he said. " Dearest Ruth, do not
weaken me. I -nust go to win our future. Force me
from you— do not hold me here. If I move I draw
you with me."

" My will forces you away, but my heart is a bramble
clmging round you."

THE END OF HER CAFnVITY X03

" This flower has no thorns," he whispered as he
kissed her streaming face.

" Love wears a croMm of thorns "

" It b ahnost night," he cried. " Oh, Ruth, Ruth I
what a darkness is this I Each path as I turn towards
it seems blacker than the last. A man is valiant when
life has no pleasure for him ; a craven when he loves.
The trees are full of voices. There are movements in
yonder bushes as of men lying in wait. More flowers,
Ruth I FoolUhRuthI"

" The handkerchief 1 " she cried.

" Why, it is tied at the four comers."

" True lover's knots."

" It holds something. What are you giving me ?
What more can you give ? "

" See I I force it into the pocket of your coat. It
lies upon a bed of primroses. Be very careful how you
draw it out— but not now. Walk through the night,
■€ and in thr morning ask God to bless you — ^and to forgive
V both — ^then draw out my yellow flowers, my stohn
blossoms, and count them. Go, Harry I That way
to the east."

" I have indeed taught you to call me by that name,"
he said hoarsely. " 'Tis the name by which my few
friends Imow me. But I have not told you how they
cdl me somMimes Black Harry."

" I care nothing for a name. Am I not Black Ruth
of the kitchen ? "

" I am so called "

" Rim, Harry 1 " she cried, not hearing what he
said. " My senses are going from me. The moon is
silver, and the sim is gold. We are all dark creatures.
Let us wish for each other names of a better colour.
Good night, Harry — ^I believe I have said good-
bye."

She turned and went, stumbling against the holly-
bushes.

" Ruth, stay ! "

104

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" Be careful. Harry, to wrap your cloak about you ;
for the air will be very cold near morning."

" Hear me, Ruth ! I am unworthy of your love.
Ruth, my love, my life ! How shall we meet again I "

But he spoke to the night, for Ruth was already in
the open field ; and his voice was a buzzing in her
ears.

Job Cay ran from the copse until he reached the
silent lane, and along this he sped to an open hill
where the fresh wind whistled. He drew out the
handkerchief and untied the knots. Five guineas
there, the sum he had asked for, and now had won
by lying. He stood and stared at them, swaying
from side to side. Stones were beneath his feet ; he
knelt upon them, and took off his hat ; but could
not pray. The only words which escaped into the
wind were, "If I forget her yellow flowers, God
wound me ! "

Ruth made her way to Coinagehall, and no thought
of the waiting Jacob hurried her ; for her senses were
stupefied again. She reached the house, hearing no
sound except the cry of owls, and pushed at the door,
which opened with a grating noise, for wind had
scattered sand upon the floor A dull light of candles
fell upon her eyes ; she felt the smart of them when
it was too late to turn ; for the kitchen stood open at
the end of the passage, and she saw Jacob, a small
dark creature— far away it seemed to her— crouched
upon his usual chair, watching and waiting. Ruth
faltered, then stood still ; for the picture of light and
lawyer swung before her, and she found herself
wondering whether any woman could be bought with
gold to kiss that meagre face.

Jacob moved like a shadow, and passed into the
dark. He called, and the girl recovered her own
voice at the sound of his.
" Ah, he is frightened," she murmured.
" ^Vhere have you been ? "

THE END OF HER CAPTIVITY 105

" V/alking in the copse and through the meadows,"
she replied ; but that sorrowful tongue gave evidence
against her.

" It is night."

" I call it evening. It is night here."

" Come nearer. I am told a woman can lie cleverly,"
said Jacob.

He took a candlestick, and held it towards her face.
Hardly knowing what she did Ruth extinguished the
flame. Smoke of the snuff ascended between them,
while Jacob laughed. Ruth had never heard him
laugh so merrily. But his tongue was soon grating
like the door upon the sand.

" Very well ! Now stretch your cheeks and blow
me out that firelight. Stretch them again and blow
me from the house. What, have ye spent all breath
already ? Here is a woman's strength ! She blows
out a candle, and is then exhausted."

" I am not well. My head is aching."

" Ay, and the heart too, I warrant."

" So I went down into the copse, forgetting it grew
late ; and the darkness came upon me suddenly."

" Stand here before me. I will examine you — ay,
know you thoroughly. All day you might have
wandered, yet you choose the evening. Ruth Grambla
— I know not why I honour you with my name — ^we
men of the law regard the faces of our clients, and
especially do we regard the eyes and mouth. The
rascal, if a man, will blunder through his story, and
while he speaks the truth his eyes are steady ; but at
the first lie they change, they flicker like this candle
flame. If a woman, she will use her tongue exceeding
well ; but coming to the lie her mouth twitches. Nay,
girl, stand steady. Would you plead guilty with your
attitude ? So ! so ! an honest wench, a virtuous
woman. Your eyes are red with weeping."

" I have suffered much pain," she whispered.

" Your hair is in great disorder."

IT'l

io6

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" It was blown by the wind."

" And to conclude you have a lover."

Ruth did not answer.

" His name is Peter Clabar."

" I do not know him."

" She speaks the truth," muttered Jacob. " This
lover is then a stranger," he proceeded. " I would
know his name."

Ruth smiled faintly, then shook her head.

" Where and how did you meet this man ? "
^^ " I may have my own secret," said Ruth firmly.
" I have served you well, and have not sought to learn
the secrets of your life. Now I may begin to live
myself."

"To-morrow you shall answer me," said Jacob
calmly.

He said nothing more, and presently withdrew
to his room, leaving Ruth to reproach herself for the
weakness which had detained her in the copse so long.
Her work was finished, and she sat before the dying
fire ; a sad and silent little figure, thinking of the
lonely wanderer upon the downs with his face towards
the hopeful east. She slept, and from a vision of the
darkest future, awoke to behold Jacob standing on
the threshold, terrible in his insignificance. His face
was distorted, his e^iis were wild, and his fingers
plucked at the air as though trying to clutch some
elusive property. With a thrill of terror Ruth started
up and snuffed the candle.

I' You know John Clabar ? " said Jacob at last.

" He is not my lover," she answered impatiently,
yet with a carelessness she had not shown before.

" This house was once the property of his family.
I took him into my service out of charity ; the dream-
ing fool sat in my office and sighed for better days.
He would have groaned me out of charity with all
men. So I dismissed him — ^gave him notice to quit
his cottage. I took you also out of charity, and now

THE END OF HER CAPTIVITY

107

you — ^you defy me. Remember John Clabar, who
to-morrow will be homeless. To-morrow by the will
of God this family of Clabar takes another downward
step — ^the last."

Ruth did not sleep that night. In the morning
Jacob departed long before his usual time ; but an
hour later he crossed the fields, returning to Coinage-
hall in the company of the village constable, and a
farmer with his dog. All three entered the house and
ascended the stairs ; while Ruth sat in the kitchen,
her face buried in her hands, for she had seen the con-
stable holding a stick she recognised.

The search-party descended and left the house,
the dog straining at its leash. Ruth heard the *ramp-
ling of feet upon the gravel, approaching the back, then
dying away hi the direction of the coach-house. A
lop" silence followed before the searchers returned ;
ar A last Ruth saw the constable and fanner retreat-
ing across the fields, and she heard a stealthy footstep
in the passage.

Jacob came in rubbing his hands and smiling at the
face of the lying clock ; in good humour for he played
a game which suited his mood, and he was also vastly
relieved to know the apparition, which had failed to
trouble him of late, had never found its way to Coin-
agehall.

" Ah, Ruth, 'tis not often I bring visitors. I am a
man of method. To change the order of the day is
Lw break all business. You have a lover. That fact
was established between us yesterday," he said with
a joyous cackling of laughter. " Maidens will love —
'tis right that they should. A sad life without love !
But while lovers kiss and sigh, the man of business
takes their land and houses. Here is the will of God,
I duubt not. You and your lover shall meet again.
I will bring him back, or perchance send you to him.
Yet I would rather bring him back, so that I might
restore you to his arms."

io8

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

1 il

" Judge me harshly if you will," said Ruth. " But
do not jeer at me."

" I shall enjoy my humour. I too have been walk-
ing in the copse, though my eyes are not red with
weeping. The distressed lover departed, leaving his
stick. The scent was sufficient for the hound, which
traced the precious rascal to this house, so into the
best room upstairs, and then into the loft. These four
days, maiden — ^nay, I should call you woman — you
have disported yourself very pleasantly, I warrant.
You go out upon the road, yon find your gentleman,
and, being a passable maid, he succumbs to your
temptation. You bring him into my house, offer him
my bed, give him my food. Nay, in your exceeding
generosity, you must even pay him for the kindness
he has rendered a sly kitchen-wench, so you mast
break open my box, steal five of my guineas, and press
them upon him."

"It is true I took the money. I did not break the
box, for you had left the key to tempt me," said Ruth,
holding her hands a moment upon her ears.

" Robberj', wench ! 'Tis the only word to fit your
crime ; and, mark you, robbery goes ever hand in hand
with the profession I think you not unsuited for."

" You will pardon me," she said, " but I remain so
ignorant of the world, I have retained some innocence.
You call me robber ; until to-day I have been charged
to call you father, though all my life you have used me
as a servant. The daughter may have access to the
father's purse ; the servant may look to her master
for fair wages. I have taken from you five guineas.
How many years of life have you stolen from me ? "

" I see you would be pleasant," said the little man,
twisting his fingers together until thei' cracked like
parchment. " Stealing a year of life is a very good
pleasantry indeed — a, very pretty image of speech.
I believe you will not better it."

" You speak of a profession you have discovered for

Lj^MnnHMMr

THE END OF HER CAPTIVITY 109

me." continued the patient girl ; but could say no
more, for Jacob broke into a passion of cacklmg laugh-
ter which bent him double. ,,

•' She has done better," he cried at length. ine
woman is an antic— would make a stroUing player.
There is but one profession open to a woman, and that
in your innocence you havo discovered for yourself.

" Then my ignorance and innocence are equal.

" This modesty will go down well. 'Twill be

^^^ _ the

makhigy*you7 Chut, wench ! you grow tedious. To
go out upon the road and smile at men ; to bnng them
home, give them food and drink ; to hide them m
bedchambers ; to call them lovers— what is all this

" Stay ! " cried Ruth so violently that Jacob shuffled
back. "Now I understand your meaning. Utter
that word, and I shall- -I shaU try to kUl you. I do
J! t pollute my tongue by telling you my love-story.
Oh, God in heaven, they think me— they wiU caU

She turned to the wall and sobbed against it, " Oh,
my father and mother, why are ye dead ? Will ye not
come back to save me ? "

" This is penitence— remorse," said Jacob, smiling
and nodding. " God is merciful to sinners, yet 'tis
our duty to put them from us. One evil person contam-
inates the whole community. I like to hear this woman
weeping. 'Tis a sign some goodness is remaining— if
it be not anger. I fear she woald have shed no tear
had we not caught her."

His amiable voice was nothing but a noise in the
ears of Ruth. She leaned against the wall and stam-
mered like a child, till it was pitiful to hear her. " Last
night I shed tears for love. Now I shed teais for shame.
Oh, for a little strength ! I cannot turn upon him.
WTien I look at him I feel sick, I grow faint. Now I
am quite blind."
" An honourable house," said Jacob, taking snuff.

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

For centuries the home of English yeomen. Now by
this woman become a place of ill-repute. Generations
to come will teU of it. At such a time there dwelt in
this house an unworthy woman, a shameless woman,
ay, a vile woman. So they will say, and add a name I
would not like to call her. Breaking open my box.
stealmg my guineas— this is a hanging matter. I
might carry her before the magistrates, I might charge
ner with theft, ay, and with making my house, this
honourable mansion of Coinagehall, a resort for gal-
lants. But I shall be merciful, ay, and temper justice
with my mercy. The woman shall enjoy her liberty."

He skipped to the windows and fastened them ; then
to the back door which he locked ; and afterwards
retummg to the kitchen, then standing for a few
moments to watch the girl who seemed to have for-
gotten he was near.

"A good day," he muttered, rubbmg his hands
contentedly. " John Clabar and his baby-faced youth
are to go into the fields and woods— if any person
gives them lodging I wiU know the reason. And Ruth
Crrambla— Grambla a good and decent name— shaU
make her choice,"

Briskly he stepped to the unhappy Ruth and tapped
her shoulder. When she did not respond he drew her
round.

" Ruth Grambla, I pray you give me your attention.
You have passed under my name before the parish
and upon condition I shaU allow you to retain it. You
have stolen my guineas, but upon terms I propose to
pardon you. Give me your hand, and all shall be well."

His meanmg, rather than the words, reached Ruth
and made her stagger. She could not speak ; besides!
she scorned to answer. This man, who had tortured
faer and oelieved she had lately been dishonouring
his house, now asked her to be his wife, in Oxder that
she might end her life as she had begun it, by toiling
in his kitchen. t> > y s

THE END OF HER CAPTIVITY iii

" The love of a father I have never lavished upon
you," Jacob continued, tapping his dirty snuff-box.
" Now I perceive you are arrived at the age when
love becomes as the sun of your existence ; and I
propose to honour you — for 'tis indeed an honour to a
nameless wench — ^with a partnership — ^a business one,
I grant ye — ^not in my office, but in my house of Coin-
agehaU."

" You I " sobbed Ruth, seeing the face and eyes of
handsome Harry, and feeling his late kisses bum upon
her. Then she threw out her arms, and cried in anguish,
" Kill me, or let me go."

" I am sorry the proposal does not suit you," said
Jacob lightly. " I feared it would be so. Yet I was
bound by honour and duty — a trifle by my inclination
also — ^to give you the choice between honest living
and a shameful ending. What cannot be mended by
marriage must now be ended by dismissal. The clothes
you wear I bestow upon you as a free gift. Had you
been honest I would have pressed a guinea in your
hand ; for you have not served me ill. I will even
escort you to the road, and point out the way you
should proceed for Plymouth town, where I am told
a wench with a fair face may find a handsome living.
You will follow me."

Ruth staggered against the table, while her dim
eyes saw in a mist the fire she had made, the pots she
had scoured a thousand times ; and her ears heard at
a great distance the wheezing of the clock, her lifelong
comrade. She had not strength to move ; but Jacob,
with a chuckle of satisfaction, put his hands upon her,
and dragged her from the room. In the hall she fell ;
and the little attorney, losing control of his temper at
last, kicked and struck her till his limbs were weary.

" Robber ! " he shouted. " Mistress of gallants !
You steal my guineas ! You make a brothel of my
house I You scorn my name — sneer at my figure —
mock at my face I "

zxa

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

Then he seized her by the feet and dragged her over
the stones, and left her upon the grass outsidr, while
he locked the door.

" Hear my last word, strumpet 1 " ht sliouted,
returning and bending over her swollen eyes and
bleeding mouth. " Get you gone from here, and never
let me see your face again. Get you gone from Moyle,
for if I find you in this parish I carry you before the
magistrates. Get you to your lover, and I pray to
know you have been hanged together."

He shuffled away, muttering threats, glancing back
every few yards at the slight figure, clad in its coarse
working clothes, lying barely conscious and moaning
in its pain.

CHAPTER XII

THE ADVENTURES OF RUTH IN FAIRYLAND

As Ruth could not read she knew but a few magic
tales, and these had been told her by the old woman
of the farm, who had seen fairies in her young days ;
she thought upon Poldrifty Downs, but was not
certain. Ruth dreamed of such tales as the procef 'on
of the senses approaching her body, still lying in the
garden of Coinagehall.

A fine sight it would have been to those whose eyes
had been struck with magic ointment. First came the
tales, each one beneath its banner, and with its band
of music. The motto of every one was clearly visible :
• The true bride finds her own love ' ; ' The virtuous
maiden must win the prize ' ; ' You are immortal when
you believe in yourself.' And every tale, as it passed,
dropped a herb of healing. Then came the chariot of
the sun, surrounded by rainbows. The warmth was
soothing ; it remained after the vision had gone by,
to be replaced by the flowers ; primroses, daffodils,
and many others, skipping along like children ; the
buds somewhat peevish because they could not see.
And upon their petals pressed birds, butterflies, and
bees, with quite wise faces. Last of all came the five
senses hand in hand.

But Ruth had to sit upon the grass and wait an
hour for the straggler strength. It arrived at last,
the only dejected creature of them all — ^the others had
been somewhat too boisterous — ^but it consented to
lift Ruth from the weeds and to allow her to follow the
procession, which had entirely disappeared, and indeed
I 113

MOYLE CKaRCH-TOWN

now seemed to have been nothing but a fancy, out of
the garden, across the fields, and along the lane to-
wards the high and wind-swept country.

Ruth knew she would not be safe until she had
passed the great longstone which marked the boundary
of the parish ; but all beyond that was a land of the
barbarians. She had never been away from Moyle,
and that stone was to her the end of the known world.
She had bruises and weakness in place of friends and
home ; she was not able to walk a dozen miles,
and even if she had walked twenty, what would she
have found except more open spaces and unfriendly
faces ?

" I must beg for my food," she whispered. " Else
go down to the sea and sup upon gweans and limpets.
But if I go to the sea I may not return."

Hope, like a tiny child, kept singing while her
feet went on. Ruth had in mind two very different
figures. One was the mysterious priest who had walked
into Coinagehall, had blessed her in a kmdly voice, and
promised her protection. She knew a priest lived at
Bezurrel, but he would not interest himself in the
Protestants of Moyle, nor would Sir Thomas allow
him to enter a home unbidden. Many ships were
driven by contrary winds into the harbours ; sailors
and passengers would explore the land, obtain pro-
visions, then go upon their way. This priest was
undoubtedly a foreigner thus stranded, roaming about
the parish for an hour, full of love for his fellow-
creatures. Ruth dismissed this figure with a sigh.

The other was an old woman with a beard ; her
figure, if less distinct, was much more real ; although
Riith could not feel confident of help, for Mother
Gothal was the attorney's trusted seer. She was also
one of the wisest women in all Cornwall. Ruth had
never spoken to the witch, whose powers she believed
in firmly ; but Mother Gothal, it was rumoured, had a
kindness for maidens — ^having at some remote period

RUTH IN FAIRYLAND

115

been one hersell— thcreiore she might tell the homeless
girl which path it would be best for her to choose.

Ruth came out upon the broken trackway, where
she had never walked before, though barely a mile
from Coinagehall. Looking back she saw the roofs
of Moyle, and her courage died away.

" I have a mind to go back," she murmured, beg^-
nuig to weep again. " I loved my kitchen, the shining
pots, the dear old clock. I had no other comp Jiy.
Once I took in a starving cat, but he kicked it to death.
Then I took in a starving man, and he tried to kick me
to death. I would go back if— nay, he was tormsnting
me ; and rather than that I would go down to the sea.
The poor old clock will have no comrade now."

She went on until she could sec smoke curling
over the brow of the hill, then she wiped away her
tears and whispered, " How silent it must be 1 The
spiders are spinning new webs. The mice are nmning
about the kitchen. The fire has gone out. I remember
my apron was hanging over the back of that chair. I
am sorry I had not time to sweep the floor."

In fine weather Mother Gothal made her fire among
some stones before the hovel. She was squatting
upon the peat, presiding over a broth of some fell
description, looking terribL to the eyes of Ruth ; for
she was swarthy, and muttered to herself. The girl
stopped in terror several yards away ; but the wise
woman turned her head, and fixed her simple old eyes,
which sorely needed a pair of spectacles, upon the
faltering figure ; and then she scrambled up and called
in a motherly fashion, " La, my dear Ruth ! I never
thought to see you in the high country. I ha' 'mown
you all your life, but ha' never spoke with ye avore.
Come along up, my dear. Come, my pretty ! Pitch
by the fire and tell to old mother."

" I am afraid of you. Mother Gothal," said Ruth
simply.

" Don't ye be frightened, child. Sit here, on this

1x6

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

mossy ttcme. and il the old cat comes to rub agin ye,
cry scat to 'en. And don't ye be shamed, for aU M^le
be airaid of me, and Master Grambla most of all. 'fne
fox-hunters draw over to Gwentor sooner thsm pass
my cottage. I'm a quiet old woman when the sun
shines ; but at night I be the powerfullest old witch
between Land's End and Tamar. I ha' brought storms
without number, and I ha' put goldm fortunes into
the pockets of the wreckers. And once when the
full moon wam't to my liking I put 'en out. La, my
dear, I puffed wi' my old cheeks just once, and out
her .vent."
" You won't hurt me. Mother Gothal ? "
" Not if Master Grambla was to give me a bag of
guineas for it. Not if he was to say change the maid
into a toad. I wouldn't change ye, my love, and if I
did I would change ye into a little bird to hang up in
a cage and sing for me. I love young folks, and the
prettier they be the more I loves them ; for I was a

fretty maid myself, and a wonderful fine woman avore
took to witchery. I was the prettiest maid between
Land's End and Tamar, and now I be the old witch
of Poldrifty Downs, and nobody 'cept Sir Thomas
Just is powerfuller than I be."

For several minutes the old body continued ht:
professional patter, which kept Ruth quaking ; while
the pot went on boiling, and the brincUed cat stalked
among the rocks, and the tame raven croaked. Mother
Gothjd threw turves upon the fire, muttering an
incantation to make them bum. Then she looked
into the clear water of the spring, and said wisely, " I
see, my dear, you ain't come up alone."

" Yes, Mother Gothal. I am quite alone now."

" You bain't, my dear. You ha' brought trouble
along with ye."

Ruth bowed her head and quickly told the story,
from the coming of Job Cay to the final scene that
morning ; concluding with the sad saying, " I have

RUTH IN FAIRYLAND

X17

only one friend, and he cannot help me. I ]
place where I can lie to-night. And I can get

have no
place where I can lie to-nicht. And i can set no food
unless I beg for it."

"Jacob Grambla," mumbled the witch. "Ah,
Jacob Grambla I Feel that, my beauty I " And she
spat into the fire.

" Will you tell me which way I am to go ? And
will you tell me the future, dear Mother Gothal ? "

" I'll tell ye," said the witch gruffly, staring at the
sad little figure. " Cast out, be ye ? " she went on.
" Did ye mind to walk along the road full of sailors
and robbers— a pretty maid like you ? He would ha'
done kinder to ha* killed ye. Takes a man to turn a
poor maid into the road. The devil couldn't do it.
The devil would ha' give ye fine clothes, and a purse of
gold, and a coach and four to drive in. Takes a man
to learn the devil how to use maidens. Keep a good
heart, my love. Master Grambla will bum. He'll
bum fine."

" I am so glad I came," Ruth murmured.

" You crave to know the future," cried Mother
Gothal, stirring the pot vigorously. " What do you
know about the past ? "

" Can you tell me that ? " said Ruth eagerly. " I
am just a maiden — that is all. A maiden alone in the
world without a name. A few days ago Mr. Grambla
informed me I am not his daughter. He declared my
mother was a witch."

" A witch, bless her soul ! He'd call the angels
witches. Your mother was the beautifullest woman
I ever saw."

" You saw her ! " cried Ruth, coming excitedly to
the dame, forgetting witchcraft and her own condition.
" Oh, Mother Gothal, tell me of my mother."

" La, child, I knows but little, for the poor dear
lady was dead when I saw her, and Ijnng cold upon
the sand. 'Tis twenty years ago — I mind the time
well, for 'twas soon aiter Cherry Clabar was bom—

ii8

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

scat my old f'^'-' '^f a tongue, what be it telling of ! I
mean Pet"- 1 ioar and I •* as minding the baby. 'Twas
a fearful toniy S' son, and folks said I had brought
the wind- m I did, but that's no matter — and
one night a boat was cast upon the rocks. It came
from a ship what had gone down. 'Tis an old story
I'm telling, for ships are cast upon this shore in every
gale, and the richest folk about here are the wreckers."

" And my mother was in that boat ! "

" And you too. She was holding you to her bosom.
You and her were the only ones what got to shore alive,
and she died without speaking — least I says so, but how
be I to know ? For she was found by Master Grambla."

' She may have spoken to him. Why do I remember
nothing ? "

" You was nought but a little babe. If Master
Grambla knows aught about ye, he'll keep it to him-
self. I was called to lay the poor lady out for burial —
aw, she was a lovely creature — and I took her clothes,
my dear, I wore your dear mother's gown till it fell to
pieces. And I found on her neck a little trinket — such
as a child might wear on fair-day — and I have it yet.
I fancy, my love, you would like to see it."

" Oh, Mother Gothal ! " Ruth gasped.

The old woman went into the hovel and rummaged
for many long minutes. She returned at last and gave
Ruth the dainty necklace, which flashed prettily in
the sunshine, saying kindly, " I'd like you to keep
it, dear. 'Tis of no value, else Master Grambla would
ha' took it from her. I had a mind to give it you before,
but Master Grambla would ha' seen it, and took it
from you, and accused me of stealing it. Keep it,
dear, and put it under your pillow, and then you will
dream of your dear lady mother."

Ruth pressed the trinket to her lips, then threw her
arms round the old dame's neck and kissed her, fearing
the witch's skin no longer ; while tears came into
Mother Gothal's eyes when she felt those kisses.

RUTH IN FAIRYLAND

119

" I'll serve ye, dear. I'll fetch ye down a pretty
future," she promised. " Ay, I'll ride up to the moon
and bring it down ; for happy marriages be made in
the moon, dear, and she be now lying on her back atop
of Gwentor. I be a duddy old woman, but I knows
how to get the pretty future. I'M give ye a bit of rose-
mary to wear in your bonnet so tiiar^ th^m down under
can't come near ye. And s me day I'll pi with ye to
churchyard and show ye th d.;ar lady'; grave."

" You forget. Mother. I n.uv jft 'Away from Moyle ;
and I have neither bed nor pillow."

" La, my pretty, you trust old Mother. Her could
change them rocks into four-posted beds and feather
pillows wi' a word and a spit. Nothing's no trouble
to an old witch body. Do ye pitch here and take a sup
o' broth, while I gets me away to find the future."

She ran into the hovel for a bowl, which she filled
from the pot, and then forced into the girl's hands,
saying, " 'lis brave wholesome broth, dear, and will
put new heart into ye. Now I'm agoing to leave you,
and don't ye fret while I be gone. Here's my old
broomstick— don't ye touch 'en, dear, for he'm that
powerful he would fly away with ye, and dropye down
in the Red Say. He be that spiteful, I can't hardly
manage him myself."

" Where are you going ? " asked the bewildered girl.

" Up to the moon, my dear. I won't go off before
your eyes, lest I should fright ye to death ; for I gets
monstrous ugly when I sits across the broomstick.
I'll walk down the track, and directly I goes behind
them rocks I shall vanish out of your sight. You won't
see nothing at all, my dear. You bide here and sup
your broth, and you'll see me walking out of them
rocks soon, just as natural as I be now. And 'twill be
to you as if I hadn't gone more than a dozen yards
away from ye."

Mother Gothal trotted off, holding the fearful broom-
stick at arm's length, and addressing it in an unknown

I30 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

tongue. She had not overrated her powers, for she
vanished immediately after passing behind the great
pile of rocks. While Ruth trembled at this exhibition
of witchcraft, but did not forget to take the broth,
which was well seasoned with honest vegetables ; and
she even found courage to stroke the brindled cat, and
to offer it the dregs in the bowl ; and was delighted
when the animal behaved like any other cat, arching
her back, purring, and showing no signs of her super-
natural origin. Decidedly, thought Ruth, there were
worse places in Moyle than this open-air kitchen of the
witch.

Progress in those days was slow, yet hardly had
twenty minutes passed before Mother Gothal re-
turned, not in the least fatigued, although in that
brief period she had flown to the moon and back.
She flung down the broomstick disdainfully, and
cried, " Now you can touch 'en— ay, do anything
with 'en you've a mind to, for he'm that tired and
out o' breath he couldn't fly with ye a yard."

"Have you really been to the moon, Mother
Gothal ? " asked Ruth, staring at the wonderful
dame with childish eyes.

" Don't talk about it, dear. I hates the old moon.
'Tis a nasty cold country up there, and I always gets
a sore throat after going up. And the old gentleman
of the moon — ^him with the faggot and dog and
lantern — ^he'm that peevish sometimes there's no
getting a decent word out of him. I don't know of
anything what upsets me more than going up to the
moon."

" It is very kind to take so much trouble for me."

"The trouble's nought. 'Tis the rudeness of the
old gentleman, and the snarls of his nasty little dog,
and ihe cold winds, what upset me. The little dog
always tries to bite me, and I don't dare give he one
wi' the broomstick; for you see, dear, that might
make the old gentleman more peevish than ever."

RUTH IN FAIRYLAND

121

" Do you know my future now, Mother Gothal ? "
" La, my pretty, I knows everything. But I ain't
allowed to tell ye much."
" Which way must i walk ? " , , ,

The old woman leaned agamst a rock and closed her
eyes. For several moments she remained silent, and
then began to speak in her gruff, professional voice :

" You will go down the trackway by which you
came here. You will turn to the left, and foUow the
pathway leading towards Gwentor."
" I know it," Ruth murmured.
" You will walk along it until it comes out mto the
lane. Then you will go along the lane to the left up
the hill, and do not stop until you reach a place where
four roads meet."
" I have never been there," Ruth whispered.
" There is a stone upon the grass, and you will sit
there and wait. I can't tell ye how long you must
wait, but after a time you will see a gentleman coming
up the hill towards ye. He will stop and ask what you
be doing there. Don't ye be afraid of him, dear,
but stand up and answer him. Tell him how Master
Grambla ha' used ye, and tell him you ha' got no
home, and tell him you '- *.ves service. Then he will
take ye by the hand, aj must go with him, dear,

for he is a good gentle* . and will take ye home.
Perhaps the gentleman won't come by to-day. You
must wait at the cross till evening, and if he don't
come by you will run back here and bide the night
wi' me. You must go quick, child— as fast as you
can— else the gentleman may go by before you gets

there." , ^ . ^,

Mother Gothal opened her -ves and smiled weurdly.

She seemed surprised when *vaih began to overwhehn

her with gratitude.
" What have I- been saying, dear ? I be all cold

and prickly, while I tells the future, and when I

wakes up I don't know what I've said."

122

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" I am to go to the cross-roads, and wait there until
a gentleman finds me."

" Which way was you to go, my dear ? "

" By the track to the left of the pathway round
Great Gwentor."

" 'Twould be Wartha Cross."

" I was to s.art at once, lest I miss the gentleman."

" Run then, dear ! Run, my pretty ! Don't ye heed
tired lego while you run to tht future. And when you
see the moon, be sure to drop a curtsy and to kiss your
hand."

With a last word of thankfulness Ruth hurried
away, throwing heart and will into her task, so that
she reached the cross in less than half an hour. No-
body was in sight, and few parishioners, not guided
to the spot by lunar spells, were likely to pass ; fcr
the two roads made a cross upon high mooriand, and
were used chiefly by peat-cutters or traveUers with
their packhorses.

Down upon the stone sat the excited maiden and
laughed for joy, but did not forget to thank heaven
for guiding her to Mother Gothal.

She was pativ^.t for one hour, but nobody came.
She waited for two nours, then growing tired of weaving
romances, which all ended in the same way, and be-
coming a little chilled, she walked about the stone, and
finally clambered on it to look along every road. She
saw only black moorland hard by, with trees and
hedges in the distance.

She waited another hour, then her tears came again,
for she began to fear that the kind old woman had
deceived her ; and she was wicked enough to question
whether Mother Gothal could really have flown up to
the moon and returned to earth in less than twenty
minutes.

Again Ruth sat upon the stone, which she dare not
leave, her head bowed upon her knees, knowing that
evening was near, feeling she had been sent upon a

RUTH IN FAIRYLAND 123

foolish errand. Her bruised body ached, and her
mind was iii pain with the knowledge she would soon
be dragging her weary feet towards Poldnfty. bhe
prayed to the old gentleman of the moon, and kissed
her little wet hand, and tried to curtsy ; then she
prayed to the proper place ; and at last she fingered
the hidden trinket of her poor drowned mother, and

prayed to her. . j •, .•

" Why are you weeping, child ? , *i

Ruth sprang up with a cry. There wa^ the gentle-
man standing upon the grass, and he was the same mys-
terious bearded priest who had entered ComagenaU to
bless her. The same in figure and the same in kmdness.

" Oh. sir ! I have waited for you such a long tune,
she stammered.
" Were you expecting me, Ruth ?

" Mother Gothal told me. sir. if I waited here you
would come for me."

" And you believed Mother Gothal ?

" Oh, sir, I know she is a very powerful witch. She
rides up to the moon upon her broomstick."

" I see you are cold and tired. How came t lose
marks upon your face ? "

" I fell, sir, and cut my mouth."

" Did not your master beat you ? "

" That is true, sir." ,,

" You have served Grambla for many years ?

" All my life, sir."

" Now you have left him."

" Sir, he sent me away."

" What did he give you beyond kicks and bruises f

" Nothing, sir."

" No desire for vengeance, Ruth ? '

" If I might be happy, sir, I should not think of him

agam." „

" Could you pray for him, Ruth ?

" Yes. sir, if I were happy ; but when wretched I
can pray only for myself."

124

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" What is your desire ? "

" T'» be taken into your service, sir."

" Do you know me ? "

" I do not know you, sir, but I believe you have seen
my mother,"

" Your motheris dead."

" I did not see' you walk along the road. I prayed
to my mother, and then you spoke to me."

" You believe I am a magician ? "

" Oh, sir, I am sure."

" What is that you have dropped from your apron ? "

" Nothing, sir."

" Look again, child."

"It is a rose ! A rose in March ! Now I know
you are a magician."

" Yet you are not afraid of me."

" I should be afraid, sir, if you called up the dandy-
dogs ; but I have no fear of a magician who makes
the roses bloom in March."

" Where would you have gone had I not passed this
way ? "

" Sir, my heart would have failed me. May I keep
this rose ? "

" It is yours, chUd. Will you come with me ? "

i; Gladly, sir."

" If I take you to my home, you must learn obedience
and avoid curiosity You must not go into any part
which is forbidden, nor try to open any door ; and you
must not reveal any secret of the house to strangers."

" Sir, I wiU be obedient."

" Come," said the priest, and they set off down the
hill.

They passed along a road where Ruth had never
walked before ; while the calm bearded priest talked
so kindly she could hardly tell whether it was morning
or evening ; nor could she tell how far they went.

They came into a dark lane, where the budding trees
met overhead; so that sunshine, even in summer,

RUTH IN FAIRYLAND

xas

could not reach the track. As far as Ruth could see
all was moss and ferns ; but the moss was greener,
and the ferns were larger, than any she had ever seen
before ; and now she knew this was one of the roads
to fairyland.

" I suppose, sir, we are now a very long way from
Moyle church-town ? "
" Here is the boundary."

A stream ran across the lane, and it was now so
dark that the water wa« hardly visible. Ruth shrank
away, feeUng sure she was about to leave the world of
human beings ; but the priest gathered her up in his
arms and carried her across upon unseen stepping-
stones.

The road beyond became darker and narrower;
still they went downhill. Ruth seized the guide's
right hand, and hardly dared to look ahead when he
opened the gate and said, " Now we are ahnost home."
They went along a path between great trees, and
came out upon a gravel walk which described all
manner of windings among shrubs and beside beds of
tulips. Ruth knew that tulips were favoured by the
fairies, therefore she was not surprised to see them.
The air became milder ; not a twig shook ; there was
no sign of human life in thi-^ enchanted country. But
as they went on she heard the most wonderful music,
and stayed to listen.

" So you have never heard the harp before," said
the guide.

Suddenly an almost overpowering warmth met
Ruth, and a dim light reached her eyes. She had
never dreamed of anything like this. The roof appeared
to be made of crystal ; flowers of every colour were
around her ; roses brushed her cheek ; while the rich
perfume made her dizzy. So this was the under-
world I The old woman of the farm had told her about
it, and had suggested she had been there herself, only
she could not quite remember all the details. Ruth

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MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

was glad to be there, but fully determined to return
to the other world when she had saved some money.

At last she found herself in a large room which she
could recognise ; for it was undoubtedly a kitchen,
although she had never seen anything so magnificent
in her life. The priest had disappeared, but an elderly
woman, who spoke English very ill, stood beside her ;
and a number of other fairies, who looked like men
and women, bustled about, speaking strange languages ;
and a queer little gnome walked up to bow grotesquely
and to promise Ruth his protection at all times ; and
then a pert kitchen-wench ran up and said, " The
housekeeper do wish to know whether you eat supper
now quick and go to bed, for she says you are seemed
to be tired out."

" Oh yes, if you please," Ruth murmured.

There was so much bustle and noise the girl hardly
knew whether she was dreaming or awake, as she sat
in a warm comer eating enchanted food, which tasted
remarkably nice. She seemed to awaken when the
elderly woman guided her along a passage, up flight
after flight of stairs, and left her in a neat little room
with a Kind word of farewell for the night ; but she was
certainly dreaming when a light knock came upon the
door, and immediately there entered a dark and
beautiful lady, most magnificently dressed, who came
up to Ruth, and kissed her, saying with a pretty
accent, " You are quite safe now, Ruth. We shaU
take care of you."

" I rm indeed in fairyland ! " gasped Ruth. " Oh,
madam, are you the queen ? "

" Oh, foolish child ! " laughed her beautiful majesty.
" I am the Lady Just."

CHAPTER XIII

THE ATTORNEY ENJOYS A STROKE OF GREAT
GOOD FORTUNE

Toby the trifler waited upon Jacob after the dinner
hour, and discovered the li .tie gtntleman in uncommon
good-humour; for business went well, his enemies
appeared in full flight, and the apparition had ceased
to trouble. But the parchment face became IHed
with creases when the spy began his tattle.

Toby sat upon a chest of consciences, and carved a
peg-top for his own amusement while he told a taie :

" When last I go through Bezurrel Woods I knew
something is going on. I see a cart of clay, and a load
of reed ; and I haven't cut two whip-staves from the
blackthorn when a load of stone goes by. Carts,
drivers, and horses were strangers, master ; all from
t'other side of the brook. I dare not follow, for I
know them chaps of the next parish are ever on the
look-out to crack a head of Moyle. I cut another whip-
staff, and am slipping away when one of Sir Thomas's
idolaters catches me, and he takes my whip-staves,
and whips me with the bljgest ; and the louder I
swear the harder he whips. I aren't been easy in my
back parts since."

" You, a free Comishman, allow yourself to be
whipped by a negro ! " said the disdainful Jacob.

" Master, he wam't a negro. He wam't black, nor
red, nor yet white. He was cob colour. He didn't
ask me for permission before he whipped. If he had
asked I would never have allowed him to whip me. I
go back when 'tis dark and cut me two more whip-

127

128

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

staves ; and I follow the cart-tracks tiU I get near
the stream ; and I run into a waJl where no wsdl was
last week, and I know by the smell 'tis all fresh cob.
I sit me down on a pile of reed, and think it out as
artful as yourself ; and at last I say, ' Sir Thomas is
a-building a little house in this wood.' Then I think
a bit more out, and I say, ' He gets men from the next
parish to build it.' I think again, and 1 get so artful
that I sweat ; for I know, master. Sir Thomas is afraid
of you finding out he is a-building a little house m
Berurrel Wood."

"You have much information," said Jacob. "I
have a great respect for you, Mr. Penrice. I love you,
sir. You are the only parishioner with enough wit to
discover that Sir Thomas Just is indeed afraid of me."

" I have a very tidy wit. Master Grambla," said
Toby. " I have money too, sir, as you know. I have
not a wife, but I do not despair of getting one."

" Proceed," said the attorney. " And do not forget
to tell the parishioners how mightily Sir Thomas stands
in awe of me."

" I go home ♦h liing, and I sleep thinking, and I
rise thinking," continued Toby. " I watch the path-
way through the wood, and 'tis near noon when
Clabar and that Peter come by, and young Mr. Martin
Just goes with them ; and they talk about the house
which is a-building, and they go down towards it.
Then I think "

" Sir Thomas builds a house for the Clabars in his
woods. He takes them under his protection," Jacob
muttered, unable longer to play the part of listener.
" What are the Clabars to him ? They are paupers —
they have no fortune — yet he gives them land, and
house, and friendship. He has shown no kindness to
any other man or woman. He bestows no thought
upon the parish. I promise you he has never walked
in the church-town. Yet by his arts he discovers
there are Clabars 1 "

A STROKE OF GOOD FORTUNE 129

" True, master ! I have trespassed upon E .rrel
land a hundred times, yet Sir Thomas has shown no
kindness to me," said Toby. " 'Tb a dark rogue,
sir. He arrives from the East with an outlandish
woman. No one save the servants are allowed near
the castle, and they are from Arabia, and 'tis said
they be bound by dreadful spells. Sir Thomas dwells
in bis magic chambers, brewing from fearful herbs
which poison the air for miles— ay, and kill the fishes
in the sea— and at night he reads from his books and
calls up spirits. Lady Just sits at her window playing
and singing, and calling the mermaids out of the sea.
Many a fisherman will tell ye they have seen hundreds of
spirits coming out of the rocks, and out of churchyard,
and flying to Bezurrel when they hear her singing."

Toby having been dismissed, Jacob sat for a long
tune deep in thought. Then he left the office and
walked to Poldrifty Downs ; but he came in vain, fcr
the crazy hovel was closed, and Mother Gothal had
plainly been absent for some time, as her fire was a
heap of ashes. So Jacob retraced his steps, and had
reached the path across the fields when he remembered
Ruth ; or rather it occurred to him that Coinagehall
stood empty.

Never had the house looked so grim, although the
sun was shining upon its walls, and bees were merry
in th< , It was the mind of the man which made
it grim. The house would have looked the same had
it been the home of happy people, or had Ruth been
working in the kitchen. But to Jacob it was empty,
and that knowledge made the walls seem awful.
Emptiness invited terror which the presence of the
meanest maiden might have banished. Jacob had no
love for his fellow-creatures ; but he liked them near
him, as submissive beings, when the night drew on.
Something had irritated him all day by striking
against his leg at every movement. Now he remem-
bered it was the key of that prison-like door — the

130

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

suggestion of prison came also from his mind — and
when his hand drew forth the little bar of iron he
thought of chains and cells. He entered, leaving the
door open to admit more light, and went on tiptoe
to the kitchen ; for he was afraid to disturb that
silence which seemed to own the place. He saw
Ruth's working apron, and upon the table her knitting.
The loose thread trailed upon the floor in the form of
a question mark : Why did you save me from the
sea ? Why did you make me your slave ? Why have
you cast me out ? Jacob laughed for answer, and the
empty house laughed with him.

" She was learning too quickly," he muttered.
" Her age made her dangerous — I had forgot until
yesterday how old she was. I discharged her, not
because she secreted a lover in my house, nor yet
because she stole my guineas, but because it was
time for her to go. I would have kept her one more
year — ^no longer — for she was a ready wench, and could
serve a simple dinner. I did better than I thought.
Sir Thomas has taken a liking to the Clabars. Had
the wench stayed, he might also have shown some
kindness to her— he might even have practised his
enchantments upon her ; and thus have discovered
what breed she comes of."

He spoke aloud, and as the sound of 1 /^ words died
away silence closed down with a shock. Some demon
of dumbness seemed to be master of the kitchen ;
but when Jacob had glanced at the false face of the
clock he discovered its garrulity had ceased. Opening
the case he drew up the weights, but the clock re-
mained silent. The spring had broken while Ruth
wept beside it.

" Nay, if there is a conspiracy of silence against
me, my tongue shall break it." cried Jacob. " Tiie
wench is but a weakling. She cannot stand rough
weather, and if she could some rascal of the road
would break her head for the sake of the clothes she

A STROKE OF GOOD FORTUNE 131

carried— though they were patched till the first piece
had disappeared. I would have made her safe by
marriage. Ay, I would have put on a fine coai and
gone to church with her— for a wife is your only
kitchen-wench. She may give no evidence against
you ; and you may starve your good woman ; and
you may whip her soundly— moreover you may with
firmness break her heart. I perceive the sun is
setting — darkness in one hour. The good man loves
the light, the evil man hates it. I am, by this same
reckoning, the most worthy soul alive."

The stillness, as night drew near, could not increase,
but it remained : not a bird sang in the shrubberies,
nor was there movement in the tall bleached stems of
last year's grass. Jacob went for fuel and made a
fire; and that burnt noiselessly. He searched the
cupboards and procured some food. He hurried to
the door and closed it, for the first deep shadows
were about to pass inside. The dog-gates, which
had been fastened against the wall for many years,
he now released and closed across the foot of the

stairs.

There seemed mischief in the evening, for the sky
was wild with jagged clouds and bands of scarlet
westward. Jacob was glad to lock the shutters and
to light candles, which added illusion to the darkness
while they gave him light. He set them about the
kitchen and watched the steady flames, but shivered
as a red cap formed upon each wick. The spirit of
mischief was upon the candles. He huddled over the
fire, growing colder. He held his hands close to the
logs, but the bright red patches seemed to have been
painted ; and he had scarce courage to walk round
the room to snuff off those vile red caps.

" Man was not made to live alone. Why, there's
some truth in that," he muttered. " I would not live
in Coinagehall alone. An old house, and full of
memories. Many a man, woman, and child have died

132

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

in the rooms above, and been carried down those
stairs— yet the place is not haimted. I know not
why a man should fear to dwell alone. He does not
fear night upon the road where highwaymen are
abroad ; but within a house— ah, what is that ? A
shadow— I would make sure of that. Ay, the shadow
of my head. A man when alone will shudder at a
cricket on the hearth. I would obtain a charm against
these fancies. I had forgot the evening, the long
night. 'Tis not good, I say. To-morrow I will bring
Mother Gothal from Poldrifty— will give the good
soul a black gown, a handful of coppers, a kind word
or two. She will leave her hole in the rocks gladly,
and will serve me well. Moreover she will advise me.
Men and women were made to live together — there's
authority for that. I would examine some papers in
my box, but I like not to leave this fire— I did not
think the night would come so cold. If I had servants,
I would read them prayers. 'Tis a good custom, and
a fitting ending to the day. I would read a chapter
from the Bible, but I know not where to find the
book. I have not seen it of late. Ruth would not
have needed it— I believe she had not learnt her letters.
I fear me she was not God-fearing— would lie and steal.
I did well. I would find the Bible. 'Tis a protection
against evil spirits."

The dying down of the fire forced him to rise for
fuel. Moving stealthily, he brought wood, piled it
upon the hearth, stared into every corner; then
seated himself upon a wooden stool within the ingle-
nook, and continued his defiant meditations :

" That Jacob Grambla has worked hard. Should
be a wealthy man, for he misses no day, except it be
Sunday, when he will do his duty as a Christian—
never goes to fair or market save on business. If soil
was silver and cottages were gold, he would be wealthy.
That Jacob Grambla would spend with an open hand,
for he is no miser, mark you ; he perceives the folly of

A STROKE OF GOOD FORTUNE 133

getting a fortune and leaving it to others. He knows
life is but a chase after wealth, and the man who
leaves behind a scent of guineas will be hunted. Jacob
Grambla would see them in full cry after him— squires,
parsons, high-bom rakes, merchants of trade. He
would flatter, call them friends, ease each shoe where
the pinch was sharpest. Would teach them to say to
neighbours, ' At the sign of the scales in Moyle church-
town the affairs of gentlemen are arranged by Jacob
Grambla.' He would furnish this house after the
latest fashion, fill this kitchen with servants, give
dinners and routs. Would stand at the foot of the
stairs in a peach-bloom coat to welcome his guests,
'■ Sir, this condescension overvhelms me * ; ' Madam,
thk is too great an honour.' Would rise at the head
of the table and toast the company. Would learn
some pretty speeches from the novels. Why, sir,
there's money to be got by this same scenting of the
track with guineas. There's honour, there's a rubbing
of low-bom shoulders with the high-bom, there's a
mighty good respectability — and they who come to
flatter stay to borrow. Tmst Jacob Grambla how to
use the borrower ! "

Courage was rising while his limbs began to glow.
Aheady he saw Coinagehall the mansion of a rich man,
and himself dictator. He grew careless of the night,
disdained the silence, almost forgot his loneliness and
Ruth ; while he chatted to this best of all companions :

" Jacob Grambla has the conscience of a Whig ; but
he who would rise must sink his best opinions. To my
lord and lady he would proclaim Whiggism as the
invention of the devil. As a good Tory he would buy
a borough. He knows of one ripe for the purse ; the
price one thousand guineas — ^no more than sixty votes
to be paid and feasted. A man in Parliament has his
fingers in the treasury — 'twould be an evil fate if Jacob
Grambla could not get in his hand ; for he is a man of
learning and great wit — ^worthy to be my Lord Chief

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MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

Justice — ^who understands the human nature, and can
measure it ; who has a kindly disposition and some
knowledge of good manners — is that the wind, or
creaking of a door, was that a footstep ? — and who
fears God. These cursed candles ! The light is half
extinguished by the snuff."

Suddenly cold again, he crept from the fireside
comer, and reached out a hand for the snuffers. But
he did not raise the arm, and the implement rattled
on the floor. The door was flung open, and upon the
threshold stood Red Cap, the woimd upon his forehead
and a smoky light surrounding him.

Jacob had fallen upon the stone floor, and there he
lay with his face hidden, while the kitchen became
noisy with the thumping of his heart. The spell of
silence seemed to have been broken ; for the wind
now whispered about the house, and owls hooted from
the meadows.

Jacob dragged himself half upright, gasping and
dribbling at the mouth, yet knowing the worst was
over. He had survived the shock of receiving the
apparition ; therefore he could bear to speak.

" In the name of God," he gasped.

The spirit made wild movements with its arms.

"^ Who are you ? Why do ye come to haunt me ? "

" Now that you have addressed me, I may answer.
I come to guide you to the place where the gold lies
buried."

As the spirits of a ship's company revive when the
harbour is sighted, after storm, so did the attorney's
courage leap back when he heard this utterance. He
dragged hunself fully upright, rememoering all that
Mother Gothal had told him regarding the power of
Red Cap ; and was now able to look upon that ghastly
face with its running wound and the smoky death-
fiunes round it ; hardly shivering as he said, " You
come to aid me."

" I am sent that you may profit by my example.

A STROKE OF GOOD FORTUNE 135

You long for wealth, Jacob Grambla. So did I. You
shall have wealth, even as I won it."

" Who are you ? "

" I lived here once. Wealth brought no happiness
to me, for I made ill use of it. I spent it to the glorifica-
tion of myself— and at last, Jacob Grambla, I killed
myself. See the wound which I must bear through all
eternity 1 "

" I like not your appearance," said the lawyer.
" Yet I give you a hearty welcome."

" Come 1 " said the ghost, retreating into the dark-
ness of the hall, where his squat figure gleamed most

horribly. , , ^ ».. ,

Jacob wa' ''r' ng to follow, but found his legs
powerless. xw-ru„ nad deserted his mind to take firm
hold upon his feet.

" Come ! " cried the spirit. " Come, or you lose the
treasure. After to-night I may not be permitted to
reveal it."

" Where would you lead me ? " Jacob muttered,
fearing to venture into the night with this graveyard
comrade.

" Follow, and you shall know."

" My desire is to go with you, but I lack the strength
to move."

" Come ! " shouted the ghost. " The devil and his
angels give you strength. Now I perceive you are a
man again ! "

It was indeed true that, immediately these words
were spoken, Jacob found himself able to follow his
guide, who muttered as they left the house, " I charge
you address me no more in the Name of God ; for if
you do so I shall depart from you."

They crossed the fields, entered the lane, and con-
tinued towards Poldrifty, following the exact course
taken by Ruth a few hours earlier ; Red Cap going
ahead in his own smoky atmosphere which smelt un-
commonly nasty ; striding along with a gait so natural

III

136

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

that Jacob was forced to mutter. " Truly a man walks
very like his ghost I "

K "^^ey ascended towards the rough pathway trodden
by Kuth durmg her journey from the witch's hovel to
her cross of waiting ; but left it presently to enter the
heather and make the steeper climb towards the highest
point m all the parish. ^

u'u S^.™t^^^ ^^^ *^^ summit of Great Gwentor. the
hill of Arthurs queen." said Jacob pleasantly, begin-
ning to smile and chafe his hands. " Time out of
mmd have tales been told of treasure buried there. I
thank heaven "

1, " ^^* was that name you uttered ? " cried the
keen Red Cap, pausing among the heath and shivering.
I praise the powers of darkness," exclauned Jacob
piously. Sir, I humbly thank your master for what
small knowledge I possess."

They continued to ascend without more words and
came among the boulders which time and confusion
had heaped upon the top. Reaching a mossy slope
the ghost came to a stand beside a long fiat stone '

f^^i'^l^^^ ^^^ S^^^^^y ^^^^ towards the lawyer asked!
What does this stone recall ? "

" 'Tis very like a tombstone."

1- IPs "P?." y^"'^ ^^^^ ^^ ^y *^is glimmer of moon-
light decipher what is written here."

t ,P^..^i.*°"J.^y obeyed, and presently spoke respect-
lully bir. there is nothing written. Many such stones
are to be found upon this moorland, and 'tis said
savages of old lie buried under them."

Your eyes are dull. Mine read upon this surface
bacred to the memory of an honest gentleman ; who
? ,, „? ^^ ^"^"'^^' respected by enemies, mourned
by all. His vulues were numerous ; his faults founded
upon generosity.' Thus it was said of me. Jacob
Grambla, when I had ended my life of vice. My body
lies beneath this stone. There lies a portion of the
gold I lost myself to win."

■■

A STROKE OF GOOD FORTUNE 137

" If it wottld please you, sir, to have your body
removed and reinterred in holy ground, I will see to it."

" It does not please me. Lift that stone, and my
curse shall follow you. The gold, Jacob Grair/ala !
Will you take it, or leave it ? "

" Have you not brought me here that I may take
it ? To leave it would be sinful."

" You may take the gold, yet I would have you
know it brings a curse to him who handles it. Beneath
this cairn of stone it lies, a sum sufficient to make you
wealthy. Some thousands of gold pieces, Jacob
Grambla."

" Sir," gasped the lawyer, " is it not possible to
take the gold, and yet evade the curse ? "

" Surely it is. Spend the treasure well, use it to aid
the weak and suffering, to relieve the widow and orphan
— as I did not — then a blessing shall follow. Spend it
upon yourself, upon making your name great, upon
flatterers and those willing to be bribed — even as I did
—then, Jacob Grambla, my fate shall be yours ; you
also shall die by your own hand ""nd your spirit shall
cling for ever to the earth whe. ni body lies."

" I take the treasure, and shall ^ it well, so help

me " He broke off, not daring to utter the Name

which was forbidden ; while the spectre laughed to
hear him stammer, then stretching out an arm towards
the stone heap muttered solemnly, " Dig there, if you
have the courage to be wealthy. Use the gold well,
and we shall not meet again. Use it ill, and I appear.
By the sign of my coming you shall know your time is
short. Mark this place and go your way until the
morning. The night is mine. I am doomed to haunt
this spot until the gold has vanished."

White stones lay upon the summit of Great Gwentor.
Jacob gathered a few and placed them about the
cairn in a manner which he could not fail to recognise ;
then without another w )rd— f or speech now failed
him — ^he sped away, ran from the moorland, and did

< I
I

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MOYLE CHXJRCH-TOWN

not open his mouth until he had reached the fields of
Coinagehall. There he clenched his fists and shouted,
"To-morrow I shall prove whether this vision has
been sent by the father of lies or by the God of truth."
Something white gleamed upon the grass before the
house, and he turned to gather it. Nothing terrified
him now, not even the darkness of the interior— for
the candles had guttered out, and the fire was a mass of
embers— not the black stairs, nor the wind in the rooms
upstairs. The coming of the ghost had insured him
against terror, and darkness was now soothing to his
soul.

He blew the embers into flame, lighted fresh candles,
then toasted the midnight with a dram. He laughed
and lifted up his voice in song, and turned some capers
about the kitchen. And his song was always, " To-
night I am poor ; to-morrow I shall be rich. God save
the soul of Red Cap— and may we not meet again."

Then he fell into a chair and smiled at his crooked
fingers.

" Why should a man fear ? " he asked himself more
soberly. " If he goes to heaven— well ! If he does not,
is it so great a pimishment to wander about this earth ?
Heaven— 'tis a name. This world I know and love.
Give me this world, I pray, for ever and evermore.
And if there be any other spirits in this house, I call
them now, I invite them to appear before me, and sit
with me beside this fire. I swear an everlasting com-
pact with the dead— no psalm-singing dead for me,
but honest Red Caps, good wounded Red Caps, who
know where the gold lies hidden."

Remembering the white object he had discovered
upon the grass, he drew it out and held it to the fire-
light. It was Ruth's handkerchief, stained with blood.

" Yet I would fain remain a Churchman and a Chris-
tian," he muttered.

PART II
CHAPTER I

THE COMING OF A NEW RELIGION

One evening Cherry wandered away from Bezurrel
Woods, and along the lane to Moyle. It was early
summer, more than a year having passed since she and
her father had taken possession of the home built for
them by Sir Thomas. She looked stronger than ever,
walked like a man in her long sack-coat ; spoke like
one ; gave the wall like a gallant to wenches who
regarded her with sighs; and received the same
privilege herself from that class of men who ill-used
their wives. Handsome Peter had long been the
wonder of three parishes ; the admired of maidens,
and the envy of youths. Half-witted, said the gossips,
because she made garlands of flowers for the children,
and would carry them into the woods to hear her stories.
She heard a voice, which seemed to have tears
behind it, as she came out near a sandhill, rather
higher than the others, but without much grass ; and
there was a crowd about it, composed entirely of men,
the majority standing, but many on their knees ; and
upon the summit of the little hill stood a stranger, his
feet hidden by the sand ; a man wearing his own long
hair, with a bushy beard and weather-beaten face, and
two eyes staring from the imclipped tangle; and
when Cherry drew near she heard the great name, God,
shouted by this stranger many times.

" And now, brothers, I have this one more thing to
say. Ye are men, and God has dealt with ye as with

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MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

your masters; He gives the same to all. Ye have not
eyes to read, nor fingers to write ; but ye have ears to
hear— thank God for ears, brothers. And ye have
brains to understand— thank God for brams, brothers.
And ye have minds to think— thank God for minds,
brothers. Are these no gifts ? Queen Anne upon her
throne, my Lord Archbishop in his palace, have no
better ; for place and power, brothers, are not so good
as minds and brains. Here is the message I have
come to bring ye— discover yourselves as men ; use
the great gifts which God has given ye ; think for
yourselves ; be not too ready to accept the opinions
of any man ; do not refuse my teaching, neither a£,Tee
with it, until ye have gone about your duties, and
have searched in your own minds for the truth — a
prayer shall bring it, and ye shall know by the flood
of light within ye when it comes.

" Ye are Christians, brothers. All go to church, ana
hear the psahns sung by a few hired mouths, and hear
a poor honest gentleman read the prayers and preach
the sermon. Do ye thank God for ears while ye sit in
the pews ? Do ye hold your heads between your hands
and strive to think ? Do ye feel the great glory bum
within ye when ye hear the rough music of the choir ?
Do ye hearken to the prayers ? Do the tears come
while ye listen to the sermon ? Answer with a shout
brothers. One word will do it."

The negative went up from all around the sandhill.

" Nay, the heads are all nodding while they hear
the music of the psahns. Minds are thinking of the
mines and fishing-nets when the prayers are read.
And while the poor honest gentleman preaches his
sermon brains are all asleep. Your ears are not
touched, and your minds are not stirred,, for the
church gives ye no living spirit of religion. No church
and no curate shall give to a man what he was meant
to discover for himself. Hear, brothers, understand,
think ; then discover to yourselves and to each other

THE COMING OF A NEW RELIGION 141

whether church and curate bring God to ye. If church
and curate do not bring the flood of glory into your
souls, how way ye conform with a doctrine of dry
bones ? Refuse to conform, though you be sent to
prison. Think together, brothers, and meet together ;
and let the man who can read be your teacher, and
let the man who can receive a message from God be
your preacher. Come together in holy brotherhood,
and open your eyes to see God, and open your ears to
receive His message ; and they who have brains to
understand, and minds to think, shall pray that their
brothers in darkness may receive the light."

Cherry regarded the men about her, and saw tears
trickling down their grimy cheeks. Liberty in thought,
enthusiasm in religion — ^here was indeed new teaching I
These men had never thought for themselves, except
upon matters of daily life, upon their toil, their wives
and children, their commonplace necessities. They
had never even heard of brains and minds. Like men
accepting prison fare, they had taken such religion as
had been offered, although it was wrapped in words
they could not imderstand. And now they were told
—these coarse miners and rough fishermen, people
of no account in the eyes of a society bishop who did
not visit his diocese, and a drunken vicar who had never
seen his parish— they were urged, in simple language,
to make a new religion for themselves. Already they
were drifting from the loose hold of an indifferent
church. They were set on fire by this sermon from
the sandhill. They surged towards the preacher and
almost pressed him to the ground. Nonconformity had
come to Moyle for ever.

Cherry went her way, more thrilled by this new
birth than she would own, yet truth, she told herself,
could no t proceed from the mouth of a strolling preacher.
She looked back. The man with the long hair and
staring eyes stood again apart from the people, who
appeared to storm against him, but his calm voice

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MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

rose above their tempest, as he spoke of seedtime and
harvest, of tares and trheat, of angel-reapers of men's
deeds, and harvest-home in heaven. And the shouts
died down. Then Cherry saw, apart from the others,
an aged miner, bent and scarred, and he knelt upon
the sand, his hat before him, his white hair fluttering
in the breeze, and a hand which lacked two fingers
behind his ear.

The wind sprang up from the sea, and Cherry ran
with it until she came to a path across the fields. She
wandered along and reached the gate of the church-
yard, but did not enter because the place seemed ugly.
The fence had broken down and old women of the
neighbourhood were pulling away pieces for their fires.
Fowls were scratching upon the graves, and pigs routed
in the grass. The place of the dead was a paradise for
farm-beasts.

A slight figure rose and came along the pathway ;
recognising Ruth the nameless. Cherry advanced to meet
her with the question, " What are you doing here ? "

" I have been attending to my grave," she answered.

" I did not know your family had ever lived in
Moyle."

" My mother is buried here."

" So is mine. I do not know your story."

" My mother and I were cast up by the sea."

" How long ago was that ? "

" When you and I were but a few months old."

" Do you know my story ? "

" Mother Gothal has told me. I wish I could
remember."

" What would you remember ? "

" The storm," said Ruth. " You were bom in the
storm, and your mother dird. I was brought here by
the storm, and my mother died."

" What did Mo " er Gothal say about me ? "

" She told me how your eyes changed not long after
your birth."

THE COMING OF A NEW RELIGION 143

" She has never told me that."

" You were bom witn black eyes, and they changed
to grey."

" Have you told any one of this ? "

" Once when Sir Thomas questioned me, I told him."

" How did he answer ? "

" He said nothing to me, but he spoke in a strange
language to my lady."

" I shall tell my father and question Mother Gothal."

" I believe she changed your eyes with her magic,
when she perceived that black eyes v ould not suit you."

" Will you show me your mother's grave ? " asked
Cherry.

" Gladly, if you will come with me. I made it neat,
and fenced ic with sticks, but the churchwarden told
me I should not have done so without permission, and
when I asked for permission he would not give it
because he claims this as a grazing-place. Now my
sticks have been taken away and the pigs foul her
grave."

" Are you a papist, Mistress Ruth ? "

" I am afraid to be a papist because that religion is
forbidden."

" It is a living religion," said Cherry, yet compelled
to think of the preacher on the sandhUl.

" Sir Thomas may be a papist because he is a gentle-
man. And you may be a papist because you are
strong. And the servants of Bezurrel may be papists
because they are foreigners. I have no influence, I
am weak, and I am English."

" You cannot be sure of that. Perhaps your parents
were members of the one true church."

" I feel myself English. Here is my grave. Master
Clabar."

" Why do you call it yours ? This grave belongs to
a dead church. You may not even put up a fence of
sticks. The beasts have more right to this grave than
you."

144

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

I'f

me. The place where she is
Mother Gothal will tell you

" My mother gives

buried must be mine.

how beautiful she war. "

" My mother lies '.., t liat far comer — ^where those
vile hens are scratchin,. \y<i are sister and brother here,
Mistress Ruth. We have each of us a beautiful mother
buried in this farmy f<i, id both died of the storm
while suckling Ui— tit tii. stone above my mother
bears a name. Nay. j wyiid not reproach you."

Ruth had flushc<^ 'it t'lere was more wonder in
her eyes than pain.

"I did not kno.v a ma coi.ld look so gently,
while his tongue was ..r.si., v m i j lured.

Cherry turned, ai vicir * i I her face, and kept
silent until they r^ cAmv lichgate, which was

crumbling like the reic, anc ti r she spoke again :

" I am Cornish, t]ie descendant of stout yeomen,
and my rightful home is Coin.igehall ; while you,
Mistress Ruth, may be a lady much superior to me in
birth and name. I am happy in Bezurrel Woods, yet
I am not at home. I would travel. I would cross the
sea. This Cornish parish is too small for me."

" I have no desire to leave it," said Ruth.

" Yet you were brought here from another land."

" I have a great love for Coinagehall. I long for my
dear kitchen, not indeed, as it is now, but as I knew
it— with the warming-pan, the dear old clock. All
lumber now ! "

" I would see my father restored, then travel,"
said Cherry. " I was brought up upon the other side
of famar, and mingled with the sailors of Dock.
From them I learnt about the colony of Virginia, the
plantations, the waste of tree-stumps, the log-houses,
the Indians. Their stories give me the desire to see
this land of settlers for myself."

" Once you came to Coinagehall with your father,"
Ruth whispered nervously.

" The day after my arrival in Moyle."

THE COMING OF A NEW RELIGION 145

" And you saw two apparitions t "

" Ah I Can I suspect you, fair, shrinking Mistress
Ruth ? ••

" I was one of the ghosts."

" The other ? "

"The man whose life and liberty I fought for. Pardon
me, Master Clabar. The trick was played to save my
lover."

" I come to know your history," said Cherry. " My
father often talks about that vision, and now believes
it was an omen sent to cheer him. I shall say nothing
to disturb his faith. Tell me of your lover."

" Now you do not speak like a man," said Ruth, but
her eyes were troubled, for she had no good account to
give. Yet she told the story which had ended in the
primrose copse, then put the question, " Do you
suppose. Master Clabar, I shall hear from him again ? "

" Why yes. Mistress Ruth. If he is worthy he will
return some day with a smiling face and a purse of
guineas, and I give you my promise he is worthy. In
Bezurrel Woods we teach a new philosophy, ay, and
we follow it ourselves. We look forward with hope,
and do not admit despair. We are agreed that every
event is the most fortunate circumstance that can
happen. We enjoy each hour fully, and have but little
regard for what may follow in the next. When the sun
is too powerful, we remember it lately gave no heat at
all ; when the rain pours, we say to-morrow will be
fine. And we receive as friends all happy people.
Visit us in Bezurrel Woods, Mistress Ruth, and become
one of us, whose badge is happiness. You shall see
the flowers I have planted, and hear the singing
of birds I have tamed. Then you will believe our
philosophy of the woods may also be applied to the day
of the labourer, and the thoughts of lovers. If your
Harry returns, it will be well. If he does not return,
it will still be well. Whatever happens is the fortimate
event. And if it does not look to you fortimate

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MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

— why, then forget it, and come away to Beasurrel
Woods, and sing with me beneath the honeysuckle."

" I thsmk you, Master Clabar. I shall try to do as
you say," said timid Ruth.

" Are you not happy ? "

" Sir Thomas and Lady Just are most kind. When
I wait upon my lady she is a mother for gentleness.
Yet I am not happy."

" Do you fear that meagre ape in his silver-
embroidered coat, who cannot stir abroad unless a
flunkey carries before him a gold-headed cane ? "

" I do not fear Mr. Grambla now ; yet I would not
put myself in his pathway."

" Then why are you not happy ? "

" I am alone, I have no name, and God seems to
have forgotten me — ^and I cannot find the way."

" It is already marked clearly before your feet,"
cried Cherry.

" The way to God — ^the way my mother went," said
Ruth. " Father Benedict is kind ; he seeks to inform
me, but I cannot understand him, and he speaks
English ill. My lady does not permit me to attend
the church, for it can do you no good, she says ; and
'tis true I have heard little there except the snores of
sleepers. I do not know the way because nobody
will point it out. I am not happy, for I have lost my
lover. But I am still more wretched with the fear
that I shall lose my mother and my God."

Cherry was glad when Ruth departed, for that cry
made her mouth turn traitor. She turned towards
the woods, but had gone no distance when David
Just rode up, leading another horse, and shouted,
" Ha, Peter ! Get upon this horse and ride with me."

" You have sat too long over the wine," cried Cherry.

" I am not drunk," said David, rolling upon the
saddle, his dark face flushed. " I rode out with my
brother, and this horse throws him, so he plays the
coward and walks home."

THE COMING OF A NEW RELIGION 147

" Martin is no coward i "

"A bookworm — a scholar. He would paint and
write poetry."

" Was he hurt ? "

" No more than a cat. He was glad of the excuse
to get back to the library. Upon such an evening to
prefer a dark room and a musty volume I Come,
Peter 1 'Twill be dark in an hour. I will race you
to the far end of the sandhills, through Moyle, and
so back to Bezurrel Woods."

" The horse may throw me."

"He will, I warrant, if you ride him with hard
hands. A gallant beast— a lady's horse. My mother
has ridden him. You could put up a kitchen-wench,
and he will go like a sheep. He is a brute with men."

" Yet you ask me to ride him."

" You have a woman's hands. You can speak with
a woman's voice."

" Martin has gentle hands and a soft voice. Why
did you not mount the beast yourself, for you are the
better horseman ? "

" My brother drinks no wine — ^he fears for his
intellect. My bones are more precious than his, for
I am the elder son. Peter, I'll wait for you no longer.
I must ride off the fumes."

" Do you call me a woman ? "

" God intended you for one. You are meant for
a maid, but were given a man's strength at the last
moment. If my brother should chance upon a lady
with your face, he would not ask her fortune. The
horse will not throw you, for you can deceive him.
A gallant beast, I say ! "

" I will show him what I am," cried Cherry, full
of life and fight in the evening air. Then she flung
herself into the saddle and was off, following David,
who was already some way ahead, while the big horse
carried her willingly.

By the lane skirting the woods they rode, and so

148

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

out to the sandhills, the elder son laughing and shout-
ing all the way, Cherry watching his shoulders with
a frown, and setting her teeth when he threatened to
go ahead, determined upon beating him before the
night came down. They galloped on until the last
white cottage was passed, and there v/as nothing ahead
except sand, stiff grass, and shadows. Then Cherry
spoke to her steed in the soft voice that he loved,
loosened the rein, confessed her sex with a caress, and
the wise beast put forth his strength to such good
purpose that David Just was soon some yards belund.

" You have won the first heat," he shouted, when
they had reached the far end of the sandhills. " No
man of my weight has ever beaten me before — ^and
this horse is the speediest of the two."

" Ah, but I am a woman ! " mocked Cherry.

" I cannot think what you are. You should be heavier
than me, for you are broader, if I am taller — and that
horse is slower. Egad, Peter, I wish the brute had
thrown you."

" I am not your brother — and rival."

" Martin my rival ! Martin the scholar ! Who sits
upon a tree-trunk reading Greek. I am the elder son,
and can beat my brother on horseback or on foot."

" He drinks no wine and he knows literature.
Therefore he beats you."

" Confoimd the two of ye I I'll not be beaten.
What is your weight ? What are you made of ? "

" Feathers and foam," she laughed.

" Who are you ? "

" The son of a poor man."

" Not the son of that lanky Clabar. I'll swear
that. Why are you always laughing ? Egad, Peter,
I could strike you."

" You would be sorry," she threatened.

" If I struck you on the face — and you looked at
me as you are doing now — I should be sorry. You
and Martin go too much together."

THE COMING OF A NEW RELIGION 149

" We are suited to each other."

" You sit with your two heads over one book, like
a couple of women over a sampler."

" Working the motto, ' Love me and leave me not,' "
she laughed.

" By heaven, Peter, you shall not mock me. Get
off your horse "

" Hunt me down," she cried, riding off, then waved
her hand and shouted, " Follow me ! Catch me I
Ride ! Ride, or you will be beaten again. Now my
horse throws the sand into your face."

Well ahead she reached the church-town, a
harvest ground where the seed scattered that day
had already germinated. Night had almost come, yet
the parishioners were not abed, and every cottage
showed a rushlight. Women and children were singing
hynms, old men found themselves inspired to preach,
young men were upon their knees. Shouts of, " God
ha' mercy upon us miserable sinners," proceeded from
open doors. The sleepers were awakened.

Cherry slipped from the horse and waited for David,
who came up still flushed and angry.

" I am sorry I mocked you. Let us not quarrel
here," she sa^d.

" What in the name of heaven has come to Moyle ? "
he cried.

" Something in that name," she answered. " Take
the horse — ^he is indeed a gallant beast."

" Stay, Peter 1 " he called, as she pushed the rein
into his hand. " What b the meaning of these cries ? "

" A new religion is being bom to-night," she said,
and ran from him to the fields and foot-tracks.

It seemed like a royal birthday, for birds upon the
branches of a monstrous yew — once the contemporary
jf Thor and Woden — standing alone in the church-
yard, were disturbed by the clanging of historic bells.
Six lusty parishioners perspired as they handled the
ropes within the dim light of candles, guttered by the

150

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

breeze drifting through the balisteria, and while their
arms controlled the bells, their tongues were praying.

Some of these men had rung out King James and
popery, acting as obedient servants of the church.
Now they were ringing in the age of liberty and the
right to think.

The wandering preacher had gone upon his way
by morning, leaving no name behind; and Moyle
went out to work, but not as usual, because every
man was thinking for himself. Miners prayed aloud
as they went to the shaft, fishermen dragged their
boats with hymns for chanties, and drew in their
nets with anthems. Workers in the fields dropped
their tools and went suddenly upon their faiees,
sobbing hystericsJly. Young men checked their
tongues in the midst of an oath and prayed for pardon.
Each evening meetings were held about the hallowed
sandhill, when rough miners discovered in themselves
the gift of eloquence. The half of Moyle one hour
sang psalms and hymns, and the next sobbed aloud
with spiritual excitement. The woman who had not
yet fainted was regarded as impenitent.

Upon Sunday sdtemoon, when hovering near the
most important meeting, anxious to hear these heralds
of revolt, Cherry was startled by a scream, and pressing
forward discovered a maiden writhing in convulsions
upon the sand, with other screaming wenches round
her.

" Another brand from the burning ! " went up the
cry. " Pray for her ! See how the devil struggles for
her ! All together, brothers and sisters I Pull her
back to God."

"These are not Christians," said Cherry, as she
turned from the scene which became then horrible
in her eyes. " If the book Father Benedict showed
me in the library of Bezurrel contains the truth, this
is but Paganism revived. Sir Thomas shall know how
Ruth repays his kindness."

CHAPTER II

THE INGENIOUS MR. FRANCIS BARCLAY

The first gentkman in Moyle took to the new religion
kindly. He came, in the first instance after dark, to
the house of Honey, the barber-surgeon— who bled
for a penny and curled wigs for twopence— and on this
occasion he was not preceded by a servant bearing a
gold-headed cane. Some thought it was a crown upon
the cane, others declared it was a skull ; but all agreed
it was gold. For Jacob Grambla the attorney was
now become a mighty fine gentleman.

Upon Honey the barber had also descended the
gift of eloquence ; no doubt it had been with him
always, but it was not discovered until religious
enthusiasm began to bum. The first chapel was his
room of consultation ; the first prayer-meeting beneath
a root took place amid razors, wig-blocks, and cupping-
glasses. Here came the curate to pray, supposing in
blind simplicity that the new movement claimed parent-
age from the church and his own dull sermons ; and
was merely another outbreak against the old enemy
of Rome. And perhaps he was not displeased when
the bitter tongue of Honey denoimced prodigal bishops
and absent vicars; but when his own order was
attacked, and the doctrines of the church were scoffed
at ; when moreover men and women sobbed wildly,
and writhed upon the floor as if mtoxicated ; then the
curate murmured in great horror, "The devil is in
this place." Carried away himself by the screams of
the congregation, he pointed towards a bluebottle
which chanced to buzz around the preacher's head,

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MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

and shouted, " There he is— Beelzebub, the king of
flies I Zounds, how he stinks of brimstone I "

After that he departed to write a sermon against
fanaticism, which he delivered to cracked walls and
worm-bored benches.

Master Grambla, landed proprietor, giver of feasts
to persons of distinction, came privately as became a
wealthy sinner, and humbly after dark, lest his coming
should offend the only folk whose good opinion was
worth having. No man despised his fellow-creatures
more than the attorney ; yet it was the eloquence of
Jacob Grambla which firmly established nonconformity
in Moyle. Wobblers came over when he preached.
Even Toby Penrice, who in his dull way was proud to
disown religion, wept like a child while he listened to
Master Grambla ; though he was mindful to keep his
arm around a maiden while he wept. What was good
enough for the master of Coinagehall was bound to
satisfy his following. Jacob stood between wig-blocks
and cupping-glasses, in a coat covered with lace like
the vestment of a papist bishop, and preached upon
the doctrine of regeneration which was dear to his soul.

" Brothers and sisters," said he, in the somewhat
whining voice which he doubted not was suitable for
heaven, " it is not enough that we begin to lead a new
life. We must first prepare ourselves to lead this life.
We are bom again when we embrace this new religion,
and 'tis our duty to enter this new state like innocent
children without sin. Brothers and sisters, we have all
sinned in the past. I stand before you to confess that
I have sinned in thought and deed. I have not alwajrs
spoken truth; I may, even if unloiowingly, have
defrauded some poorer brother ; I have profaned the
Sabbath with thought of business. 'Tis true I have
never lifted my hand against a fellow-creature, I have
never — ^thank God — ^injured a woman, nor has any
word of blasphemy fallen from my lips ; but I have
shown impatience at foul weather, and I have wrote

THE INGENIOUS MR. BARCLAY 153

an idle letter on the Sunday. Since it is not possible
for us to enter the new state while we remain in sin,
we must receive baptism, which is a sacrament any
man may administer to his brothers and sisters who are
deemed worthy of receiving it. By this same baptismal
regeneration our past misdeeds are wiped away, and
we start forth into the new life like innocent children
free of sin. Brothers and sisters, I humbly seek this
baptism, and I require Brother Honey to perform the
rite upon me. As a work of charity, and an offering of
thanl^giving, I shall bestow one guinea upon each
man and woman who receive the regenerating water
with myself."

It was proposed that the rite should take place
forthwith, but this Jacob could by no means approve
of ; as nothing short of complete immersion was able
to satisfy his zeal, and he stood at that moment in his
costliest garments. So he continued to preach, point-
ing out the necessity of spending first some hours in
meditation.

" Let us," said he, " to-morrow night descend to Moyle
harbour, and there cast our sins from us to the sea."

" Let us go rather in the light of day," said the
courageous barber-surgeon.

" Brother Honey, it will not do," said Jacob sternly.
" We are not afraid of any who may jeer at us — ^nay,
we shall welcome persecution gladly — but let not our
solemn rite be interrupted by ribald shouts of blas-
phemy."

" Master Grambla speaks wisely," cried Toby, who
was mmded to regain innocence and receive a guinea.

" The early Christians were not ashamed of the
darkness. Neither shall we be ashamed," said Jacob.

The next evening was favourable to the fanatics, of
whom all but two or three were pitifully in earnest ;
indeed the majority went sobbing to the sea. A sileni
cove was chosen ; here Jacob was first immersed,
wearing his oldest clothes, and afterwards he stood

154

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

exhorting othen upon the very spot where he had
Imelt beside the dying lady and had taken the baby
from her In-east ; but not for long, because he con-
sidered his health and the danger of standing in
saturated garments. Leaving the zealous barber to
receive all other candidates, he departed homewards
with the knowledge that his past was blotted out.

As if in answer to his challenge two horsemen rode
into Moyle as darkness fell. Both were young ; the
one unshaven and meanly clad ; the other very hand-
somely clothed and scented like a beau. They reined
in their horses near the foot of Poldrifty Downs, and
talked together for some time. Then the shabby
traveller continued westward, while his companion,
aiter watching horse and rider out of sight, advanced
at a gentle trot towards the church-town.

Caheme the rhinder, who cared nothing for the
spiritual uprising, crossed his track ; and the gay
horseman stayed to question him.
" How is this place named, friend ? "
" Moyle parish, sir. The church-town lies ahead."
" Who is squire, and where shall I find his house ? "
" Sir, I should be sorry to answer you with a word.
Some would say Sir Thomas Just of Bezurrel is the
first man in Moyle. Others would say Master Jacob
Grambla of Coinagehall."
" Which opinion are you mclined towards ? "
" Sir, if I was taken before the magistrates, and one
should ask me, ' Whom do you say is the greater — ^the
Queen or myself ? ' my answer would be, ' "Xou, sir,
are the greater.' The Queen in London, sir, would
he nought to me. The magistrate, who could commit
me to prison, or discharge me from custody, would be
by far the greater. Now, sir, I have answered you."
" I gather that Sir Thomas Just is headman of this
parish, but he withdraws himself from the inhabitants ;
while Master Grambla takes a place he has no right to
occupy."

THE INGENIOUS MR. BARCLAY i55

" Sir, yon may think so if you please. For my pwrt
I would desire to remain friendly with both. Sir
Thomas was bom a great gentleman, but Master
Grambla is one of ourselves."

" I come to search for information. Who is most
learned in the history of this parish ? "

" Then, sir, you must go to Coinagehall. If you go
to Bezurrel you will have but a wasted journey ; for
Sir Thomas admits neither stranger nor parishioner
to his presence. Whereas Master Grambla is pleased
to welcome any gentleman."

" I shall proceed to him at once, if you will pomt
out the road to Coinagehall," said the stranger ; and
the rhinder having done so they parted. The horseman
rode on with a contented smile, singing an old ballad

There was no real darkness at that period of the year,
therefore Jacob could see the way as he hurried along,
much ashamed of being recognised in dripping gar-
ments ; his imchanging mind laughing to scorn a
whitewashed conscience. Clear of the public road,
he eased his pace across the fields, pausing at a newly
erected fence to note and admire the last improvement ;
for the garden was being cut into shape, very much as
a child might have clipped a pattern out of folded
paper. Walks of gravel had been made, statues and urns
were being set up, while a fountain was under course
of building. Every shrub of box, yew, or holly, was
clipped into the fantastic image of some bird or beast.

The spirit of regeneration had settled upon house as
well as garden. The rooms suggested no longer cold-
ness and desolation ; the reign of mouse and spider
had been ended ; while the haunted region upstairs
had been cleared out and refurnished. Jacob stepped
into the scone-paved hall, where a large fireplace now
appeared, fitted with massive dogs of the latest type.
Here were polished tables, straight-backed chairs, a
sofa of tapestry, a pair of brilliant sconces holding six

. 'V

iiaiiiiiiiMii

156

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

wax candles each, and a wonderful French clock, its
dial formed of white flowered glass.

" Sir," said a gorgeous lackey, " Mr. Francis Barclay
waits upon you."

"I do not know the gentleman," replied Jacob.
" 'Tis a strange time for a client to call on business."

" He came, sir, two hours ago ; and when I told him
you were not in the house he rode away, promising
to return."

" What manner of man ? " asked Jacob.

" Sir, a gentleman of rank undoubtedly."

" I go to change my garments. Lay me out the
peach-bloom coat."

" I believe, sir, I hear a horseman."

" Show the gentleman into the reception-room — ^let
all candles be lighted. Inform Mr. Barclay I shall
presently be with him."

Jacob passed up the well-lighted stairway towards
a room which twelve months back he dared not to
have entered ; while the traveller-was met at the door
with a ceremony befitting so fine a face and figure.
His horse was led to the stable, and he himself was
ushered into the saloon ; where he stood staring about
in a somewhat bewildered fashion, as if not much
accustomed to such magnificence. He beheld a richly
gilded cornice ; walls hung with crimson velvet ;
tables and chairs of the recently introduced and costly
wood mahogany ; cabinets filled with porcelain ; and
grotesque footstools with supports of acanthus pattern.

Mirrors were much in evidence, hai^dsomely framed
and bearing sconces which held stout v\y binders of the
purest wax. Upon a walnut sidepiece a massive candel-
abrum threw out six silver arms. Above the fireplace
were arranged curious ornaments of Indian manufac-
ture, intermingled with vases covered in gross designs.
The pictures, all of them new and staring, were sugges-
tive ; such as Act aeon watching Diana, Jupiter embrac-
ing Leda, Venus in the arms of Adonis. The traveller

THE INGENIOUS MR. BARCLAY 157

appeared to have forgotten the absent master of this
indecent splendour.

" Why, Mr. Barclay I My dear Mr. Barclay I This
b a very extraordinary and unlooked for happiness, I
do assure you, Mr. Barclay 1 "

With this welcome Jacob strutted in, looking yet
more m«.agre in his warm magnificence.

" Sir, I am much gratified," replied the traveller.
" Sir, I have not seen such splendour out of London.
This beautiful harpsichord I This painted ceiling— a
nymph entwining tb stem of an apple-tree with a
serpent 1 "

" Th« old story, my dear sir ! Eve and the enemy of
mankind. Religion, sir — ^we must keep that before us
in our houses. This parish is now in a turmoil over a
new craze. A mad preacher, sir, wandered into Moyle,
to preach new doctrines — ^rank stuff and blasphemous.
He redecorated the table of the ten commandments,
sir, after his own design ; and now — if you can believe
me — ^the poor fools are tumbling one over the other
in their eagerness to be baptised into a new faith. Sir,
we gentlemen must smile at such simplicity."

" The view of this handsome apartment is indeed
exquisite I " exclaimed the traveller. " The lights
reflect from one mirror to another in an endless vista.
What elegant porcelain ! What chaste designs I Sir,
you are no ordinary country § ntleman."

"I believe not, sir," said tae gratified attorney.
" I am a man of substance, I promise you. You will
crack a bottle, Mr. Barclay ? Perhaps, sir, you will
honour my table — a little supper, a cold fowl, and
half-a-dozen of claret ? "

" Sir, I am indebted to you already," said the
traveller, bowing. " Let me explain to you at once
the nature of my business ; for it is now night and I
am not yet provided with a place of shelter. You will
allow me to remark I am a gentleman of fortune."
" Say no more, sir. One gentleman will tell another

158

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

at a glance. You will lie here to-night, Mr. Barclay.
I will hear no denial. I go to order your room to be
prepared — and the wine, sir. Ah, Mi. Barclay I A
three-bottle man, I warrant ye 1 "

" Sir, your hospitality overwhelms me. My busmess
is of the highest importance, else I would not have
waited upon you at this most unusual hour."

Again the traveller found himself alone, but only for
a few moments. Two servants entered, spread a taUe
Mdth cold meats and glasses, and placed three flagons
beside each chair. Then the master returned, proffered
an elegant snuff-box, and begged the gentleman to
draw towards the table.

" Small talk for meat, sir. Business with the wine,"
said he ; and forthwith led the way ; but Jacob's
small talk mainly concerned great people.

Supper being over, and the cloth removed to reveal
a dark and shining circle of mahogany, Jacob filled the
long glasses and toasted the gentleman before settling
in his chair. The traveller also rose and responded with
a few compliments ; then leaned across the mirror-
like table, and came to matters of unportance.

" You behold, sir, one who is more accustomed to
deeds than words ; and will therefore tell a tedious
story in a sentence. Although I am of Engibh parent-
age, my life has been spent in the Colony of Virginia,
where my father settled in his youth to grow the
tobacco-plant."

" An excellent weed ! " cried Jacob.

" You speak truly," said Mr. Barclay, producing a
large pocket-book, and flashing across the attorney's
eyes a silver crest. " I have here, sir," he continued,
" letters of credit from wholesale houses, both in Bristol
and Plymouth, which I shall be pleased to lay before
you."

Jacob waved aside these witnesses with a gesture of
perfect breeding.

" These notes, sir, represent in the paper-money of

THE INGENIOUS MR. BARCLAY I59

my colony, a sum of five thousand pounds. I would
have you know, sir, my father perished more than
twenty ^ars ago, possessed of a lai^ fortune, which
I have since succeeded in douUing. But, alas, sir,
what is wealth to a man who has lost all those who
are near and dear to him, even though he may not have
gaxed upon them with the eyes of consciousness ? "

" Sir, it is nothing," cried Jacob warmly.

" Nothing whatever, sir," said Mr. Barclay with a
groan. " And now to my story. Long ago, when I
was a child of eighteen months, my beloved parents
abandoned me to the care of devoted serv ants, and
departed for England, with a natural and pious longing
to see their native land once more. Sir, they were not
heard of again. The ship in which they travelled was
wrecked, and it is supposed all hands were lost."

" Was the vessel cast away upon this shore ? "

" It was, sir," said Mr. Barclay, resting Ins head a
moment upon his arm. " I was kft with the overseer
and his wife, a most worthy English couple, who
watched over me with parental care, and saw to it
that I received an education befitting my wealth and
station. They acted upon the instructions of my
parental grandparents ; who resided in the county of
Noriolk until I had attained the age of seventeen ;
then both passed away within a year of each other ;
and I was left alone, for my father was an only child,
and of my mother's relations I can tell you nothing,
for I do not even know her maiden name. And now,
sir, I come to the curious part of my narrative. Little
more than a year ago an old negro woman, who had
nursed me as an infant, was seized with a fatal illness ;
and before passing away she informed me that a chUd
had been bom to my parents a short time previous
to their departure. I had not been told of this by my
kindly guardians, for they had not wished to add to my
distress ; and they had instructed the other servants
to keep the information from me."

z6o

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

"Your worthy grandparents, sir— did not they
mention it ? " asked Jacob.

" The old negro woman told me, sir, that they knew
nothing ; for my father V/ished to gratify his parents
by appearing before them on their birthday — ^they
had been bom upon the same day — ^and ofiering his
infant daughter as a present. And she too, sir — she
too was cast away."

" There is many a wreck upon this Cornish coast.
Many a brave life is thrown away each storm," said
Jacob sadly.

" You will ask, sir, what business I have in coming
to consult you," resumed Mr. Barclay. " I am now to
make this clear to you. After the death of the old
negro woman I was much troubled by dreams and
visions. An aged native, who was said to possess the
gift known to the Scottish as second sight, assured me
that my sister was alive."

" Ah I " exclaimed Jacob.

" Sir, do I astonish you ? "

" Ay, sir."

" I am glad of it. After this warning, which was
many times repeated, my mind became so disturbed
that at last I decided to take a holiday and come to
England. I was desirous of making the fullest inquir-
ies concerning the fate of my sister. Besides, sir, I
was eager to behold this great and noble country of my
ancestors. After so many years I was unable to dis-
cover the name of the ill-fated vessel ; but I had heard
often how she had been cast away upon this Cornish
coast. So I worked upon that hint and starting from
Padstow, after my safe arrival in Bristol, I proceeded
westerly along this rugged shore. In the adjoining
parish, where I arrived at noon to-day, I was given
to imderstand by an old fisherman that, more than
twenty years ago, a lady clasping her infant daughter
had been cast up from a wreck in this parish of Moyle ;
and he believed the infant had survived. I hastened

THE INGENIOUS MR. BARCLAY i6i

forward at once, and, having been informed that you,
sir, were the gentleman most likely to give me informa-
tion, I came with all speed to your house. Such is
my story. Permit me to add that, if my sister lives,
I shall award to the man who saved her life a handsome
fortime."

Jacob sat like a v/ooden image, his face shielded by
one lean hand, his eyes fixed upon the carpet. Of all
the problems which had ever racked his mind, this
was a thousand times the hardest.

" Sir, I fear your silence condemns me to despair,"
said Mr. Barclay.

Still Jacob could not find the words. Schemes
flashed through his brain and were rejected ; yet speech
was demanded of him. The story of Ruth was known.
The bro<;her had only to question any elderly parish-
ioner to be told how the mother and babe had been
cast up in Moyle harbour, how Master Grambla had
saved the child, called her his daughter, and adopted
her as kitchen slave. But there was another story,
which the parishioners did not know, and that weighed
most heavily upon his mind.

" Sir, I await your answer."

Slowly Jacob rose to his feet, cursing his folly at
having drank too much. Unable to face the visitor,
he gazed upon the pond-like surface of the table, and
answered heavily, " The sorrow of your story made
me dumb. Never to have seen your parents, sir — to
have been separated all these years from a darling
sister ! Sir, I am not the man to listen to a tragedy
immoved. To-morrow we shall talk more soberly.
To-night — ^what shall I say but this ? — your sister
lives and is well. These hands drew your mother from
the sea. These arms carried her infant daughter to
my house. Sir, she has lived with me all these years,
and — to my shame — I allowed the child to perform
slight household duties."

" My sister I My Maud ! So I have found thee at
u

X63

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

length ! " cried Mr. Barclay. " Ah, sir 1 sufier me to
kbs the hand which saved my sbter."

" I can say no more — I am much moved. Let us rest
now, and talk to-morrow," Jacob mumbled.

" Where is my sister ? "

" In this parish. You shall see her in the morning.
She is, I suppose, a young lady of fortune ? "

" I shall at once present her with a fortune of twenty
thousand pounds. And you, sir — ^how shall I reward
a wealthy gentleman ? "

" Sir, let me light you to your chamber," Jacob
whispered.

Mr. Barclay slept soundly in the luxurious guest-
chamber ; but the master never closed his eyes that
night.

CHAPTER III

JACOB PLAYS A GAME OF FIND THE LADY

The attorney was out of his room before the cock-
crow. Mr. Barclay descended the stairs not long
after sunrise, to inform the butler an early walk was
necessary for his health, and it was aever his custom
to take breakfast until the clock had gone ten. This
fine gentleman then passed out upon a terrace in
making, and interrogated a gardener who was at work
already :

" Whose are those woods I see yonder ? "

" They belong, sir, to the lord of Bezurrel," came
the answer.

" Are they inhabited ? "

" By a gamekeeper and water-bailiff, sir ; and by
Master John Clabar and his son."

" '"'ho are these Clabars ? "

" Ti.-y owned Coinagehall, sir, before Master
Grambla bought it of them. John Clabar was once
a gentleman, sir, and 'tis said his son is likely to
become one."

" What manner of men are they ? "

" John is silent and brooding. Young Peter is like
nobody else in the world, for he has the face of a
woman and the strength of a man. He is included
among our Cornish wonders, of which we have many.
He h^ now reached his twenty-second year, and
uses his hands as weU as any man ; yet he grows no
beard. He is a scholar, and 'tis said there is some
magic in his nature."

163

i64

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" I would see this prodigy. Where is the house ? "

" Enter Bezurrel Woods, sir, and follow the stream
until you find it."

Leaving the intelligent gardener, Mr. Barclay
walked on, smiling at the parterres and verdant
images; crossed the fields; and descended to the
wockIs, which appeared to recede as he advanced
owing to the nature of the ground. He smiled again
when his feet trod the moss, and his head was covered
by a bower of roses. Indeed, the beauty of these
woods was so much to his taste that he threw back
his head and sought to imitate the music of the birds ;
but his song reached an end when he came to a clear-
ing ; where he saw a cottage with a fenced-in garden
and, leaning over the rustic gate, a magnificent youth
bareheaded, with brown hands and white throat and
the sunshine pouring on his golden curls.

" Welcome to Halcyon," said Cherry.i

"Yoimg gentleman, I greet you," replied the
traveller. " Welcome is a good word, to which I am
but little accustomed. The name of this place I have
not heard before."

" You are welcome," said Cherry. " For you came
along the right road."

" I saw no other way."

" One is closed, and yet most people find it. There
is a sorrowful pathway, and a happy pathway, to
every home. I heard you singing in the wood, there-
fore I knew you were commg the right way. Because
you are happy I give you welcome. Because you are
free from sorrow you may have the liberty of my home
which we call Halcyon ; for that word means happi-
ness."

" Are you not Mr. Peter Clabar ? "

" I see you have heard of me, happy man. Nay,
do not protest I There are a great number of sour-
faces who would approach by the way that is closed.
They would groan horribly among these trees and

A GAME OF FIND THE LADY 165

flowers. Should they gain heaven, they will groan
there too, I warrant."

" This is a fair garden indeed," said Mr. Barclay.
"I knew not so many different kinds of flower
existed."

" Snow-flowers and storm-flowers are past. These
you behold are cuckoo-flowers."

" Have they no other name ? "

" Plenty to wise men, but no other to my ignorance.
Here is a cuckoo-flower, and here another. They blow
when the cuckoo cries, and that is all I know about
them. Snow-flowers come and go in winter. Storm-
flowers visit us in March."

" By my soul, a good place in the summer-time I "
cried the traveller.

" A good place in every season. There are pleasures
of winter also, happy man. When the rain beats down,
and the wind is hunting, we close the shutters, sit
by the fire of logs — ^for we have permission to make use
of fallen timber— and read old books. What greater
comfort is there than a well-warmed room ? What
happier thing than an ancient book? When frost
clears the air, we look out upon the stars and wonder ;
and to wonder is another form of happiness. When
snow lies upon the ground, and crystals shine upon
the trees, we admire ; and admiration is another form
of happiness. Every season is the happiest in Halcyon.
Each day b better than the last."

" Young gentleman, you seem to me to have no ill-
opinion of yourself."

" Good opinion is not always pride," said Cherry.
" I should be wrong to think ill of myself, or of my
neighbours ; for nothing that is ill can be a form of
happiness. And now, sir, will you not tell me what
brings you to Bezurrel Woods ; for I believe you are a
stranger in this country ? "

" I came yesterday in search of information con-
cerning my sister, who was cast upon this shore when

t66

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

an infant many years ago. I was directed to Jacob
Grambla ; and I lay last night at Coinagehall."

" This is news indeed ! " said Cherry. " May I
implore you, sir, not to trust the lawyer ? "

" I thank you for the warning," said Mr. Barclay.
" I have some knowledge of the human countenance ;
and by that alone I do not trust the lawyer."

" Ruth is then your sister — Chappy maid I "

" Ruth is she called ? "

" I see the serpent has deceived you."

" He has told me nothing, save that my sister lives
and is well, and dwells within this parish."

" He means mischief to the maid — ^whom I know
well he hates. You will find whichever way you move,
he has a net spread for you. Ruth serves at Bezurrel
Castle as maid to my Lady Just."

" Young gentleman, I thank you," cried the traveller.

" I should rather thank you for walking through the
wood with a song of the morning and a shining lover's
face."

" I chank you for the information."

" 'Vhich you came here to find."

" I descend from a house of lies to a cottage of
truth," said happy Mr. Barclay.

" Nay, truth dwells in a palace. Come, sir, will you
pluck cuckoo-flowers of various colours and make a
posy ? I go presently to Bezurrel chapel for the Mass,
and will carry the posy to your sister."

" Is she a papist ? "

" She steers towards the very opposite pole of
the heavens. Moyle is gone out of its senses by the
coming of a preacher ; its folk are fallen into the
whirlpool of a new religion which has already made
them so giddy they cannot stand upright ; and Mistress
Ruth has fallen into the midst of it herself. I believe
you are come in good time, for Sir Thomas and my
lady abhor these nonconformists, and your sister
grows unpopular at Bezurrel."

A GAME OF nND THE LADY 167

" It is well then that I have come to remove her,
more especially as I myself favour the nonconformists.
But if you carry a posy to my sbter, how shall she
know who sends it ? "

" There is a language of flowers. Every maid can
hear them speaking, ' I have a message for you,' ' I
love you,' ' Will you come with me ? '"
" You speak like a maid ! "
" I am the laughing interpreter of the silent flowers.
Every maid, I assure you, can read blossoms. But for
greater security you may add eloquence to their
fragrance by hiding a letter within the posy."

"Well thought of indeed 1 " cried Mr. Barclay.
"Yet can I be certain the letter will reach my
sister ? "

" When you give it to me, you may reckon it is
already in Ruth's hands. Come, sir ! will you enter
our cottage and write to your sister ? "

" Young gentleman," said the traveller, with great
earnestness, " my sister and I shall ever afterwards
regard you as our kindliest friend."

" I hope, sir, you are a gentleman of fortune ? " said
Cherry, as she opened the gate for him.

" My possessions are vast indeed. Many a Nabob of
the Indies might feel envious of my wealth. I am
yotmg, I am strong, I have fine health," replied Mr.
Barclay.

Later he apologised for the unconscionable time he
sat a-writing, although Cherry could not wonder at it ;
for a knowledge of spelling was not then regarded as an
elegant accomplishment, and the greatest gentry of the
land were awkward with the pen. But she was forced
to conclude his labours by the warning, " When the
sun stands over that oak, 'tis eight by the clock. You
see he is almost there."

Soon they set out together through the wood, and
came presently into a lane opposite a Cornish stile,
where it was necessary to part.

z68

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" Your way lies along this lane," said she. " I
wish you good-fortune and many halcyon-days."

" I propose to return with my sister to the Palace
of Truth," said Mr. Barclay. " If I am prevented from
doing so. and should we meet no more, the memory
of this kindness shall ever remain as a portion of my
life. I have here two rings. One I shall present to
my dear sister. The other I beg of your acceptance."

" It is a woman's ring I " cried Cherry.

" I would have you offer it to the maiden you like
best."

" I will do so — and I thank you," she said ; and
slipping the ring upon her little linger, and carrying
the bright posy which contained the hidden letter,
she passed into Bezurrel Park. While Mr. Barclay
loitered in the lane, and wandered by slow stages to
breakfast, Coinagehall, and Jacob Grambla.

The attorney called the servants himself, and, having
entered the kitchen when they were assembled, ordered
two maids to wait upon him in the second saloon ;
which was the room where he had slept before the
coming of Red Cap ; and was now used as a place of
reception for such unimportant parishioners as Master
Toby, who could not be allowed to tread the carpet
of the first saloon. This was simply furnished — to suit
the tastes of the meaner kind of folk who entered it —
with plain chairs and tables, groups of waxen fruit,
stuffed birds and beasts, while all the pictures were re-
ligious ; since only great folk could understand high
art in the form of suggestive paintings and indecent
porcelain. Here Jacob questioned the two maidens ;
and presently dismissed the one, but retained the other
a great while ; and after that he waited for his guest.
Who came strolling through the fantastic garden
as one with an imblemished title to the place ; handed
hat and cane to the butler with an air of master ; then
wandered into the dining-room like a lord. Jacob
sprang towards him uttering fulsome words, led nxm

MiBHHH

A GAME OF HND THE LADY 169

to a chair, served him with meat and ale ; but could
not help noticing that the handsome gentleman was
somewhat cold.

" I fear, sir, the meanness of my house, and the
poverty of my cwiversation, do not please you," he
said humbly. " Yet consider, sir, we country gentle-
men are little accustomed to entertain a prince of com-
merce."

"To be plain with you, sir, I did not like your
manner when you left me. You maintain silence, you
hold me in suspense all night, you make me feel all is
not well with my dear sister," said Mr. Barclay.

" Sir, I was agitated," replied Jacob. " I do not
know whether you have spoke to anyone this morn-
ing?"

" I wandered into the woods and came by chance
upon a strapping youth whose form reminded me of
certain statues I have seen."

" A dangerous fellow, I assure you. A lying fellow.
I trust you did not disclose yourself to him ? "

" I did not tell him my name."

" I am glad of it. That is a fellow who would make
much mischief. I hope, sir, the ale is to your taste ? "

" I have seldom tasted better."

" I had a hand in the brewing of it. A master should
not consider any detail too small for his attention. I
could tell you the iiumber of coverings upon each bed,
and the precise amount of fuel consumed each day
upon these premises."

" Sir, I must again be plain with you," cried Mr.
Barclay. " I consider you trifle with me."

There came a fine bustling outside ; then a post-
chaise drew up at the porch. The gentleman looked
out and saw a groom leading his horse across the gravel.

" You will perceive," said Jacob heavilj', " that I
am unable to shake off the agitation which troubled
me last night. Your sister, sir— I address myself
boldly to the facts."

170

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" Why is my hone kd out ? What means this pott-
chaise ? "

" The horse, sir, is brought in readiness for a journey
which we must take this morning, fhe chaise contains
your sister."

Mr. Barclay rose and would have made for the door,
but Jacob placed a deferential hand upon hb arm and
begged him to remain.

" I desire you not to show yourself till you have
heard me."

" Why does she not run to me — ^hei brother ? "

"She has not even heard oi your ^\.stence," de-
clared Jacob. " Sir. I desire you to be calm, and
listen. You feaied by my manner that all is not well
.vith your sister."

" Do not tell me," cried Mr. Barclay, " she has con-
tnxted a marriage with some clown."

" Nay, sir ! No better and no worse as things go in
tlic world. I have told you hov.' I rescued the poor
infai t from the sea. I have told you how I brought her
to thic house and permitted her to take a part in house-
hold dut.es. Sir, do not blame me if I gave her no
education, and used her in a fashion not suited to her
birth ; for I was not to know she was a lady bom, nor
could I tell she would be claimed. Besides, sir. had
she been my daughter, I could have done but little for
the child, since ease of fortune did not reach me till
last year. So your sister grew up in my house, an
ordinary country wench ; somewhat rough, a trifle
careless — and unthinking."

" Well, sir I " said Mr. Barclay sternly, when the
lawyer hesitated.

" Sir, there is many a country wench somewhat
loose in principle. I say no more."

" I begin to understand you. I pray you tell me all."
said Mr. Barclay, still more coldly.

" Last year I was forced by her conduct — to which
I will not give the name of wantonness — ^to find her

A GAME OF FIND THE LADY 171

a lodging elsewhere. I assure you. sir. she has been
well looked after. In pity, and not I swear without
devotion. I offered to take the shame upon myself —
you wUl not mock me because I am plain in face and
mean in figure. She scorned me. ' Better hunger as
a partner than you for a husband,' she cried at me. I
cast no blame against her. Yet I had saved that
life ! "

" Is there no more to add ? " asked Mr. Barclay.

" This Gvily : I mention a little mound in the church-
5rard to ease your mind. The whole of Moyle knows
this sad story. Scandal, sir, travels post free. I would
desire you to leave this place immediately. Your
business here must otherwise be known, and your
honoured name will become dragged in the mire. The
carriage waits. Lot us ride to the next town ; and
there — ^in the peaceful seclusion of some inn — I shall
resign my charge ; or shall remain — if that be your
pleasure — ^to advise you further concerning such settle-
ments you may desire to make upon your sister."

" I thank you for your care," said Mr. Barclay.
" The honour of my name I value highly ; yet I would
have you bear in mind that mud thrown in Moyle can
never reach Virginia."

" Be not too sure." said Jacob earnestly. " Our
young men are emigrating to that colony. 'Twould
be a sad day if one came to your plantations and
recognised Miss Barclay. Sir. the truth would be out
before you could stop his mouth. Take my advice,
and I promise you to keep this matter secret. After
to-day the people of Moyle will see Miss Maud no more.
They shall never be told her rightful name. Sir, I
am greatly honoured by your company, yet what is
there to detain you now in my poor house ? "

Mr. Barclay moved from his chair with some un-
easiness, saying as he drew out his pocket-book, " Your
eloquence convinces me. Yet, sir, I shall not trouble
you to accompany us. I have thought of a better plan.

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172 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

There are matters I am anxious to discuss with you ;
for now that my sister has been restored I would make
some provision for her future. Life is uncertam—l
mav be shot by some viUainous highwayman upon the
road to Devonshire. I shaU therefore requure you to
prepare my wiU. Then, sir, I shaU be much offended
if you refuse to accept a sum of money of me. i
would have you extend this noble mansion by buUdmg
a wing at my expense. These various discussior^ wiU
take time. I propose therefore to depart with my
sister to the next town, and, after lodging her m some
comfortable inn, to return and accept your hospitality

some few days longer." , ., t i. i* ^

" Sir, you gratify me exceedingly, Jacob muttered.
" Yet I could protect the honour of your name more
surely by travelling with you."

" I shall not mention the name of my sister either to
man or woman. One other matter, sir said Mr.
Barclay, passing some notes across the table. 1 dis-
cover I ^ almost exhausted of my English money.
Be good enough to present me with ten guineas, that
I may settle with the post-boys and landlord of the inn ;
and place this paper of my country in your strong-box

against my coming." , » -j x \>

" Will you not need a larger sum ? said Jacob,
collecting the notes with eager fingers ; then proceed-
ing to unbutton his pocket, " I have here fifteen ^meas
and some sUver. Sir, these notes are pnnted very

ill "

*" In my colony, sir, the arts are but little studied ;
but we have the money and the skill will come. I beg
you pass no hasty opinion upon these notes, for we
young Americans are somewhat impatient of cnticism.
This gold will be sufficient. I thank you. And now,
sir. present me to my sister."

" Will you not reveal yourself to her when you reach
the country beyond Moyle ? Consider, sir ! My ser-
vants may put one a-'d one together."

A GAME OF FIND THE LADY 173

" She might not believe me. No, sir ! Inform her,
and send her in."

" Very good, sir. I will order the servants into the
back premises. I may expect you, sir, this evening at
dinner-time ? "

" You may indeed expect me," replied Mr. Barclay.

Jacob hurried from the room, satisfied the plot
was working, and not sorry in his heart to be spared
a journey, for travelling in a post-chaise made him
sick.

Mr. Barclay stood facing the window, until the door
was pushed open timidly. He turned to beheld a
somewhat impudent coimtry wench, who blushed and
simpered, as she transferred her gaze from floor to
ceiling and from wall to wall.

" Well, my dear I What name do they call you ? "
asked Mr. Barclay ; then remembering that Jacob
would be listening, he cried, " Do I indeed behold my
long-lost sister ? "

"They call me Ruth, an it please you, sir," the
damsel stammered.

" It does not please me. Your name is Maud ; and
I am your brother, Mr. Francis Barclay."

" Master Grambla says you be my brother. Oh
lor', sir, don't it seem funny ? "

" You are a young gentlewoman, Maud ; but I fear
you have much to leam."

" Will ye give me pretty gowns, sir ? And a carriage
to drive in, sir ? And a wench to wait upon me, sir ? "
demanded the pert damsel.

" We will talk of these things at some other time,"
said Mr. Barclay with a frown. " Now, Maud, will
you come with me ? "

" I'll come with you, sir, sure enough. I ain't so
fond of Moyle I craves to bide. Lor', sir, I be a lucky
maid, I reckon."

Mr. Barclay advanced, raised her podgy harid, and
pressed his lips upon it ; an action which disconcerted

174

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

the damsel, who had looked for a salutation far more
ardent.

" Ain't you going to kiss me on the chops ? " she
muttered in her coimtry dialect.

Mr. Barclay winced fDr answer. They walked out
of the room, across the hall, and towards the waiting
chaise ; the wench signalling her transformation into
a fine lady by turning up her nose at the post-bojrs ;
her escort glancing at his watch. Of Jacob there was
nothing to be seen.

" What is the name of that hill yonder ? " asked the
gentleman, as he mounted his horse.

" Us calls it Great Gwentor, master," replied the
groom.

They went off, but when clear of Coinagehall, the
rider said to the post-boy nearest him, " Drive to the
foot of Great Gwentor, for I have business in that
neighbourhood."

CHAPTER IV

RUTH BEGINS TO TRAVEL

Mass being said, Sir Thomas and his lady retired into
the library, which could be entered from the garden :
a few minutes later Ruth was summoned to attend
them. She came with a sinking of the heart ; for she
feared, rather than loved, the lord of Bezurrel, in spite
of his much kindness.

" Ruth," said he, " I saw you in the avenue holding
a nosegay of wild flowers. Who is your lover ? "

" Peter Clabar, sir " she began in a weak voice.

" What, Ruth — shy maid ! Have you been making
eyes at our young sun-god ? " cried my lady.

" I know the flowers came from Olabar's garden,"
said Sir Thomas. " A posy, child, may convey a great
deal from one hand to another. The single flower
carries an iimocent message ; but the nosegay b often
guilty of conspiracy. What is that you try to conceal
in the folds of your gown ? "

" If you please 5ir, 'tis a letter,"

" From young Apollo 1 Oh, fie, Ruthie ! " laughed
her ladyship.

" Let us not tease the maid," said her husband less
sternly. " Be seated, Ruth, and tell us why young
Peter brings you love-letters."

" Sir, I do not know."

" Have you any feeling of affection for him ? "

" Nothing more than the kindness of friendship,
sir."

" Yet you have a lover. May not this letter be from
him?"

176

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" Master Peter, sir, when he came to Mass, sent for
me," said Ruth. " I found him waiting by the door
of the chapel, holding a posy which he pushed into my
hand, and told me to take it to my bedroom. ' There
b a mess ge,' he whispers. ' 'Tis from your brother.'
But, sir, I cannot read."

" You have no brother," said Sir Thomas sharply.

" Give me the letter," cried Lady Just. " Come,
Ruth, sit close to me, whUe I read it in your ear. This
is an affair between women. Sir Thomas. You have no
part in it."

" Nevertheless I shall remain to offer an opinion."

" A crest ! " exclaimed her ladyship, as she looked
at the seal. " Ruth, you become a maid of
mystery."

" An owl," said the baronet, in the solemn manner
of that bu-d. " 'Tis the crest, I believe, of a family in
Devonshire. But this paper I myself supplied to
Peter. Therefore the letter was written in Halcyon
cottage."

Lady Just broke the seal, glanced through the con-
tents, frowning a little, then laughed aloud.

" Brother or lover, he is an ill scholar," she cried.
" He signs no name and gives no explanation. Ruth,
listen ! "

" Read aloud, Manuela," her husband ordered.

So my lady read aloud :

" My dere little angel I am your brother as you shal
imderstand when you meet me in the copse at 12 by the
clock and noon by the sun and I am come for you at
last and I shal be in the copse which is at the h -)ttom
of the fields of Coinagehall with a Horse to take you I
got to Mcyle about evening and I had supper with
Grambler but I could not eat now I was so close to you
and so got to Bed near midnight I lay at Coinageliall
and I prayed for you my derest love and kissed your
Derest Hare and laye down and ( rcmpt of you ten thou-
sand times kissing you and t ling you how much I

RUTH BEGINS TO TRAVEL

177

loved and adored you till you seemed pleased but alas
when I woke I found it all dillusion no body but myself
I rose by time at six and went to the woods there I
found my Friend Peter and stayed with him and when
I finish this Letter to you my dere love I go to brekfust
at 10 clock always if nothing hinders me I s\A\ be in
the copse by Noon o my love mad and happy beyond
m3rself to tell you how I love you I hope you are well I
need not tell you I have nothing in my T !ioughts I long
for your Dereself and hope for the time to come dere
Little Friend does angel of my Hart take care of her
Dereself for the sake of your faithful Servant who lives
but to adore you I hope my dere nay I will dare to say
you never will have reason and you w'U not regret when
the Time comes God bless you most Derest Little
Creature living

now oft bad changed his sly disguise

unmarked by all save Luwly Ruthies eyes
now he finds means alone to meet his Dame
and at her feet to breathe his amrus Flame

Now God bless you till 12 clock I have your Hart and
it lies warm in my Breast I hope mme will feel easy
Joy of my Life my Friend Peter says this will do."

My lady dropped her hands and looked at Ruth,
whose cheeks were red as roses, saying, " The poor
gentleman is no scholar with the pen, for he writes his
romance in one imbroken sentence, and has your
true lover's trick of careless spelling. Now, child, can
you sign his name ? "

" The name is Grambla. This is a trick to decoy the
girl away, to sell her to some procuress," said Sir
Thomas. " After breakfast I go to the woods, and
learn from Peter who wrote this letter. Ruth, I
charge you not to leave the house until I give you
leave."

" Sir, I believe my Harry has come back."

" Your Harry, foolish child 1 Men of his sort make
love to a different damsel every day."

178

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" This is a genuine letter," c.jd my lady.

" Grambla copied it from some newspaper."

" Believe me, Sir Thomas, there are some honest
poor gentlemen left in the world. May not this man
be her brother ? "

" It is impossible," he said. " Ruth, do you believe
you were cast up by the sea, clasped in the arms of
a dying mother ? "

" Surely, sir," the girl whispered.

" You believe the word of Grambla ? "

" No, sir ; but I believe Mother Gothal. The whole
of Moyle knows my sad story."

" The whole world has accepted a lie before to-day,"
replied Sir Thomas. " When Grambla calls you a
nameless wench, he lies ; and some day he shall own
to it. You have neither brother nor sister ; but you
shall have name and place if you are patient and can
trust in me. If, however, you tlirow yourself into the
arms of a deceiver, look not to me for pity."

" Will you not tell me more, sir ? " begged Ruth,
forgetting all fear of her dark and dreadful master.

" No, child ! I cannot speak yet without causing
mischief. Nor have I yet concluded my reading of the
stars. You are to obey me. Do not leave this house.
I shall go to the copse to meet the writer of this letter.
Remain with my lady, for she has much to say to you.
No more self-will, Ruth. Your conduct of late dis-
pleases me."

Sir Thomas left the library, frowning more deeply
than usual ; while Ruth turned for sympathy to my
lady, who had always been gentle with her ; so that
the girl found it hard to understand how that kind
heart could love the works of darkness, and how those
soft hands could play the harp at midnight to frighten
evil spirits from her husband while he invoked the
dead.

" Why is Sir Thomas angry with me ? " she asked
plaintively.

RUTH BEGINS TO TRAVEL

179

" Because you have joined yourself to these people
who are enemies of all the churches," my lady
answered. " I warned you, Ruth, to keep away from
these blasphemers ; yet you seek their company
CO itinually. I entreated you to become %i member of
thj one true church — forbidden in this godless land —
and you have answered by seeking a pagan baptism."

"Oh, my lady!" cried Ruth. "You and Sir
Thomas have used me with the greatest kindness ;
you saved my life when I was driven out of Coinagehall ;
but you could not give me God, my lady."

" We sought to give you instruction, Ruth."

" I could not imderstand, my lady. I seemed to get
further away from God ; but now I am getting near.
I go to the meetings, and I feel God is so near I could
almost put out my hand and touch Him."

" Ruth, you are too young and foolish to know what
this means. If you go on in this manner you will surely
lose your senses. I hear already some women in this
place are fit for Bedlam."

" My lady, 'tis because they feel themselves near
God. They are inspired, madam, to explain the
Scriptures. The blessed meetings, the prayers and
preaching, have given me God, and I must keep Him
— I cannot give Him up. I went down to be baptised,
and when I was in the sea, my lady, I could behold the
angels up in heaven "

" Ruth ! Ruth I No more," interrupted n;y lady,
more near to being angry than the maid had ever seen
her. " This must be put a stop to, I hear you often
scream in your sleep, and sometimes believe yourself
struggling with the devil ; and you will even burst
into prayer while you sit at table."

" I feel God is calling me to pray and to struggle —
I must obey. Oh, my lady, may I not find God in my
own poor way ? "

" The first duty of a Christiai .naid is to obey those
who are set over her ; and if she persists in disobedience

z8o

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

they must punish her. When Sir Thomas heard of
your wicked act in seeking baptism at the hand of the
barber, he was so angry that he declared you should
stay in this house no longer."

" Oh, my lady I "

" We have therefore decided to send you away."

" Dear lady, do not break my heart."

" Be not so foolish, child. Do you suppose we have
it in us to fc sfike you altogether ? Sir Thomas thinks
it would be well for you to travel, and thus obtain a
change of scene. You are in ill-health. Ruth, else you
would not listen so readily to these blasphemers. It
is also my will that you should go, for I am well aware
the steward has lately troubled you with his atten-
tions."

" My lady, I always run when I see him coming,"
said Ruth, beginning to sob.

" Ay, Ruthie, I know you are honest ; but you need
more strength of mind. We have known you are m
danger from some plot of Grambla every time you
leave Bezurrel. Nay, child, do not weep. I am sorry
for the rudeness of my steward, but gentlemen are not
to be held upon the curb."

" My lady, I feel I am destined to be ruined. I
cannot find God now — you make the way so dark."

" Foolish child I " said my lady gently. " Dry your
tears, and pray for a better courage. Listen, Ruth !
Next week we send you to Plymouth town, into a house
whe'" you will be most kindly treated ; the master
anc istress are well known to Sir Thomas. In a town
you will see many things which you do not dreaui of
at the present ; and there we hope you may learn to
distinguish between true and false relig'on. We have
also arranged for your education."

" Oh, my dear lady ! Do not send me away,"
cried Ruth. " I fear the town. I fear still more to
travel."

" These fears must be conquered," said her ladyship

RUTH BEGINS TO TRAVEL

i8i

with an air of coldness. " No more, Ruth I Go to
your room and take your sewing. Mind also what Sir
Thomas told you, and do not stir from the house until
he gives you leave. Take your letter, but forget a
brother wrote it. My dear child, you must set yourself
to win a worthier lover."

My lady departed, whUe Ruth climbed sadly to her
room, and prayed for a long while, but neglected to
take her sewing ; for, m spite of her recent baptism
and her prayers, she was not in the mood to obey.
She was a maiden, she was young, she was in love ;
and she had been command' "* not to descend towards
the copse and meet her lover. This was a talt which
could have but one ending. So it seemed quite right
that she should be putting on her best gown, and
msdcing her hair tidy, and placing her mother's trinket
round her neck ; nor could it be sinful to exhibit a
little cunning, to step along the passages on tiptoe,
to make a sudden rush for the side door, and a wild
flight for the shelter of the shrubberies. The clock
upon the stables marked eleven ; therefore she had
abimdsmce of time, for the copse could be reached in
tventy minutes' strolling; but Ruth remembered Sir
Thomas proposed to keep the appointment in her
stead ; and then at last it dawned upon her she was
sinning.

Yet she did not return, because st.e was a young
ma J and in Icwe ; ^o persevere in the act of disobedi-
e' ze seeme<i net*- ^ry, A lover was too good to lose ;
even a brother h med worth gaining. So she drew
more upon that wdful store of cunning and, turning
iped merrily towards the only lane
""'mas with all his magic coul-
* id in love,
feet that she reached t'le Pol-
drifty road half an li '4? before noon ; and at the tumi
she hid herself b^tnd the hedge, murmuring, " A
horseman must com ±.ia way. Sir Thomas declares

from the copse,
which led to it.
not outwit a sin
So nimble wei

l82

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

I have no b.'other. Who would call me Little Angel
but my Harry ? "

Although disobedient Ruth was at least in touch
with nature, and she put ' ut her head to consider the
omens. Two magpies fluttered across the fields to
drop into the copse ; and the girl was pleased, for they
brought good tidings. " Two magot-pies for mirth,"
said she. " The pied chatterers would never fall among
those trees should any n. oi be waiting there. Sir
Thomas will not enter the copse till noon ; but the
lover does not wait upon the clock. If he comes late.
I may suspect some trick of Grambla. I; he come**
early, I shall see my Harry."

Yet the rider was near before she heard him ; i-
he guided his horse along a strip of tu^f, proceeding
slowly ; Lii . he was no longer calm Mr. Barclay, but
a nervous rascal who stood in the stirrups to gaze
across the coimtry. Ruth had gone upon her knees in
vast confusion, for the sun dazzled her eyes so that
she could not see the face of her cavalier — besides, the
more distant brambles drew thorny lines across it.
No mountebank would ride so fine a horse and wear
such brilliant clothing.

Still there was something in the attitude of that
figure which made her heart beat recklet ly. The
horseman came on until he was sc e a dozen yards
away. Now the face was mfii"vello y clear I Ruth
started up to rush towards him, hut found herself held ;
for, by tjJcing the shortest w-w Irom the hiding-place,
her gown had been caiight by brambles.

" My Ruthie ! " ^iicd the horseman, leaping from
the saddle.

" Oh, my love ! my love ! I have risked all to meet
you. Deliver me from the thorns."

" My angel, do not tear your haris. Ruth, what
in the name of miracles ! My child, what are you
wearing ! My loveliest child, what duchess have you
robbed 1 "

RUTH BEGINS TO TR>VEL

183

•' Harry, what mean you ? Oh, m^ )ve I let me
feel your arms about me."

" Ruth I Ruth ! Was ever maiden half so sweet as
you I My aiigel ! where did yc-u find these jewels ?
How dare you walk abroad carrying a king's ratisom
roi 1 you*^ neck ? "

" Cut T. fn.e, Harry. But toll me first you love

me.

But

" Love you ! Ay, more than ever, sweeting.
Ruth ! — the diamonds ! "

" This trinket belonged to my mother. Tis worth-
less. Harry, how lovely you are I Look at me, not at
my foolish ornament."

" I tell ye, sweetheart, you are worth a fortime
of ten thousand pounds. Nay, trust your Harry to
know fine jewellery when he sees it. Worth stealing in
faith I Your face and fortune, Ruth, would tempt a
lord."

" I believe you are mistaken, Harry. Mother Gothal
gave me this necklet. Grambla left it upon my mother's
body. I wear it to-day for the first time."

" Sweet Ruthie ! You are no more lovely, but far
more precious. Who has ever seen such jewels before ?
Not Grambla — ^he would have thought them worth-
less. See how they flash in the sunlight I There is
indeed a fortune here 1 Sweetheart, pardon me ! I am
overpowered by the wealth of my young princess.
I forgot how we arc placed,"

" And you forget how I stand held by these bram-
bles," cried Ruth.

" This necklet must come off ; else we may have
our throats cut. Let me hide it in my pocket," said
Cay, still almost unable to believe his eyes. " Ay,
true stones ! A fortime, Ruthie I Now we are provided
for indeed I "

" Harry, if you do not pay more attention to me,
I shall be angry with you."

" My angel, I hardly know what I am saying. I

184

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

come to seek a sweet poor maid, and find a wealthy
lady. 'Tis fortunate indeed you have not worn these
stones before. Sir Thomas and his lady would have
known their worth. Ah, my love I my life 1 . . . And
now I will cut yon froft."

" Harry, Sir Thomas waits for you in the copse. He
forbade me to leave Bezurrel," she cried, as her excited
fingers drew away the necklet.

" He shall not find us, I promise ye. Sweetheart,
I rode into Moyle last night, accompanied by a worthy
young friend of the medical profession, who has gone
to the west, and hopes to escape in a fishing-boat to
France, for he had the misfortune to adndnister a
poisoned pill to a zealous constable in Devonshire. I
go to Coinagehall and present mjrself to Grambla as a
wealthy gentleman from America in search of his
sister. I had in mind the story that you told me."

" You deceived him, my wonderful Harry ! " cried
Ruth, skipping down the bank with a bramble still
trailing behind her. " Oh, that is famous I Come,
Harry I tell me your story in kisses."

" Ay, I had him at the mercy of my little finger,"
said the young rogue presently, having by now slipped
the string of diamonds in his pocket. " But the adven-
ture led me further than I looked for. Sweetheart, I
come here on a handsome horse, and wearing these
fine clothes, which I neither bought nor paid for, yet
without a single coin to pay my lodging. My story
brings me as handsome an entertainment as I have ever
known. This morning I pass to Grambla some worth-
less paper, which are to be had by the bundle at a cer-
tain place in London for a few pence, and obtained
from him fifteen brave guineas. He th^ presents a
raw country wench as my beloved sister, provides a
post-chaise to carry us away, lest by sta5ring I should
discover his lies were no better than my own "

" My Harry ! I wish you to tell no lies."

" I lied for you, my angel. Had I spoke the truth.

RUTH BEGINS TO TRAVEL

185

we should not stand here now. And the raw wench
sits in the chaise, awaiting her brother — dreaming I
doubt not of much such luxury — at the foot of Pol-
drifty Downs."
" Have you taken fifteen guineas from Grambla ? "
" As many years as he stole from you."
" He will swear a charge against you I "
" Sweetheart, I am not for the gallows. I have been
under the shadow of the noose so long that now I laugh
at justice as once I laughed at love," said Cay, pluck-
ing the last bramble from her gown. " You and I were
bom to win a happy future."

" You have but just appeared before me. And now
you will vanish like a ghost. While I — oh, Harry 1
to lose you twice — ^this time perhaps for ever ! And I
dare not return to Bezurrel."

" Nor shaU you," he cried, throwing his arms round
her.

" Next week I go to Plymouth. Sir Thomas sends
me away in anger because I am become a noncon-
formist."

" Then I too am a nonconformist. Come, Ruthie !
Let us away."
" Where would you take me, Harry ? "
" To the other side of England. To London, liberty,
and a Fleet wedding. I'll find a drunken parson who
will tie the knot for half a crown."
" Base Harry ! Would you ruin me ? "
" Nay, sweetheart, trust your life to me, and you
shall never be a fallen angel. Think for a moment,
love 1 It is now past noon. Any moment Sir Thomas
and his men may pass this way ; or the wench may
take fright and nm back to Grambla. To come here
I faced death — ay, and laughed at it. Twice I rode for
my life. Now I must be gone, and if I go without you,
Ruthie, we may not meet again. Fortime is kind to
a rogue twice ; but at the third venture the jade
frowns."

i86

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" What have you done, Harry ? How did you get
this horse, and these fine clothes ? "

" By my blistering-plasters, love, I promise you."

" Yet you have no money I "

" What do I need of money, now that you are a
fortune of ten thousand pounds ? Sweetheart, if we
clear the coimtry between here and Tavistock, a dirty
little town in Devonshire where of late I have been
practbing — ^there I obtained this horse, these clothes,
the ring I now press upon your finger, Ruthie mine,
all in exchange for my famous blistering-plasters — ^if
we get clear, I say, we will ride into Wiltshire ; and
there I shall go upon my knees before that disreputable
scoundrel, my uncle, if he lives, and present you to him
and make the grey hairs of his unmarried head stand
stiff with jealousy. My little angel, this is the day of
days in our two lives. Here is good sunshine all around
us ! Here is my horse — a strong beast who will carry
us both, I warrant. Here are we two lovers, sighing
to be one ! When I am east, and you are west, what
are we then ? "

" Still lovers, Harry. Nay, I must not come with
you."

" Then I remain," said the young man grimly.
" We will pass the day together. This evening I am
taken and brought before the justices. Next month
the scum of Exeter shall be calling the last dying con-
fession of Black Harry, hanged this morning."

" Shall you stay ? " she cried in sudden terror.

" By my true love for you, I swear it. Choose
whether you send me to the gallows, or come with me
to life and happiness."

"Black Harry!" she whispered. "I know but
little of the world, but that name means "

" I told you as we parted in the copse."

" Oh, Harry I Did God make you strong and hand-
some that you might wear a mask upon the road and
live by robbery ? "

RUTH BEGINS TO TRAVEL

187

" God made me, love, to be a gentleman ; but my
base imcle appealed against the judgment — ^and he

won."

" I love a robber ! " she cried.

" Nay, child, a very harmless surgeon ! 'Tis enough
if you love him. You will save him. Shall we walk
that way— or ride this way ? I see your glance goes
eastward, sweetest Ruth."

When Sir Thomas returned to Bezurrel his face was
dark with anger. Finding my lady in the drawing-
room, with Martin her younger son, he came to her side
and said, " Manuela, our discipline has failed."

"I know that Ruth has left the house," she
answered .

" She has now left the parish. Like many a maid,
she chooses a life of shame because the devil is a hand-
some fellow when he plays at love. From a place of
hiding I watched these precious lovers. Even then I
could have held Ruth back, but would not. Labour is
wasted upon a maid sentenced by destiny to ruin.
Her lover is a highwayman, and she has gone with him."

CHAPTER V

THE QUACK DOCTOR SWEARS TO AMEND

The direct road was closed to the fugitives by the
waiting post-chaise.

" Besides," said Cay, " I dare not pass into Devon-
shire by way of Launceston ; for between that town
and Dartmoor I have earned some fame. By crossing
the southern slopes of this moorland we shall reach the
lo\/er road where I am likely to be regarded as a very
decent fellow. To-morrow evening we arrive at Ply-
mouth ; and there we stay two days to rest the horse."

" How well he goes beneath a double burden I "
said Ruth ; who was shivering with happiness and
excitement.

^^ " He carries fame and fortune, love," cried Cay.
" Fame is light, while fortune is a feather. See ! there
is the tower of Bezurrel Castle among the trees. Sing
your farewell to Moyle, my angel."

" I am looking at that other tower," said Ruth, as
she pointed to the church. " My mother's grave is
there. I shall return to that."

Scarcely had they reached the high country when a
shout reached their ears. Standing in the stirrups, Cay
perceived a horseman riding at full speed towards
them. He frowned and thrust a hand into hir pocket ;
but it came out empty and was scon waving to a friend.

" 'Tis old Jack, who came here with me," he ex-
plained. " A very honest fellow, whom I would trust
with my life ; but not with my mistress, nor my purse.
Why, Jack, old lad, what do you here ? " he called.
" I thought you were safe in Penzance town by now."

i88

THE QUACK DOCTOR

189

" No further west for me," cried the other, who was
a fellow of desperate appearance. " So, Harry, my
son, you have limed the bird ; and, by my soul, a
pretty blackbird. Your servant, mistress."

" A beastly fellow," was Ruth's whispered comment.

" V/e must ride, old lad. Are you vrith us ? " said Cay.

" Ay, for half a mUe. I came on the chance of
finding you, and discovered instead a post-chaise
waiting on the other side of this hill. A wench puts
her head out of the window, and cries, ' La, brother,
what a time you keep me waiting ! ' ' Sorry, my
love,' say I, as I ride up and kiss her — I like a cotmtry
wench with blood in her face. ' You ain't my brother,'
she screams. ' If you mean Harry,' I say, * he's still
gone sister-hunting. He finds you won't do, my love.'
Then I say to the post-boys, ' The wrong bird is in the
trap, yoimg rascals.' "

" You were always a bit too easy with your tongue,"
Cay grumbled.

" Why, lad, you are safe enough. You have the
prize, and there's no dodger in the land to beat you.
The post-boys looked blue, I tell ye. They thought
I was gomg to slit their throats and take their horses.
So they ride ofE with the chaise and wench as hard as
they can go."

" Grambla knows already. We shall be followed,"
cried Ruth.

" There's no horse in this parish to catch that
beauty," said the wUd rogue. " Your Harry, mistress,
is never a happy man unless he has two or three con-
stables hunting him. A pretty horseman, mistress,
and a shapely fellow. Ay, and a kind-hearted gentle-
man ! Would rather be taken pulling off tight rings,
than cut 'em off with the fingers. And he'll go to the
gallows like a buck, carrying a posy and kissing his
hand to the ladies. May we swing side by side, old lad !
Do you make for Plymouth ? "

" Ay," replied Cay shortly.

190

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" Look for me in the old place. Yonder you descend,
and there I turn and make for the Launceston road.
They will follow that way. I'll draw them after me,
and fool them north while you go south."

" Jack, you are mad to run your head into the noose.
Turn again to the west, my son."

" East is best for me," cried the rogue. " After
leaving you I ran into a prayer-meeting, where I was
converted in less time than it takes to tell. And a kind
fool takes me home with him, and we sing a hymn
before we go to bed. ' Brother, here's to ye,' says my
host. ' Sin no more.' ' I won't,' say I. ' I'll sell my
horse and buy a pedlar's basket.' "

" Do so," said Ruth earnestly. " And God will bless
you."

" Maybe, mistress, but I desire my blessings now,"
cried the careless rogue. " I cannot face the west. 'Tis
a cold and barren country, full of miners and fisher-
men as foul in their habits as the swine. A gentleman
does not mix with such. Think you, Harry, if I could
get across to France I should be happy ? I am for
cloudy Devonshire and the old road again. Nay, I
have no craving for old age. I have lived thirty years ;
I have drunk, robbed, and killed — 'tis a merry life. I'll
back to the old road, and take a purse to-night if it's
the last. Harry, good-bye ! To-day we live 1 "

" Good-bye, old Jack ! "

" And to-morrow we swing ! Farewell, mistress. If
you bear a son, strangle him, for if you let him live
he'll break your heart. Had my mother strangled me
she might be living now."

The fellow rode off towards the north, but t' : others
did not follow his flight ; for their way desce ied the
iiioorland and caution was necessary. But soon they
were in the lane, and here Cay breathed more easily ;
for it was unlikely that Grambla would guess they had
gone east by the longer road, and before passers-by
could bring him information they would have got away.

n:^. QUACK DOCTOR 191

Hardly a word passed until two parishes lay between
them and Moyle ; then Ruth oestirred herself to lec-
ture the young mari sharply. Had she been left behind
she would have wept ; had they been together for
only a short time, she would have been most yielding ;
but now that there was no immediate prospect of
separation, she brought Harry to book upon his past
misdeeds, demanded many a solemn promise concern-
ing the future, and in short behaved as a woman will
when sure of her man's affection and his company.

" My Ruthie, what could I have done when cast out
by my uncle ? " he pleaded.

" Sunk your pride, Harry, and become the servant
of some gentleman."

" The first time my master abused me, I should have
struck him."

" You could have turned porter."

" That needs no skill but much strength ; whereas
I have much skill and little strength."

" Or served in some shop."

" I should have courted the rich damsels who came
to buy silks and laces. Nay, sweetheart, when a young
gentleman is poor and friendless, there is nothing for him
but the road. But after to-day I'll take no more purses."

" Nor make a blistering-plaster ! "

" I sold them once. That was at least an honour-
able occupation."

" To lie money out of people's pockets ! "

" They were good hot plasters, I swear. Yet I
found a mixture of nitre and saltpetre behind the
barrel of a pistol unbuttoned pockets quicker. Eh,
Ruthie, I have been a sad dog, but I'll not follow shy
Jack to the Launceston road. You have saved my
body. Now you shall save my soul."

" Shy Jack ! Why do you so name that beastly
feUow ? "

" He boasts, ten years ago, a wench made him
blush. 'Tis a story I do not believe."

192

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" Nor I," said Ruth. " Harry, is it your earnest
desire to be saved ? "

" Why. sweetheart, they say when a man's body b
put into the ground, that is not the e: J of him. I
know not whether to believe in heaven and hell, but
this I do know : if preachers speak truth, I would
rather find myself in heaven with you, than in hell
with my late comrades. 'Tis true I should meet with
friends in both these places ; but heaven has my heart
when Ruth goes there."

" You jest, Harry I "

" Not I. my love "

" Wlien did you last pray ? "

II When I was a child, frightened at the darkness."

" Did you not pray when you found yourself home-
less ? "

" I was too full of curses."

" Harry, let us pray now."

" I know not what to say," he muttered.

" Repeat the words after me. We may pray upon
horseback as well as m a church."

Then she recited the Lord's prayer and the creed,
while Cay mumbled the sentences after her. Presently
Ruth offered an extempore prayer in the new style ; in
which she implored forgiveness of Harry's sins, and
pardon for any she might have committed since her
recent baptism; the act of disobedience that day
troubling her conscience a little. And then she asked
simply, " Harry, do you not feel easier now ? "

" Ay, sweetheart," he said seriously. " I doubt
whether prayers be answered, yet it does a man good
to pray."

" You must be baptised," she said, getting some-
what hysterical. " Why should I not myself baptise
you ? "

" I would as lief be baptised by you as by the Arch-
iHshop of Canterbury," declared Cay. " Come, sweet
heart, who is jesting now ? "

THE QUACK DOCTOR 193

" I do not jest," cried Ruth. " Harry, you and I
belong to the nonconformists. We do not allow the
clergy to keep the rites and ceremonies to themselves.
We believe in a second baptism — ay, and a third, if it
be needful. And we know all our sins are washed away
by this act of baptism. I went down into the sea,
yesterday was sennight, and Master Honey dipped me
under the water ; and when I came out — oh, Harry I
I could see a glory in the sky, and God seemed to draw
me up in His arms, and to breathe upon me, and to say.
' Ruth, Ruth, you are Mine nos..' Glory be to God,
Harry I Glory ! Glory I We are to be saved for ever."

" My sweetheart, calm yourself. Had the horse
plunged then, you must have fallen."

" I have found God, Harry. I shall know no rest till
you have found Him too. Stop at the first water I
Let us get down, and I will baptise you. Cannot 1
give you God as well as a man ? Then you will be free
from Satan, Harry — pure in soul and body as a child.
Repent, my love ! Repent ! Repeat after me, ' Glory
to God,' until your whole body begins to glow and the
tears run down your cheeks."

" I do repent," muttered the young man, feeling
for the first time this new fanaticism then rising in the
west. " I know myself for a miserable wretch. I wiU
seek baptism — with an honest soul, I promise. Oh,
glory, glory I Ruth, my love ! Your arms are burning
round me."

" You are getting near God. He is coming down
to you," she cried wildly. " This is my Harry. I
bring him I I have him fast I Hold on I Oh, my love,
hold on I "

They clung together and shed tears ; kissed each
other passionately, and groaned in their zeal, until
some countryfolk parsed and jeered. They perceived
they were drawing near a village, having just descended
a steep and dangerous hill without much loiowledge of it.
So they became again composed and went on steadily.

P. l\

I 4

194

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" I had a feeling come over me then/' said Cay, " as
if I could never do ill again."

" I get that feeling when I attend the meetings,"
said Ruth. " It was God coming near you, Harry.
Now I know you are in a fit state for baptism."

" Think you, sweetheart, I may begin life again,
as a new man without a sin against me ? "
" I am most sure of it."

" \yould that the law might be brought to accept this
doctrine," he muttei " 'Dien remembering thev were
not out to enjoy a day's excursion, he took a glance
behind ; and the same moment the new religion was
forgotten.

" See I " he cried. " Two horsemen ride over the
brow of the hill."

" I see them," replied Ruth. " They do not pursue
us, for they go slowly."

" I know the form of that man upon the left," said
Cay, beginning to drive the willing horse. "They
come from Moyle, I swear. But I believe they have
nc wish to harm us. One of the horses carries a
weighty pack."

As they rode on their spirits rose because fortune
seemed to favour them. Generous weather made
them glad, the wind was behind, and they were
strangers in that land. The two horsemen dropped
back untU they disappeared from sight. So Harry and
his maid went on, and when it was late in the afternoon
they overtook a quiet countrjonan jogging along upon
an undipped beast.

" A good day to you, friend," cried Cay. " Do you
go to the town of Liskeard ? "

" A good day to you, young sir ; and to you, young
mistress," replied the countryman.

" It is a good day," said Ruth.

" I am glad to hear it," said the man. " It is a very
good day for me. I do not go to the town of Liskeard.
I am almost home."

THE QUACK DOCTOR X95

" Have you come a long journey ? " asked Cay.

" Ay, sir. I travelled to Ludgvan church-town, and
now am returning to my wife."

"You are a merry fellow, I can see, said Cay.
" You would not be lonely upon the road, b you carry
with you a large flagon of good ale."

" Nay, sir, this flagon contains what I went forth to
find."

" What is that, friend ? "

" Water, sir. You see I am safe upon the road ; for
my purse is empty, and no man would rob me of a
flagon of water." ,,

" Did you say you come from Lv'gvai: town ?
asked Ruth in great excitement

" Ay, mistress ; I did say so,
man.

" Then you carry water from

" I perceive, mistress, you ap .

" Harry I " cried Ruth. " G*
Oh, sir. you will sell this gentlM*
water."

" What mean you, sweetheart > "

" The man or woman baptised with t aii
St. Ludgvan's well cannot be hanged. '

" You are mistaken, mistress "saidtf- ,-«Matryman.
" The man who has been bapt «d as i child wuh this
water cannot indeed be hanifed by a cord of i^mp ;
but the water has no power ion a cor .jlk. I was
bom in Ludgvan church-tov , and m^
from the holy well. I left my nativ*
into this country when I married. -
was bom to as, so I follow the cusioi _ _ _

and ride to Ludgvan that I may fill my ii..^on from the
holy well. The curate will baptise m\ babe on Sunday
with this water."

" Is this a true tale ? " said Cay.

" Ah, sir, I perceive you are no Comishman "

" Trae, indeed," cried Ruth. " Even I, who 5

yed the c tmtry-

adgv'an's w-^ ? "
.rnish lady. "
with us inci<^d.
a cupiiul of that

from

mt'-i with water

own and came

week a son

my people.

am so

196

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

isnonnt. know of the power of St Ludgvan's well.
Oh, sir I give me a little of that water."

You have a babe at home, young mistress. You
desire to make him safe against the rope."

" By heaven, I must have that water I " cried Cay
so fiercely that the timid countryman turned pale and
clapped a hand upon his flagon. " Nay. sir, I am no
robber, yet I am a better man than you. I must have
a pint of that precious water. I will give you a guinea
for a cupful."

" I perceive you are stronger than myself," said the
counti^Tnan. " Should we fight, the flagon might be
broken ; then all would be losers. As you are well
mounted, why do you not ride to St. Ludgvan's well
and obtain the precious water for your child ? "

" We are pressing to the east. We cannot make
the long journey westward to St. Ludgvan. I have
no child, friend. I belong to the nonconformists, and
I require this water for my baptism."

" Sir, you have been baptised."

" Into the church without my consent. We believe
that is no baptism."

" I have heard of the people called nonconformists,"
said the countryman in a surly fashion. " But I thank
God they have not yet come into the parish where I
dwell. To my mind they are infidels and blasphemers."

" They will fill your soul with joy and light." began
Ruth ; but Cay checked her ; then ^ dressed himself
again to the countryman, who desired to get away
from such dangerous fanatics, of whom the man had
plainly committed some crime since he went in terror
of the hangman.

" Friend, be assured I would not rob you ; but I
pray for a little of that water, which you can well
spare, for your flagon is large ; and you shall go upon
your way the richer by a guinea."

" Would you have me send out the curate to baptise
you ? " scoffed the countryman.

-> /

THE QUACK DOCTOR

197

" My young u litress will baptise me."

" This is the greatest blasphemy I ever heard of.
Now I am sure you nonconf onnists are children of the
devil. Should I baptise you, sir, that would be rank
Uasphemy ; for you are a grown man, and I am in-
deed no minister. But if the young lady baptises you
—that, sir, is the sin which can never be forgiven."

" Go your way to church, friend, and leave us to our
methods," said Cay. " Again I say, sell me a little of
the magic water ; or I shall take it by force and give
you nothing."

" I believe you are little better than a cutpurse,
said the coimtryman. " I suspect also you are mad.
Cutpurse or madman, I will not fight you ; and, if I am
not to get awa> with the whole contents of my flagon,
I will sell you a part. Show me your guinea."

Cay held one out.

" I shall at least have made the journey without
cost," said the man more cheerily. " Half a mile along
this lane we come to a flat stone, which your imagina-
tion—a strong one, I doubt not— may convert into a
font— though that to my mind is also blasphemy.
In the centre of this stone is a small depression, which
commonly holds about a pint of rain-water. Now it
will be dry. Here I shall pour out some of St. Ludg-
van's water. Then I will take the guinea and depart.
I pray yoii not to raise the devil till I am out of sight."

They rode dong the lane, and came presently to the
great stone which the co\mtr3anan had mentioned.
Having alighted from their horses, the water-carrier
uncorked his flagon, then half filled the natural bowl.
After that he snatched the guinea, spat upon it, and
hurried away, vastly afraid of being struck by lightning.

For good or evil baptism was conferred by maid upon
man beside that ancient stone which had perhaps been
the centre of fierce pagan rites ; and such was Ruth's
zeal she did not cease to sprinkle her lover until the
supply of holy water failed. There was no fanaticism

198

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

then ; all wais simplicity of belief and natural faith ;
which might have been foolish credulity, but was not
blasphemy.

Ruth would have prayed for an hour, but Cay drew
her towards the horse. They stood for a few moments
to embrace again ; and then rode away among the
lengthening shadows.

" I told you God would come if you repented, Harry.
You did repent, and so God sent the man with St.
Ludgvan's water. Now you are pure and sinless ; nor
can you be hanged for any of your past misdeeds. You
are now a Comishman, my Harry."

" I could never speak their droning language, sweet-
heart."

"If a Comishman should challenge you, repeat to
him, one, two, three, four, five, in his own language.
Thus, Harry : ouyn, dow, tray, peswar, pimp. That
will satisfy him you are indeed a Comishman."

Cay repeated the words after her several times;
then declared they were safe in his memory.

They came, as darkness was falling, to a wayside
inn, where the landlady informed them she could
accommodate two travellers for the night. A meal
was served, and they fell to it heartily after the long
day's fasting. During the course of it Ruth required
her mother's necklet, and Cay handed it over, yet most
unwiUingly, and begging her to be careful not to
show it.

" I am accustomed to place it beneath my pillow "
she said. '

After supper Cay rose, as he desired to go to the
stable and tend to the horse hunself. Ruth went
with him to the yard-gate, and whispered as he was
about to leave her, " Harry, be careful not to commit
a sin."

Then she strolled along the peaceful country lane,
filled with the half-darkness of a night in early simimer ;
and she mused upon many thmgs, but not upon her

THE QUACK DOCTOR

199

own faults of disobedience to Sir Thomas, and of
wandering out into the world with her young lover;
for no ill-deed, she argued, could proceed from sacred

Spiritual excitement had worked a change in Ruth,
of which she was well aware ; but it went deeper than
she knew of. Her feet were led along the lane as if
by some sense of duty. She was not called to walk
there ; she sunply went, and could not help it. Yet
she was not astonished to hear the tread of horses ;
for the same instinct which led her from the mn told
her the two riders they had seen some hours before
were close at hand. Nor was she surprised at behold-
ing in the dim light the faces of Martin Just and Peter

Clabar. , , ^ , ,

" Here is our runaway ! We could not have done

this better," cried Martin. ^ , ^ ^, , . t *«ii
" Are you come to take me back to Moyle ? 1 tell

you plainly, sirs, I do not go," said Ruth.
" We come to help you on your journey. We are

Samaritans, not Levites," replied Martin. ^^

" Though in my opinion, Ruth, you are a tool,

said Cherry. . „ x 4.u

" She does not ask for your opmion, Peter— neither

do I," said Martin.
" Why did you not ride us down before f askea

Ruth. , . vx J u-

" This lad was afraid your gentleman might draw tiis
pistols. For my part I did not care whether we found
you or not. We took the lower road by chance, and
soon discovering we were right came on."

" You would have turned back had I not promised
to protect you ; and then Ruth would have gone with-
out her clothing," said Cherry scornfully.

" I dared you to strike my horse," said Martm hotly.

" And I did so. Now you can hardly sit upnght m
the saddle. We have not ridden fori:y miles, and you
are galled already."

300

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

RutW' ^1 ' Tf, ^''"^^ "^ "°*^^& to 'ne," said

'. i , ^*" y^ *e" »ne your business and let me go ? "

My lady desires me to teU you the f eUow you now

elope with IS a great scoundrel who will drive you to

lead a shameful life." began Martin sullenly.

Please to tell my lady, sir, Harry Cay is a gentle-
man with whom my honour and my life are safe."
^^ .. .^ "^f exchange places. Mistress Ruth— and
sex. said Cherry, you would call me fool, and I
should make your answer."

J'J^ yo" are of age." continued Martin. " you must
be aUowed to choose your way. My lady desired me
to nde after you, and deliver you this parcel, which

tTh^^H r^,^l«'^i"g ' ^ this letter, which yo^ are
to hand to the young gentleman whom you honour
vath your company. And now that we have dis-
charged our duty we will leave you "

"I thank you both," cried Ruth warmly. " Tell
my lady all will end well ; command me to^ker, sir
and I pray convey my thanks to her for all the kind-
ness she has shown me. Master Peter, will you also do
me a service ? " she begged, holding up to Cheny her
mother snecMe. which she had wrap^d securely in
her handkerchief. " Will you ask my lady to keep thS
for me. untU I am in need of it ? Tis a trifling thing
that once belonged to my dear mother, and I fear it
may be stolen from me."
'' By your gentleman." said Martir.
„ JJ.^y* ^"* ' ^y some villain of the road."
^^ Give It me ! Why should Peter carry it ? "

'' By heaven, I'll have it I "

" Keep off. little man. or I may do you some injury
Take your parcel. Mistress Ruth-and farewell. I wUl
bear this trmket to my lady as safely as I shaU convey
this young gentleman to Bezurrel Castle. Come
Martm! Let us be going to find shelter."

THE QUACK DOCTOR

201

Ruth left them wrangling, and returned to the inn,
staggering beneath her parcel. There she discovered
Harry half distracted and accusing the honest landlady
of having made away with her. She told of her adven-
ture ; but kept back part.

" I knew I had seen one of those horsemen before,"
said Cay. " My Lady Just must have few friends
among great ladies ; for she seems to care for the poor
and fatherless."

" She is good indeed," Ruth answered. " But Sir
Thomas is a man of iron. Harry, I have returned to
her my mother's necklet."

The yoimg man started up, white-faced and gasping.
" Sent to her the necklet ! Given her the diamonds !
Then, Ruth, we are ruined."

" No more so than we were this morning ; when
you did not know of the diamonds, and I believed them
worthless. I have not given them to my lady — ^nor
indeed would she accept of them — ^but have asked her
to take charge of them. Were you net somewhat too
eager to embrace Ruth, when you thought her a great
fortime ? Do you shrink from Ruth, now that she
is poor ? "

" No, by my soul," cried the young convert loudly.
" Ruth is Ruth with fortune or without. I am true to
the maid who saved my life, and now will save my soul.
You have done well, my little angel. Had we kept the
diamonds — I had not thought of this before — I could
not have sold them. The fust jeweller to whom I
offered them would have placed me in the charge of
constables for a thief. We have fourteen of Grambla's
guineas — part of his debt to you. We have health and
youth. And we have love."

" We have God too, Harry," she cried excitedly.
" Now I know my lady's letter of entreaty to you is
but an insult to a gentleman. I staked my life upon
your loyalty — ^and have won ! "

CHAPTER VI

TWO YOUNG PEOPLE FALL OUT UPON THE WAY

There being no decent inn within a score of miles,
Cherry and Martin were forced to pull up at the first
ale-house to which they came after bidding farewell to
Ruth. Their cry for ostler brought forth the landlord
himself, who assured them his house was the best in
the neighbourhood, and far better than many so-called
inns ; while his good lady followed, being drawn to
the door by the sound of genteel voices, to assure the
gentlemen they were most welcome, but unfortunately
she had only three bedrooms, and of these two were
already accommodating a bagman and a curate.

" However," said she, " the third room is at your
service, gentlemen ; and I doubt not you will be able
to shift for this night together."

" How far away is the next house ? " asked Cherry.

" Five miles, sir ; but 'tis a beggarly house, and
most uncleanly."

"You may stop here if you choose, Martin. I go
on," she said.

" You I'ool, Peter ! If I can put up with this place,
why cannot you ? " he whispered. Then he said to
the landlady, " Show us the chamber, my good
woman."

" I am told, sir, there are soir.e drunken sailors at
the next house," called the landlord, who had already
pulled the saddles from the horses. " I doubt if you
would find accommodation, but 'tis very likely you
would leave in the morning with an empty purse."

"The young gentleman was jesting," said the

202

TWO YOUNG PEOPLE FALL OUT 203

woman pleasantly. " He would not leap from the
pan into the fire, as the saying is."

Cherry said nothing more ; nor could she, with the
host and hostess listening, and the bagman leaning
from the window of the kitchen. She went with Martin
into the poor place, and they followed the landlady
up a crooked flight of stairs, into an ill-smelling room.
The floor-space beneath a sloping roof was almost
filled by a curtained bed, which was the sole article of
furniture. Here the landlady, at Cherry's request,
placed the candlestick upon the boards and left them,
after receiving Martin's order for the best supper she
could provide.

" You have quarrelled with me the whole of this

day," he began immediately the door was closed. " I

have never known you in such an ill-humour, and

that is saying much. I suppose you are in love with

this white-faced Ruth and vexed at losing her."

" One person cannot make a quarrel," replied Cherry.

" He can quarrel with himself ; and that is what

on have done."

" Then what business had you to answer ? "
" You angered me with your vile temper. At the
first we were friends, and studied together. We seemed
to have many ideas in common, though you are a
Clabar, and I am a Just."

" My family is older than yours. Clabars were till-
ing Cornish soil when the Justs were unknown."

" You preach upon Jiving ! " Martin continued.
" You told me you had discovered how to be happy
every day, even in poverty and sickness. By dwell-
ing in a woodland, you said, by tending the flowers, and
watching the birds ; by not quarrelling with any living
creature ; by accepting fortune as it comes and making
the best of it ; and by cultivating the spirit of happi-
ness—by doing all this, you declared, we should hve
long and make a profitable use of our talents. Why do
you not practise what you preach ? "

. .i'1

804

<«

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

lam perfecUy happy." replied Cherry. "Even
though I stand in this ill-smelling room of a wayside
Deer-house, m the company of a most sullen voune
gentleman. ^ ^

"Is it not true what I say ? Your every word is a
chaUenge to fight. The first time I walked with you
m Bezurrel Woods, I agreed you had discovered a
perfect way of living, and I told you I would gladly
spend my life according to your teaching. Then you
must turn upon me with a frown, and call me idle.'*

You would have sat beneath a tree all day, with
a book upon your knees. You would have done
notnmg to aid your fellow-creatures."
'' Pray what have you done ? "
"i ^5*,w^th them, and try to arouse their sluggish
min<te. I have at least succeeded in arousing you "
^^ You bring out all that is evil in me."
That is my desire. When it is out, do not suffer
It to return. So you intend to pass the night m this
foul place. I advise you to break the window if it
will not open.

'I Do you refuse to remain here with me ? "

u T f ,t ^^"^ ^^ ^^^ *° s^^^P in a good atmosphere."
^^ I tell you what it is, Peter," said Martin hotly.

You consider yourself too fine a gentleman to lie with
the son of a baronet. You might consent to share a
room with David, for he is the eldest son and heir. But
1—1 am not good enough. You regard me as offensive.
You would be poisoned if you shared a room with me."

C\..L^'^"^?^ ^"""^ ^^""^ ^° ^ ^^ yourself." said
unerry. i do not choose to pass the night in this
chamber— and that's the end of it."

^^ You would lie here if I were out of it."

I From necessity I might."

" I have heard too many of your insults." said Martin
nercely. I do not know why I have been friendly
with you— the son of a poor man, a mere scribbling
clerk, who now hves upon the bounty of my father "

TWO YOUNG PEOPLE FALL OUT 205

little money
you are nevet

" You lie, Martin ! My father has a
saved by industry, which is a virtue
likely to make acquaintance with."

" When that is gone, you and he will starve. And
for my part I shall not be sorry. Were my father to
die, which God forbid, David would turn you out of
Bezurrel Woods."

" Why should he act so spitefully ? "

" Because yoa insult him, as you do me. We, the
sons of Sir Thomas Just, make ourselves the friends of
a ruined yeoman's son ! "

" Who does not need your friendship."

" Go out ! Lie under the hedge for all I care," cried
Martin, making an angry movement and treading upon
the candlestick.

Cherry descended the stairs, with a girlish smile upon
her pretty bojdsh face, which was hardened suitably
as she approached the landlady, who had been listening
attentively to le high voices overhead, and inquired
whether she tould be given accommodation in the
stable. It so happened that the ragged curate was
seated in a comer of the kitchen ; and he rose at once
with a bow, to inform the young gentleman he was
sorry to hear his companion was a violent fellow, and
as he himself was very little accustomed to occupy a
room alone, the young gentleman would honour him
by sharing it. Cherry thanked him with all her heart,
but could not accept his kindness. Then, being in-
formed by the landlady she might d'^ worse than
sleep in the loft, which was indeed far better than any
accommodation she would be likely to obtain at the
next ale-house, she went out into the yard and dis-
covered the landlord, who provided her with a truss
of hay by means of which she made herself a bed, mur-
muring the while, " Poor Martin ! I believe he will not
speak with me again."

At the next meeting there was no opportunity for
bitterness, as they supped in the kitchen — ^this poor

■mm

206

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

house having no other room — amid smoke and fumes.
Meanwhile curate and bagman discussed from their
respective comers upon the religious revival, then be-
ginning to make turmoil in the villages ; the curate
affirming that it was nothing less than a fresh establish-
ment of Satan's kingdom upon earth ; while the bag-
man, although a stout man for the church, argued
against the curate, and talked for victory. Host and
hostess had nothing to say, except that any form of
religious revival, which discouraged the consumption
of good liquor, was assuredly the work of evil spirits.
But when Cherry and Martin had left the kitchen, all
were agreed that two handsomer young gentlemen had
never set foot upon Cornish soil ; although the stronger
of the two, according to tht bagman, who had more
worldly wisdom than the rest, had little right to be a
gentleman, since any lady in the land might well be
jealous of his features.

Cherry made for the stable, but Martin followed at a
sulky distance, and called, " Stay a moment, Peter I "
when his companion was about to disappear.

" I am sorry, Martin, if I offended you by seeming
to prefer the hayloft to a chamber in your company,"
she said.

" There must be some good reason," he replied.

" Do not suppose I dislike you, Martin."

" You are the strangest fellow in this world. Let us
walk along the road, Peter— the people of the house
strain their ears to catch what we are saying."

" I will not go far, as I am tired," said Cherry, going
with him from the yard.

" Then I am the stronger of the two 1 You may beat
me riding, for you are the lighter— though that is a
thing I cannot understand — but I can walk you down."

" You cannot talk me down. I consider you a vain
young dog."

" By heavens ! " cried Martin. " Cannot you open
your mouth without abusing me ? "

TWO YOUNG PEOPLE FALL OUT 207

" Very easily, if you show me the v«»,y."

•• I declare there is no fellow like you in the world.
Will you tel! me why my father likes you so well ? ''

" Why question me when Sir Thomas is not dumb ?
He likes me because I am a papist." ^

" Why does he like your father, who is a heretic ?

" For my sake."

" Why does David like you ? "

" Because my sporting spirit matches his."

" You have no sporting spirit. You— a strong
fellow— shrink from a coney in a gin ; you are fright-
ened at the sight of blood. Answer this question, Peter
—what makes me friendly to you ? "

" Because two quarrelsome spirits strike a spark of
sympathy," she declared.

" You are the greatest mystery on earth— I quote
my father's words. Wlio taught you, Peter ? David
and I have been educated as gentlemen ; you have
never even been to school. Yet we cannot talk like you.
And I believe you have as much literature as either

" My professors were men who had grown learned by
travel. My books were once the faces of my fellow-
creatures. So you like me, Martin ? "

" Some days I hate you ; and other days I have it in
my heart to love you."

" Even as Damon loved Pythias ? " she asked care-
lessly.

" How did you hear of Damon and Pythias ? "

" From a book your father lent me."

" I know nothing of their friendship," said Martm
sullenly. " I feel sometimes as if my affection for you
was not a natural one. Do not take this amiss," he
went on hurriedly.

" Explain," she said.

" Nay, I dare not. When you look at me— and smile
as though you forgot yourself— and the comers of your
mouth quiver, I could al*- ost forget you are a man."

208

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" And then, Damon, you regard me as Pythias I "

" The same hour I am cursing you for your bitter
tongue. Why is it that both David and myself have
this feeling for you ? "

" I spare David, because his wit is not so keen as
yours— though he will make the best man of the two.
I believe, Martin, we could agree together."

" Why should my brother and I desire to agree with
you ? " he continued restle. ly. " We are high-bom
gentlemen, while you— be not oKended, Peter— you are
the son of a poor man. At least so it is supposed."

" What do you mean ? " asked Cherry in her gruffest
voice.

" Let me have my say. It is not usual for the sons of
a baronet to go 'lown into the cottages to find a friend.
They go after wenches, it is true. But I do not."

" And I like you the better for it," added Cherry.

"We came to see you out of curiosity. We came
again, and could not stay away ; for you threw a spell
oyer David by your strength, while you fascinated me
with your learning. We have even quarrelled over you,
when each of us required your company the same day."

' 'A pretty story ! Two young gentlemen fighting over
the right to walk and talk with a fellow, their inferior ! "

" Yc: do not go after wenches. You do not turn
your head if a chambermaid of Bezurrel waves her hand
to you. Can you explain your nature to me, Peter ? "

" I believe I could do so, Martin ; but allow me for
the present to remain a mystery. To your father my
nature is as clear as daylight."

" That is not so. You are as great a mjrstery to him
as to David and myself."

" How can that be ? "

" He has often declared you are not the son of
Clabar."

" Sir Thomas would never have used such words."
" He has uttered them in my presence."
" What more did he say ? "

TWO YOUNG PEOPLE FALL OXTT 309

" He spoke Italian to my mother ; and I do not
undeiBtand that language. But I heard the name of

Grambla several times." „ ,. ^ *».«i u« j ♦*»-

•• You mistook his meanmg. Mother Gothal had the
care of me as an infant from my birth and she knows
very weU my father is John Clabar. And I shall fight
any man who declares the contrary." ^^

" You must fight with my father then.

•• Any man except him," said Cherry uneasUy; for
she remembered the books of witchcraft, ^y
nothing more on this subject, or I shall be vexed with
you," Ihe went on. " I am retmng now. I shall re-
member, Martin, that you love me.

•• I trust you wiU strive to make yourself more
worthy of a gentleman's affection." said the young man
loftilv " Let us have no more folly about this cham-
ber. Tis a poor place. I know; yet you need not
despise what I am able to accept."
'•I go to my hayloft." said Cherry with the utmost

" If^'ou do so— after this friendly conversation— I
swear I shaU never forgive you."

" My desire to sleep among the hay is part of tne

mystery of my nature." j x ;♦ .» ^a.^

" Call me offensive, and make an end of it, cned

Ikfoff in

" I A^sh you good night. Martin. Now I beUeve you

*"^l"lwll have no more words with you. Nor shall I
ever walk again with you— bastard ' ' ' „ .•

" Ah 1 " cried Cherry, as she turned to face Martm,
whose face was whiter than her own. One moment they
stared at each other in the half-darkness ; the next
Cherry advanced, as if to strike a blow. Then she ra-
with a semblance of terror, towards the y . and the
hayloft. Courage had not failed, but sex assert
itself ; so that it was necessary for her to be alone ana
weep.

CHAPTER VII

CERTAIN CURIOUS DISCOVERIES ARS MADE

Cherry was out of the hay by break of day, and upon
the road soon after sunrise. Martm rose some houra
later and, when informed by the landlady that his
comrade had departed, merely rephed, " I am glad to
be rid of the peevish fellow." Then he paid the reckon-
ing, mounted his horse, and set off for Bezurrel ;
arriving there about midday.

Sir Thomas and David were walking in the park,
and Martin went towards them, after giving his horee
into the charge of a groom. His father looked some-
what excited; yet his voice was angry when he
spoke :
" So you and Peter have fallen out again."
" I see the fellow has been here," muttered the
younger son.
" He went an hour ago."

" Did he tell you all that passed between us, sir ? "
" Young Clabar has no secrets from me ; not one,
thank God ! Why did you insult him, Martin ? "
" I believe, sir, he told you the reason."
'• Nothing could excuse the word you threw at him.
I am exceedingly vexed with you, Martin. You I re-
garded as a young gentleman clean in tongue ; yet,
had you been brought up in the kennels, you could not
have uttered a taunt more ill-bred, Peter is as dear to
me as my two sons ; nay, even dearer."

" You will permit me, sir, to express surprise at what
you say," said David, reddening.

2IO

CERTAIN CURIOUS DISCOVERIES aix

" Have you more to say. David ? "

"Why. sir, a great change has come over your
manneT s.*nce Peter's visit."

" Say all that is in your mind."

" You go to my mother, sir, and when you both come
out, I can see you are agitated, while my mother has
been weeping.'

" Not all tears of sorrow, David."

" I am glad of that, sir."

" I trust, sir, I was not the cause," said Martin.

" I spoke hastily just now," said Sir Thomas. " It
used to be my boast that I could control my tongue and
restrain emotion ; but I must hold to that no longer.
Great news, whether of joy or sorrow, will change a
man despite himself. I forgive you. Martm— have I
not myself been made to smart by Pfeter's nimble wit ?
But I charge you both not to offend him."

" Neither Martin nor I, sir, can understand why you
treat this young fellow as our equal," ventured the

elder son. .

" You have made him your fnend, David.
" I have a liking for him. We feel ourselves draw

towards him " . / ..

" Nature may explain much to you hereafter, si .
Sir Thomas in his brooding manner. " The name t
Clabar contains the record of an old and honourea
famUy."

" Of yeomen, sir."

" Ay, of yeomen. How would this kingdom stand
without its yeomen ? Remember, my sons !^^ If either
offends young Peter, he must face my anger."

Sir Thomas went away into the house and entered
his wife's boudoir. Lady Just was seated at her escre
toire. scanning a number of old diaries. ^^

" Have you made any fresh discovery, Manuela ?
he asked.

" Here is a note of all the dates. They coincide

exactly." she answered.

3za

MOYLE CHURCH TOWN

The hand of God is here." said Sir Thomas rever-
ently. " I deserve to be punished for my ill thoughts
of Ruth— poor girl. We papists are apt to believe that
heaven may only be reached along our narrow way.
Ruth is the instrument which God has used to make
this story clear."

" Shall yo-^ not end it now ? Do so, I beg of you,"
said my I'.dy sraaestiy. " You do not fear that meagre
Grambla ? " she add( ri.

" I ar, assured oi his hatred for me. He is con-
vinced I b-'v. riactised enchantments upon him— and
I shall do so again. At the present I shall not place a
weapon m his hand ; for though I do not fear his tongue
nor any of his claims. I fear his deeds. Yet I perceive
his faculties decay. His mind becomes clouded by
luxury; but his nature remains the same. If he could
know what we have this day discovered, he would be
aroused from his stupor— with a desire to inflict ven-
geance upon me— and set his dark wits to work. Then
Cherry might disappear, or be found lying dead in the
woods. I do not open my mouth until Grambla is
rumed. I desire also to watch the conduct of our sons.
As for Ruth, we know she will enable us to find her,
now that we hold her fortune in our hands. The girl
has done well indeed ! "

In the meantime David and Martin were talking in
the park.

" Brother." said David, " I shall soon believe these
folks of Moyle who declare our father practises the
black arts."

" That I could never believe," replied Martin. " A
wizard would find it more profitable to write upon his
art than to practise it ; and, as there is no literature
upon witchcraft, I conceive the thing itself does not
exist."

" Why, you fool, all the world believes in witch-
craft."

" Only the world of fools accepts it ; and as I do not

C:"RTAIN CURIOUS DISCOVERIES 213

I cannot be a fool. Mother Gothal will swear she can
bewitch men and women ; but ask her to mutter the
spell to you, and she is done."

" I am certain my father knows the future. He
could tell us — if he would — the whole f ortime of yovmg
Peter."

" What has happened this morning ? " asked Mar-
tin.

" Peter rode up, saw me in the distance, and waved
his hand ; went to our father, and presently they both
proceed to our mother's boudoir. I watched them from
the gallery, and father was holding Peter's arm, smiUng
over him like a lover — I could have beat the fellow."

" Ruth gave him some trifle to carry to our mother."

" I believe we shall find that Ruth and Peter are
somehow related."

" He was vexed to part with Ruth."

" He has made love to her, I warrant. She was a
cunning wench. She feigned rehgion so that she might
walk in the woods with Peter."

" If he loved the maid, why did he not challenge the
rascal who ran with her ? "

" He is a coward," said David.

" Peter a coward ! " cried Martin.

" And bully too. Show him fight and he flutters like
a maid."

" Like a maid," repeated Martin.

" He is full of unmanly ways in spite of his strength.
This morning, when he passed with my father, he held
his head to one side and blushed. When he waved his
hand to me, 'twas what I might have called a feminine
motion."

" A feminine motion," Martin murmured.

" I cannot find a better word. What ails you,
brother ? "

" That is the word," said Martin hoarsely. " Brother,
all the night I was trying to find the word which could
explain Peter's conduct ; and now you have put it in

ffij

I !

■imMi

2Z4

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

my mouth. We cotild not be accommodated with more
than one room, and he refused to share it with me. It
made me mad to think my presence was offensive to a
low-bom fellow ; so, in a fit of temper I insulted him.
Why did I not think of that word feminine ? "

" It explains nothing," said David.

" Brother, is Peter a man ? "

" I think you are dreaming — I know you talk like a
fool. To be sure he is a man ; but I allow the rogue
has some plaguy wench-like ways."

" Have you seen his arm ? "

" Ay, many a time."

" Have you seen his bare arm ? Above the wrist his
sldn is white as milk."

" The fellow is a coxcomb ; he uses cosmetics. You
can make him blush — again like a maid — if you tell him
a story of the town."

" Ay, like a maid," repeated Martin. " Have you
seen him wince at the prick of a bramble ? "

" He tore his hand once when I was with him. I saw
his blood."

" How did you act, brother ? "

" What is that to you ? "

" Np" tell me."

" ; -ne for an idiot, but I asked him leave to

bind c .iimd," said David savagely.

" Dia he consent ? "

" He laughed at me."

" Ay, I know his way. If another man laughed at
you in the same fashion, you would have beaten
him."

" I would not have called him a bastard. Had I
been with ^">u last night, I should have made you sorry
for your t>o*.iper."

" You feel a great interest in Peter ? "

" By heaven, I like the fellow. And the more he
taunts me, the better I like him — ^yet I know he is a
coward." v^

CERTAIN CURIOUS DISCOVERIES 215

" You like him because he is handsome. When he
looks at you with his big grey eyes, and smiles even
while he mocks you, I believe you are saying to your-
self, ' I love the fellow.' When did the word feminine
first occur to you, brother ? "

" I found it upon my tongue and spoke it. But,
look you, Martin, this is the greatest nonsense. It is
true Peter can look Uke a maid, and act like one — 'tis
a trick only, and he would do well to get rid of it. We
have seen young men at Oxford as handsome."

" Not with his eyes and such fine hair."

" Are you bewitched by a man's grey eyes ? "

scoffed David.

" Were you bewitched by Peter's bleeding hand ?

" 'Twas his plaguy mouth that did it. I tell you,
Martin, it is not possible that Peter should be a maid,
for he is stronger than many a man about here. I be-
lieve he could beat you ; and, if he showed courage, I
should have to do my best to beat him."

" My father knows everything. I have a mind to ask
him," said Martin.

" You will get no answer unless he is in the mood to

give it."

" Come with me to Poldrifty, and let us question tb^
old witch. She is in the company of my father every
week, and knows all his secrets. Besides, she nursed
Peter as an infant."

" I am with you, brother ; but Mother Gotha? has no
cause to love us, for we played many a prank upon her
in our younger days."

" We will buy her secrets. She is nothing more than
a foolish old woman who will blab to any one. But
look you, David, if Peter is a maid, I go this evening to
Bezurrel Woods," said Martin warmly.

" To get your head broke. Wli ', you fool, do you
suppose the heir to the house of Just would kneel before
a yeoman's daughter ? " repUed David, with such
heat that the younger brother was startled from his

2l6

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

dreams. He closed his lips, and they walked in silence
to the house.

Mother Gothal lived in the same hovel, continuing to
serve all who had need of her. Jacob had not entirely
forgotten his promises, so the dame had now a silk
gown to wear on Sundays, and a purse of money hidden
away among the stones. One day Jacob came for
advice ; the next she would carry his latest confession
to Bezurrel. She owned two masters, serving each
with complete success, and accepting gifts from both ;
but she remained true to the house of Clabar and did
not lie to Sir Thomas Just.

When the brothers arrived outside the open door —
which appeared to communicate with the nether
regions, as smoke poured forth continually — they hesi-
tated, hearing the muttering of voices. They called to
the witch, but she did not answer ; and the figure which
appeared upon the threshold was that of their father,
who looked somewhat amused to discover his sons out-
side that hovel.

" So you have followed me," he said.

" No, sir," replied Martin. " We did not know you
were here."

" Mother Gothal ! " caUed Sir Thomas. " My sons
are arrived, as I warned you, to hear their fortunes. I
leave them to you." Then he walked out, saying to
David, who stood nearest, " Find me presently at the
foot of the downs, beside the road to Moyle. We wioi
walk together."

He went down the track, and immediately Mother
Gothal appeared, to welcome the visitors in her usual
fulsome manner, and to assure them they were the
finest yoimg gentlemen in the world with one exception
only. " And he be the young gentleman you ha' come
to me about," said she.

" Who told you so ? " ;sked David, who was not at
his ease before this woman with a beard.

" I knows everything," replied the witch. " I was

CERTAIN CURIOUS DISCOVERIES 217

sitting under the stars last night, watching the sparks
blowing Lorn the fire, and I says to myself, ' the young
gentlemen of Bezurrel ain't been to me yet, but they'll
come to-morrow.' Now. young gentlemen, you pitch
upon they two stones, and I'll tell ye what be agoing to
happen."
" We have not come to hear our fortunes," said

Martin.

" So you says, but if you thinks a bit, and looks into
your heart, you'll find I be right as ever. Young folk
always craves to know the future. You are both to go
upon a long journey," cried Mother Gothal. " You
will cross the sea, and you will come safe home again.
But before you make the journey there will be trouble
between ye."

" Yo ' talk like any gipsy. We can hear this stuff
for a shilling on the road," said Martin.

" Young gentlemen, if you hain't careful, you will
bring trouble on your family. I see a picture in the air
— ^what you can't see — and 'tis the sign of hatred and
quarrels, ay, and of sudden death."

" That will do, mother," said David. " Neither my
brother nor myself have any desire to play the highway-
man. Come out of yc c raving, and listen to our ques-
tion?. Here is a guinea for you."

" I thank ye sir," said the practical Mother Gothal.
" You wants . sk me questions about the storm."

" What storm . " asked Martin.

" The great storm, years ago. There be black and
tearing tempests every faU, but there never was such
a storm as that, and there never will be such another
while the world lasts."

" Mother, we have come to ask you a few simple
questions," said Martin. " Is Peter the son of John
Clabar ? And — answer this question first — ^is Peter all
that he pretends to be ? "

" It puts a witch body about to hear a young
gentleman from Oxford ask questions," said the

3lC

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

ingenious Mother Gothal. " I brought Master Peter
into this artful world ; and if it wam't for me he
would never be living now. Aw, I was a fine woman
in them days."

" You are not answering the questions. Is Peter a
man like my brother and myself ? "

" No, my young Oxford learned gentlemen, saving
your presence, he hain't. There never ,/as such a
young gentleman as Master Peter, and there never will
be <:uch another while the world lasts."

" Will yo" swear there is nothing feminine in his
nature ? " asked Martin, who shrank from putting the
question more directly.

" They says the sun be him," said Mother Gothal
darkly, " yet he be as fickle wi' his favours as a woman.
And they says the moon be her ; but there be nought in
the moon save a peevish old gentleman and his nasty
little dog. I be a she for certain, yet I erows a
beard."

" Cannot you answer with yes or no ? " cried David.

" Witches be inspired, and they must answer wi' the
words they find in their mouths. 'Tis only plain folk,
who bain't inspired, what answers wi' yes and no."

" Then tell us of the storm in as few inspired words
as possi^ le," said Martin.

Thereupon Mother Gothal went off into history;
coming at last to the vital incidents :

" And as the storm began, Uttle Peter wat bom in
my cottage, which be all ruin now. And as the storm
died down, another wreck was cast upon the shore, but
nobody knew the name of that ship, for 'twas the worst
of all the wrecks ; and there was nigh upon a dozen
while that storm lasted. The only folk that come ahve
to shore was little baby Ruth and her poor mother.
Some says the mother was drowndcd avore cast up ;
some says she lived to speak to Master Grambla. He
took baby Ruth — and he was cruel to her."

" What happened to baby Pteter ? " asked Martin.

CERTAIN CURIOUS DISCOVERIES 219

" He was carriea out of Moyle and sent off in the
public coach to Dock, and was brought up there by
friends of Mistress Clabar. Uswerf f raid old Grambla
would do some mischief to the ch
" Why should he hate the Clabars ? "
" He got Coinagehall from them by fraud. He was
always afraid of the Clabars trying to take the place
away from him. He turns Squire Clabar out of house
and work when he hears Peter was coming back here.
They be the last of the Clabars, and Grambla would get
rid of 'em if he could ; but he am't got the courage to
attack Master Clabar now that your father ha' took
him under lus protection ; and he don't dare to tackle
Master Peter. Grambla be in mortal terror of strong
men and witchcraft. Yet he would ha' got rid of
them in some way if he hadn't got this fortune which
hi' made a fine gentleman of him ; though how he
come into all this money nobody knows but me, and
I ain't aUowed to tell."

The brothers left Mother Gothal with their gumea's
worth of useless information ; and went to join Sir
Thomas, who rose from a rock when his sons drew
near ; then they walked towards the sea with small
talk. The baronet had not a word to say concerning
the visit to Mother Gothal ; though it was in his mind,
for he glanced sometimes at his sons with searching
eyes ; but he did not speak seriously until they had
descended the cliff by a steep pathway, and were over-
looking a spit of sand covered with fang-shaped rocks.
Then he turned towards his sons and said, " Mother
Gothal told you of the storm ? "

" Yes, sir," replied LTartin.

" Her mind deals with a few facts only. She has
knowledge in deception, not in truth," Sir Thomas
continued

"That is a warning, brother," whispered David.
" The old baggage lied to us."

" Out to sea yonder, where the patches of foam

220

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

appear, are those rocks which completed the destruction
of the vessel. Do you attend to me, David ? "

*' I am lookLxg and listening, sir."

" Change places with Martin ; for what I am saying
chiefly concerns my heir."

David obeyed with a glance at Martin, who looked
sullen ; and Sir Thomas continued :

" By this pathway Grambla, the chief wrecker, de-
scended, still waving, I doubt not, his cursed lantern.
By it he returned, carrying the child. Note well
what I am saying, David. Upon that sand the poor
lady vras thrown, missing the rocks, but not the fierce
hands of the robber— perchance her murderer. Look
upon that picture with the full force of your imagina-
tion. I charge you, David, never to forget this peaceful
cove ; and should it please God to take me before my
work is finished, continue it and do not cease until
the scoundrel Grambla is ruined."

" Will you not tell us, sir, aK that Ues behind this
tragedy ? " asked Martin.

"Not yet. You are boys, and can wait. Someday
you will understand my present uilence. Now let us
return."

They climbed to the summit of the cliff, and Sir
Thomas led them along the winding road, to the comer
where Ruth had met her lover, and along by the copse,
and beside the boundary of Coinagehall ; until the sons
wondered where he could be taking them. At last they
reached ^he entrance of the churchyard and, passing
under the tottering lich-gate, paused beside a sad heap
where a cankered rose-bush stood.

This must be the grave mentioned by Mother
Gothal," said Sir Thomas, removing his hat and
crossing himself ; then adding, " I know not if it be
a sm to make the sign of our redemption in a place
where Christianity is dead."

" I believe, sir, Ruth would come to this grave " said
David. j

CERTAIN CURIOUS DISCOVERIES aai

" Mother Gothal planted the rose-tree in memory —
so she told me — of the lonely lady. Mark this grave
well, David ; though it will not be a place of pilgrimage
for you in years to come. I shall presently obtain
permission to remove the body, and give it a more
honoured resting-place."

" You knew the lady, sir ? "

" I loved her. David."

" Will you not tell us her name, sir ? " asked the
impatient Martin.

" This evening, and to-morrow morning, you shall
hear her name mentioned — Elizabeth Mary. Her hus-
band's name was Geoffrey."

" Shall you not strive, sir, to discover Ruth ? " asked
Martin.

" I shall strive my utmost to secure her happiness,"
replied Sir Thomas.

They left the churchyard and proceeded to Bezurrel
Castle by a private lane. A catafalque was set up in
the chapel, which was being prepared for Vespers of the
Dead, and solemn Requiem next morning, for the re-
pose of the souls of Elizabeth Mary, and her husband
Geoffrey.

CHAPTER VIII

TWO YOUNG PEOPLE TRY TO SETTLE THEIR DIFFERENCES
IN THE USUAL MANNER

Astonished by the manner of the Justs, although
ignorant that Ruth had recalled the agitation of the
storm, Cherry returned to the cottage in the wood ;
there to find her father engaged upon the monumental
work of copying the plays of Shakespeare. For Clabar
was still a derk, but now he worked for his daughter,
giving her a library of manuscripts which he copied
from the folios of Bezurrel.

" Wipe your pen," said Cherry, when she had told of
her adventures. " This is a holiday, and we will spend
it on a bank of periwinkle."

" I have finished the tragedies," said Clabar, " with
the exception of ' Titus Andronicus,' which yo .
desired me to omit."

" Too cruel," she said. " 'Tis drama without Go'^ "

" No cruelty is impossible to man."

" Heaven always intervenes. You shall spend
summer at the comedies, father ; and they will wipe
the wrinkles off your forehead. Pray copy ' Love's
Labour's Lost ' the first of all ; for that is a story of
Bezurrel Woods. I see the laughing king and his fan-
tastic courtiers walking in our atmosphere in love with
words. 'Tis a story false to life, yet true to human
nature."

" I have this morning commenced the ' Tempest.' "

" That is another of our stories. You are right,
father. We will have the ' Tempest ' first."

Presently they went out and sat upon a shady bank

222

TWO YOUNG PEOPLE

333

sUired with the flowers of happy memory, for peri-
winkles in those woods were white ; but had not been
there long when they heard sounds among the trees, as
if sorrow had forced a pathway there. The lumbering
shape of Toby Penrice appeared ; carrying in his left
hand a great horseshoe ; his right arm embracing the
waist of a your^g woman whose solemn face was freckled
from brow to chin ; and the noise was made by his
most unmanly sobbing.

" Owl of ill-omen in the sunshine I " exclaimed
Cherry. " So Toby has found a partner. I told you, if
he was to win a wench, she would be Creature Tregoose."
(There was nothing to smile at in the Christian name,
which was then by no means uncommon.) " Toby I "
she cried. " For a strong fellow to weep is folly any-
where ; but in these woods of Bezurrel 'tis a sin."

" My fortune, gentlemen ' My golden fortune I "
bemoaned Toby.

" I know something of that," said Clabar. " Grambla
had the handling of your fortune ; and now has sunk it
in furnishings and liveries."

" In the salt sea, master. He floats my guineas upon
the salt south sea, and they go to the bottom."

" After the manner of metal," said Cherry.

" I waited upon him at his office," Toby blubbered.
" He would not see me. I go to Coinagehall, and the
servants force me from the door. This morning I
caught him in the garden. I told him the time was
past when I should receive a sum ; and he took snuff,
gentlemen. He took snuff, and raised his eyes to
heaven ; and he si°rhed, gentlemen ; and I knew all
was not well."

' ' That silent maimer is the hardest thing about
him," Clabar muttered.

" Told me he was a broken-hearted gentleman,"
sobbed Toby. " Stood on the edge of a precipice,
which was a lie, gentlemen, for he stood upon green
grasses, between two clipped shrubs ; one a prickly

324

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

Adam in Lolly, t'other a naughty Eve in box ; yonder
was the devil in yew.

J' ?*'''.", ??*• '^''^- The devU is a gentleman in
lace, cned Cherry.

"Desired me to gaze upon the garden and the
servants ; to go mto the house, if I would, and regard
the nch furnishings," continued the weeper. " Swore
nought was paid for. Said we had stood together, and
now would fall together. Sink, gentlemen-sink was
his word.

'' You have no wit. Toby. He described himself as
a dram for carrying off ill-gotten guineas." said Cherry.
Nay. young gentleman. I have a pretty good wit.
Have I not. Creature ? I understand a man who tells
me I am rmned. I have enough wit to know when
my pockets are empty."

" y°". lasted Grambia ; and now he has robbed
you," said Clabar shortly.

" Called me a dog. Called me a lazy dog. Said if he
saw me in the fields, or caught me trapping a hare, he'd
have the law on me. What be I to do now, gentlemen ?
1 ha courted Creature five years, on and ofi ; and if
twas more off than on. that was her doing. For she
could never be true to her word, gentlemen."

I ha said no a hundred times, and I ha' kept to it "
declared the damsel.
, " You ha' said yes fifty times within my living
memory, and never kept to it. First time I ask you I

f i! J l*"!)""^^ y^^ '■ ^""^ '* ^'^^ spoke significant ; but
1 had hardly got home when your sister comes to say
twas nay you meant. So I asked her, and the baggage
slapped my face. I ha' suffered all my life, gentlemen,
irom a slapped face. You answer me yea in spring and
autumn ; in April and September, Creature, for I ha'
took note of it. You answer me nay in summer and
wmter. And yesterday you answer yea and swear vou
mean it." ^

" Tis nay to-day," maintained the damsel.

TWO YOUNG PEOPLE

aas
wit-

" Gentlemen," cried Toby. " I would have i
ness that Grambla ha' not only lost my fortune, and
called me a lazy dog, but now he takes my wench as
well."

" I need no ruined man," said Creature, stepiAng
back from the disappointed lover.

" Get a boat and turn fisherman," advised Clabar.
" You are a strong fellow, and you have abused your
strength too long. Grambla speaks truly when he sajrs
you have been idle. You are too great an admirer of
good ale."

" That is not laziness," said Toby.

" You show a particular attachment to one shirt."

"I am no gentleman of quality," replied Toby.
" But hearken to me, and I will tell you something ;
for, if it be true Grambla and myself be ruined, I would
have him sink faster than myself. He offered me ten
guineas if I would enter the woods one dark night and
bum your cottage."

" When was chis offer made ? " asked Clabar.

" Many months ago ; but I had money then and had
no need to listen. So he offered me the like sum. Master
Peter, if I would right with you and do you some moi tal
injury."

" Why did you not fight me ? " cried Cherry.

" I looked at you, and did not like the task."

" What say you. Creature ? Could I whip Master
Toby ? " laughed Cherry.

" You could break every bone in his body, I warrant,"
replied the damsel, enjoying her questioner's face with
amorous eyes.

" What are you doing with the horseshoe ? " in-
quired Clabar.

" I carry it for luck, master; God knows I need it."

" So he makes a horseshoe his god ; and carries it
with the ends pointing downward so that his luck may
run out," remarked Cherry.

"I found it upon the road outside this wood,"

226

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

continued Toby. "There is great virtue in a cast horse-
shoe, gentlemen. I got my fortune by a horseshoe ;
and now, upon the day I lose it, I find another shoe,
which I shall carry home. I propose to win you with
this horseshoe. Creature."
" Then you must turn it mto gold," she snapped.
" How came you to win your fortune by a horse-
shoe ? " asked Clabar.

" Why, sir, indirectly as the saying is. The fortune
which I got from my father he obtained from his aunt.
My father, you must know, was also a great believer in
the virtue of cast horseshoes ; and finding one upon the
road he carried it to his aunt whom he was anxious to
please. My father desired to fasten the horseshoe over
the porch with his own hands, but this the old lady
would not permit. For she was a superstitious body,
and believed no good fortune could proceed from the
horseshoe unless she secured it above the door herself.
She did so, and mformed my father she was so well
pleased with him that she had a mind to make her will
in his favour ; and, to make my story as short as
possible, gentlemen, she afterwards informed him she
had done so; adding that the horseshoe had un-
doubtedly brought her good luck, and he might regard
himself as fortunate for having carried it to her."
" A pretty story," remarked Cherry.
" You have heard only the half of it," said Toby.
" It so happened that the old lady lost her kindness for
my father, who was a somewhat wild lad, and a sad dog
for wenches ; in which fault, gentlemen, I am happy to
think I take not after him. Several times she warned
him that, if he did not amend his ways, she would
destroy her will and leave her fortune to the curate.
But the old Adam in my father did not change. One
day he ill-used a wench who was not kind to him ; and
this news, being carried to the old lady, put her into
such a state of indignation that she sent her maid at
once for the attorney, declaring that she could not

TWO YOUNG PEOPLE

227

sleep until she had deprived my father of his fortune.
Indeed, the old body could not stay in her room, but
must go and stand beneath the porch to look out for
the attorney. And while standing there, gentlemen, a
gust of wind passed, and the big horseshoe, which her
old fingers had not fastened up securely, became dis-
lodged and fell upon her head with such violence that
she was stimned by it. To be brief, gentlemen, the
shock was so serious that she did not recover conscious-
ness, but died upon the day following, leaving her will
unaltered. And that is how the horseshoe brought my
fortune. I believe this shoe, I have just picked up, is
very likely to bring me another."

" Your hands will serve you better than a piece of
iron — ^which may fall upon you, as it did upon your
ancestress," said Cherry.

" So I would tell him," declared Creature. " He
may cover the walls of his house with horseshoes, but
I'll not live with an idler and toil for him."

" This horseshoe brings me good luck already," said
Toby with a chuckle. " It has put me in mind of an
old waistcoat I have at home. I believe there are more
than thirty guineas concealed in the lining. I shall take
your advice. Master Clabar ; I shall get me a boat and
go fishing ; sometimes I shall net a pheasant and trap
a hare. Come, my pretty Creature 1 Let us go and
discover these thirty guineas. Say yes, and stay by it —
we will live warmly, I promise you. I have plenty of
wit to make a living. I am not without vices, but I
have no ambition. Conversation I dislike ; knowledge
I despise ; dress I set at nought — ^yet I admire women.
If I have a weakness, Creature, it is love for thee. If I
have a failing, it is that passion. Say yea, and mean
it ; then I weep no more."

The couple passed on through the wood ; while
Clabar and Cherry fell to talking of the attorney, who
had left them unmolested so long.

" I perceive he is indolent through this fortune, which

i»

228 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

came to him no man knows how." said Clabar. "But
the time is commg when he wiU agam attack us. bee
vou, Cherry, how he has squandered the foohsh Toby s
fortune ; and that he would not do unless he were
pushed. He reaches the end of his fortune ; he hsis
neglected business that he might make himself a gentle-
man. Now his resources are near exhausted he will
bite and wound." ,

•• Sir Thomas has promised me to muzzle lum j ana
when that is done I may put off this disguise, said

"Tdo not beUeve Sir Thomas can either muzzle him
protect us," said the gloomy Clabar. " Only one
^sveT can conquer Grambla. and that is terror. He is
governed by his superstition."

" Red Cap may return." said Cherry.

That day was summer indeed. The next was stormy ;
rain, hail, and blasts from the sea; but beautiful
in the evening when the green tb ogs of the wood were

Cherry walked out. murmuring to herself. " If the
world were Uke these woods ; and the woods always
thus— life might then become too sweet."

And coming to a place, which was open yet shaded by
the trees, she found herself looking upon Martm. who
came towards her glancing from an open book.

" Stay I " he called, when she was about to turn
aside. " I was on my way to Halcyon."

" Well 1 " said Cherry in her most mascuhne fashion.

" I desh-ed to see you."

" Well ! " she said again,

" If you bark at me I shall soon be angry.

•• Pass, stranger," she said carelessly. " This is one
way— but the longest— to Halcyon. You have a nght
to walk here; I have none to detam you. So go your
way. and I will go mine."

" Do you believe I desire a conversation with your

father ? "

TWO YOUNG PEOPLE

229

" No, indeed, for he is an ^ lest man, and would
make ill company for you."

" I came to ask your pardon," he began.

" And the words of humbleness stick in your proud
throat. I leave you to rehearse your message to the birds."

" You make me mad ! " cried Martin, flinging his
book upon the ground.

" So you would treat me as you do literature ; but I
am a book you cannot read and shall not thumbmark."

" I will read you and understand you. I will not be
made sport of every day. You have even cast your in-
fluence over my father, so that he declares he loves you
bettei than bis sons. If you know what you are, tell
me ; and let us be enemies or friends."

" You told me my name," said Cherry bitterly.

" I was in a rage."

" Even as you are now."

" I came as a friend."

" With right hand behind your back, and the words
of friendship choking you. Why should you desire to
be my friend ? "

" That is a question I ask myself."

" Am I r '^t the son of poor John Clabar, and the
grandson of a simple yeoman who was robbed by
Grambla of his last blade of grass ? "

" I believe you are not."

" Pray then, tell me who I am — ^but not in your own
coarse language."

" How should I tell your history ? My father does
not know your name, but he is sure you are not Clabar's
son. What is there of the Clabars about you ? Your
father is a swarthy man ; your mother, I am told, was
also dark. While you are very fair ; your hair is
golden, and your eyes "

" I pray you lay aside the poets," said Cherry, in-
terrupting him.

" So you must still answer with a taunt. I may not
even receive a civil answer to my question."

aj5 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" CiviUty is not obtained by insults '' she repU^
" You^your pride of birth, young gentkman. beheve
that a^or m^'s son must -.cept the blows you are
«wJd to rivrhim. You ride with me ; and expect
S^o how'^uHJirrup. You do me the honot^of
XrinK to share a chamber, and you go mto a rage
Xureftie. Why should I humble myself to you.
whSe fSrtreats me with the utmost deference ? ^^

•^eU me why I should take notice of you at all ?

"^nifmm^^Jughts in my company; so w^
should not his younger ^on be flattered by it ?^have

as much learmr^ -dTu^veVoH r^eTortl
g^mmeni an'TS^it Sn^U you^t of your
SS my shoSd I address the son when I may
ZTn^n^i^t^er} Nay. I had made up my mmd
n to^peak with you agam; for, if you must ^ve the
tmth. young man, I am not much honoured by your

"*^C^" n Peter, you shall not call me young
„.an!'nors. -usp^a^tomeinthatb^^^^

" Would yc- nave me call you little boy ? As or
the manner of my speech, I must be allowed to suit

""^^l"call you coward and bully. If you were a gentle-
man I would challenge you." Martm shouted.
^^Now the young cock lifts his comb 1 said Cherry
in the Ime Luning manner. [' It is tr^^ -^ -
gentleman, and-since you are m t^^. "J«?^ *^3J
f onfession-I will tell you also I am not John Clabar s

"^ '•• I care not whose son you may be." fed Martin in a
rage "You have practised some enchantment upon

"^'T^TiSig^^^s^nJatf^^^^^ before his family.

Tis like you, Martin." ^, . ^. _^ , „

" You dare to call me by my Christian name I

TWO YOUNG PEOPLE

231

" Ay, Martin, a kind of swallow, a timid thing which
catches flies."

" I'll stop your mouth," he shouted ; and running
forward he struck his open hand upon her scornful
lips.

Cherry cried out, as shame and anger forced the blood
into her cheeks ; and for a moment she coidd hardly see
the white and angry face before her. Then she said
quietly, " Martin, I shall plague you for that blow. If
not to-day "

" Take off your coat," the young man shouted.
" Show me the strength you boast of. You have bullied
me ever since I knew you ; now you would play the
coward and run. But you shall not go until you have
kissed my shoes."

" I will not take off my coat," said Che ry. " Re-
move yours, child, and then we may stand equal."

He struck out again in the same blind fashion, and
Cherry had difficulty to ward off the blow ; for the sun
was in her eyes. So she ran to the other side ; and,
when Martin pursued, she rounded upon him, evaded
his arms, and found his ear with a small brown fist
that set bells ringing in his head.

Then they fought in earnest, while the flowers looked
on, and birds made sleepy music ; with this difference
between them that, whereas Martin scarce knew what
he was doing, Cherry remained calm and almost cold ;
and this gave her some advantage over him.

Surprise sobered Martin when he discovered his op-
ponent's strength was far less than he had looked for.
Young Peter, he perceived, had by far the greater skill
— and of that he had proof, being knocked down twice,
once by a cut upon the jaw, again by a body-blow and
slip together — but power behind was wanting. Martin,
though slight, was heavier and much the taller ; but,
never having been taught how to use his hands, he
wasted his superior strength upon the air ; ?nd, being
in a rage, he played for victory wildly ; until his vision

333

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

cleared, and he saw those calm grey eyes looking upon
him neither in mockery nor in anger.

" Your Ups move I You mutter a spell," he cned.

" I believe you are beaten," she gasped.

" After to-day you will not bully me."

" After to-day I can do with you as I will."

" By sorcery then ! " he sLouted, closing his eyes.

" I have a power of which you know nothmg—
though you feel it."

" There is blood upon your face. Let us end it,
Pfeter 1 "

" Not until you go down and kiss my shoes.

Neither appeared to have an advantage, although
Martin was unmarked save for an angry ear ; while
Cherry was bleeding at the nose, her upper lip was cut,
and her left eye swollen ; but she was strong upon her
feet, and Martm was shaken by his falls. Their long
coats hampered both ; the turf grew slippery ; it looked
as if darkness must put a stop to the unnatural combat.

Cherry felt that, so she pressed forward and, after a
clever feint, struck Martin so hard upon the jaw that he
reeled back ; yet, in doing so, he hit out wildly, more
in self-defence than in aggression ; but his fist struck
full upon her breast.

They were apart. Martin, leaning against a tree, his
head dizzy, looked up in some terror for his opponent,
knowing he could not last another blow upon the jaw.
He saw young Peter crossing the open space with a
staggering motion ; he heard a moaning ; and, half in
pity, half in shame, moved forward with an outstretched
hand, saying, " Pe^-^r ! pardon me. Confess you went
too far. Whatistlus? I have not hurt you."

" My heart ! " she gasped.

" A little blow upon the chest — I did no more than
force you from me. It could not have hurt a boy.
Peter, what makes you so white ? What ails you ? "

Even as he spoke Cherry, in her effort to escape, fell
upon the grass and fainted.

TWO YOUNG PEOPLE

333

" Peter, what have I done to you ? " cried Martin
bitterly, as he went upon his knees. " Speak to me.
Peter 1 That little blow — it would hardly have crushed
a fly. Let me unfasten your coat. Yoiur neckband is
too tight. Ah, dear Peter, I have made you bleed."

He wiped her face with his handkerchief, and restored
it stained to his deep pocket ; then with trembling
fingers unfastened the coat and neckband, muttering
in a frightened voice :

" That word of David's 1 How beautiful he is ! Had
ever a young man such a mouth — and these long eye-
lashes — and a skin so white ! "

Scarce a minute had passed, yet Martin was running
wildly through the wood. He reached Halcyon, and
broke upon peaceful John Clabar at his scribbling toil
upon the " Tempest." He started up to meet the
young man, who could only point and mutter, " Come
with me 1 Come and bring restoratives ! "

" Is my son hurt ? " cried Clabar.

" Follow I " Martin whispered ; and all his other
words were iwcoherent.

Taking a little cordial from & cupboard, fclabar ran
with Martin, supposing Cherry had been bitten by a
viper. They came to the clearing as darkness settled
upon the wood ; but Martin hardly dared to set foot
upon that turi.

Cherry, having partly recovered, lifted her body
upon an elbow to murmur, " Father, I grow weary of
this game," as he hurried forward and pressed the
cordial to her lips. While Martin stood apart, shivering
like a leaf, trying to distinguish the blood-stained face,
the cut lip, the swollen eye — his doing — until he could
restrain himself no longer, and came forward with a
cry, " Peter 1 " — ^the masculine name which repre-
sented all that was feminine to him.

" Young gentleman," said Clabar sternly. " You
have done mischief enough. Leave us ! "

'if

CHAPTER IX

MARTIN IS EXPELLED FROM THE WOODLANDS

Roughly hewn statues in Cornish porphyry looked
somewhat terrible in the shadows of the long room
which faced upon the sea. Here Sir Thomas was wont
to spend much time callmg gods and heroes out of
stone ; and here, it was rumoured in the distnct. he
called up spirits and sent them into the shap^ of tas
creation which thereupon took We and moved to do
his bidding. He stood there with David, bendmg over
a veined and speckled Cupid, showing his son hew to
turn the chisel to avoid a flaw; end usmg the
occasion to give advice : , , • , •

"The gentleman, who cannot employ his leisure
upon some art. is little better than one of these stone
figures. I would have you copy my example. Da^d.
If sculpture does not please you, learn to play the
fiddle; or even turn to carpentry. For an idle gentie-
man is apt to become sottish in hie manners. ^^

" This Cupid's face." the young man muttered, is
surely modelled from the features of young Clabar.

" Could you find a better type ? "

" I believe not, sir. There is nothing of the common

in his features." , , ,. x

" Now the work requires a touch yet more delicate.
Look ye, David ! A slip at this Une of the neck, and
all is marred. It grows dark. Light candles."

Sk Thomas retired to the far end of the room for
a finer chisel; passing between the statues which
seemed to become more life-Uke by his movements.
The door burst open and Martm hurried in.

234

MARTIN IS EXPELLED

235

" David I " he cried. " Where is our father ? Oh,
David, I have fought with Pfeter I I hurt her— I have
cut her mouth, and bruised her eye."

" Her ! " cried David, forgetting the nearness of
their father.

" You are right, brother. Feminine Was your word.
She is beautiful — she is adorable — ^and I have done
my best to kill her."

" She is a maid — Peter a maid ! " David muttered.
Then he rounded upon Martin and cried, " You fought
with her ! You struck her upon the eyes and mouth
— ^you have done her some injury. You are a scoundrel,
brother."

" I could not bear her taunts."

" You shall settle with me," cried David ; and,
starting forward, he seized his brother by the throat.

" David 1 Martin I " called a voice, terribly stem ;
then Sir Thomas advanced towards them along the
avenue of sombre statuary. The young men parted
and stood at some distance from each other ; David
scowling, Martin shivering.

" I heard you, Martin. You have disgraced my
name, and your own young manhood, by stri^ng Cherry
Clabar — ^for so she is called — in spite of what I told
you yesterday. When was it, sir, you learnt to defy
your father ? "

" Your command, sir, never came into my mind,"
whispered the unhappy Martin. " I went into the
woods, hoping to find Peter, that I might ask her
pardon. We met by chance ; she was more than usual
bitter, and I struck her. I seem to have been dreaming
and am just awake. She fell at last and fainted. She
cried out, • My heart ! ' I pray you, sir, forgive me."

" Did you strike him, David ? " asked Sir Thomas.

" I would have struck him for a coward, sir, had you
not joined us."

" I am glad to hear you say so ; for I would have
you prot«c^ the honour— and when necessary the body

236

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

—of this young lady. As foi you. ICartin. I shall treat
you as a child who has refused obedience. Get you to
your bedroom, and there remam until I visit you.
David, attend m«."

Martin slunk away, while the others left the house,
and were absent an hour. As they returned along the
avenue. Sir Thomas placed a hand upon David's arm
and inquired what he thought of the fan- Miss Clabar.

" She has not her equal in the world, sir. Some
girls are strong, and many are beautiful ; but she
unites in herself the perfection of strength and beauty,"
came the answer.

" What are your feelings towards her, David ? "

" I can hardly answer you, sir. An hour ago I
thought she was a man. I am not yet reconciled to
the truth. But, sir, I admire her vastly."

" When you marry, David, it is my intention to
withdraw from England, and to end my life with your
mother in her native land ; leaving you as master of
Bezurrel. You have my permission, David, to make
Miss Cherry your wife."

" My wife, sir 1 The daughter of John Clabar, as
'tis said I " exclaimed the young man.

" I am proud of my name, and jealous for the honour
of my family. Yet I tell you nothing would please me
more than to greet Cherry Clabar as the bride of my
elder son. Why did you take your brother by the
throat ? "

" It seemed to me, sir, he had played the part of

a scoundrel."

" Was it not Jealousy, David ? "

" I believe it was not, sir."

They entered the house and Sir Thomas, ifter a
few words with my lady, went to Martin's room ; which
lay in darkness, for the summer night was clouded.

" Are you abed ? " the father called.

" I am here, sir ; beside the window."

Sir Thomas closed the door and groped towards a

MARTIN IS EXPELLED

337

in the future as the cus-
said Sir Thomas sharply.
She desired me to inform

chair, sayliig, " We need no candle for a conversation.
Your conduct, Martin, has displeased me greatly. You
have shown a love for learning which made me dream
of a noble future. Now I find, if you are sober in life,
you are most passionate in your nature."

" It is true, sir, I never could control my temper
when Peter mocked me," Martin answered.

" Miss Clabar is her name."

" I shall always think of her as Peter. I would go
to her now, father, and — and kiss her shoes, and find
out how she does."

" I come from Halcyon, where I presented your
brother to Miss Clabar."

" David, sir I "

" Whom you will regard
todiaji of Bezurrel Woods,'
" Miss Clabar is recovered,
you — "

" Yes. sir I "

" She bears you no malice. She promises to whip
you with her tongue."

" Let her say what she will. What was a taimt
yesterday shall be a compliment to-morrow."

" I have more to say," continued Sir Thomas, rising ;
and though Martin could not see his father, he was
conscious of the dark figxire towering over him ; and
he felt rebellious against discipline.

" I have referred to your studious habits. These
have led me to suppose you may have a longing for the
priesthood."

" You are mistaken, sir."

" I do not mean a priest of this land, where our holy
religion is forbidden ; I would not see a son of mine a
priest of dark comers such as Father Benedict. When
David marries, your mother and I propose to retvun
to Italy ; and we would take you with us, Martin."

" Do you insist upon my ordination, sir ? "

" I would not permit that course unless I were

338

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

convinced you had a dear vocation. It appean I have
read your nature wrongly." .^ „ _^j ^ ,

" I have no dewre for Italy," said Martin firmly.
" I would remain hene, sir ; I believe I am the oiUy one
of my family who cares for Beiurrel and Moyle church-
town. If I may speak plainly, sir, I would say there
is something foreign in your nature. You have Uved
abroad so long, you have little love for this property of
your ancestors. You have enjoyed the Italian chmate
until you cannot bear the mists of ComwaU. David
also has no longing to remain here. But I love this
wUd coast, Bezurrel Castle, and the fields around it ;
but most of all I love the woodlands. A younger son
must not expect to be given his choice— yet I would
remain here all my life." . , ^ , x. uu

" Bravely spoken. Martin," said the father with
more kindlmess. " But if you would have me yield
to your request, you must show some inclination to
obey. Bezurrel is settled upon David, and cannot
pass to you without his consent. Are you anxious to
please me, Martin ? "

" I have always sought to please you, my father ;
and I shall continue to do so. while you do not put upon
me more than I can bear."

" I will try you then. You are forgiven your conduct
of to-day upon a certain understanding."

" There is but one command, sir, which I shall find
myself unable to obey."

" You are not again to visit the young lady whom
we call Miss Clabar."

" Sir, that is the one thing impossible."

" You resist me, Martin ? "

" Not I. sir. Something stronger than myself

" I tell you, Martin, my mind is fixed upon this

matter." , . _^

" You think, sir. that because she has no fortune,
and is of somewhat mean birth, she is not worthy of

MARTIN IS EXPELLED

a39

me. I can understand, sir. she could not marry David ;
but I am the youn«.rer son."

" I must clip your wings." said Sir Thomas grimly.
*• You are not worthy of her."

" Peter of the woods— of the cottage I " Martin
murmured.

" I hope to see her mistress of Bezurrel. and your
brother's wife."

" It is dark." cried Martin with difficulty. " Why.
sir. do you make it darker ? "

" I require your submission, and demand your
obedience. Remember, no father injures his son with-
out good reason. You are to regard Bezurrel Woods
as out of bounds ; and should you meet Miss Clabar by
chance in other places, you are to behave with the
civility of a gentleman who meets a friend — and
nothing more."

" You have spoken your last word, sir ? "

" And I will hear no answer."

Sii Thomas felt for his son's hand, pressed it in a
kindly fashion, then departed. Soon the lights went
out, and Bezurrel Castle became wrapped in darkness ;
but Martin sat beside that open window half the night.

The morning was heavy and wreaths of mist hung
upon the sea. David went out early, and Martin
watched him from a window; to see his brother go
towards the stable, and ride out presently in the direc-
tion of Great Gwentor. Martin went into the library
and read from Homer for an hour. Then he looked
up aiMl saw that Father Benedict was near him.

" I have a question to ask you." he said. " How
many of these books would have been written, had
there been no Helens m the world ? "

" Many, my son," replied the old priest, " and all
the best. Helens do not aid theology, but mar it."

" Ah. but how many of these books would havfe
detained a young rnpn in a library upon a summer's
morning, had th^ h^Iot^ ■> "

240

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" That is too hard a question," said Father Benedict.
Martin went into the avenue and along it to the gate.
Without a pause he took the road to the left, entered
the forbidden woods, and proceeded along the well-loved
footpath to the flaming garden and the smaU thatched
cottage. A murmur of voices wanned his heart.

"Father Benedict is wrong," he murmured.
" Helens do not mar theology."

•' So 1 " cried Cherry, who opened the door to mm.
" You are come for your whipping."

" I am come," said Martin, not bowing his head ;
since he could not remove his eyes from her face, which
was bright brown again, and fresher than it l^d been
yesterday, " to kneel at your feet and beg for your
forgiveness." . ,,

" I would rather you stood upright.
" It is easier to obey you than my father."
Cherry sUpped out when he had spoken, murmunng,
" that tells a story," and motioned him to follow.
They passed into the woodland, out of sight of the cot,
beneath a natural archway of wild-rose ; and so to an
arbour of honeysuckle where it fell from a tree.

" I beg you not to refer again to the events of y^ter-
day— yet I know we are to talk ot nothing else," she
began. " We have both done wrong ; but I feared
you played with me. That night at the ale-house I was
sure you had penetrated my disguise; which you
must admit I carry well. Let us have no more fightmg
—nor yet words together. I am Peter no longer to you.
Yesterday I was a careless fellow. Now I have a
maiden's soul."
" May I not call you Peter still ?
" Why should you call to a phantom ? "
" I would call to the new soul by the old name.
Mistress Clabar is too hard for me. As Pteter I came to
know you ; vralked and studied with you. As Peter
I see you now— with your lip bruised, your eye swollen,
by this cursed hand."

MARTIN IS EXPELLED

241

" Do not curse your hand ; else you will make me
blame my tongue. Our walls are over," said Cherry
firmly. " Last evening Sir Thomas and your brother
came to visit me. Can you explain your father's great
affection for me ? "
" He loves you with all his soul."
" I believe that is not possible ; but let it pass. Sir
Thomas presents your brother, and hopes I may show
him kindness — and not beat him ; and desires me
not to walk with you again. Now, sir, has he not com-
manded you to keep away from these woods ? "
" He has done so," said Martin with a groan.
" I do not imderstand Sir Thomas. He wishes me
to smile upon his heir, and to frown upon his younger
son. Have I not always frowned upon you ? In these
boy's clothes I may laugh and shout ; but surely I
must not smile."
" Ah, Peter ; how you have changed ! "
" If you call Peter, you may rouse the dead."
" I would like to hear the old voice. Will you not
be Peter again ? "
" Never 1"

" Taunt me, and mock me, and call me all manner
of names. I would welcome abuse if it came from
you."

" Never again ! " she cried. " So you too have
changed. How angry you would get ! And now
you cry to suffer again I But do I not play the boy
prettUy ? "

He advanced from the arbour, and she shrank back,
saying, " Nay, do not answer. Until I wear a gown I
may be bold. What are you doing here ? It is no
small matter to disobey your father."

" Last night I warned him I should not obey. I will
take ofi my fine coat and serve as his footman. I will
demean myself in any way to please him. But when he
tells me I am not to visit Peter, nor to walk with Peter,
I shall not obey."

LiM

''M

j \

242

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" Has Peter then no mind to be consulted ? "

" She is with me now."

" There is still some doubt remaining about the sex
of Peter," she said lightly. " Let us clear away this
difficulty. Peter was a wild and careless lad— who yet
exists for all except your family — and yesterday he
was struck a mortal blow and died a natural ckath
upon the grass. All the birds of the woods sang a dirge
last night for poor dead Peter I Do you propose, young
gentleman, to visit a most unpleasant corpse ? If that
is your desire, I cannot tell you where to find the body.
Your wise father understands this difficulty. ' Young
Peter is dead,' says he. ' My younger son has killed
the rascal, therefore 'tis plain the two cannot meet
again.' But then it appears Peter was fashioned so
curiously that, immediately he died, a mischievous
wench of a sister must stand upright in his shoes. Your
wise father pondered over this also, and he says, * I
believe my son David may be trusted with this wench
Cherry, therefore he shall walk with her, if he so wills ;
and I shall ask her to be kind to him. But my son
Martin must not be permitted to go near her, for his
own safety. The wench will do him mischief, I warrant,
to avenge that other half, poor brother Peter, whom my
son Martin maliciously slew.' Now, sir, have I not
made this matter plain to you ? "

" Cherry ! " he cried, carried away by her chann of
speech and manner.

" Oh, hush ! " she whispered, placing a finger on her
lips. " Pray respect my brother's memory."

" David cannot be trusted with young ladies," he
said shamefully.

" You must not speak so. Here is one, who can not
only defend herself, but has punished a drunken man
who beat his wife. But are we not merely talking —
as if to pass the time together ? It is my duty to see
that your father's wishes are respected. If you disobey
— that is for you to answer. I shall not be disobedient

MARTIN IS EXPELLED

243

to my patron. Nay, I shall not let you offend the kind-
liest man that lives. I address you now, Mr. Martin
Just, for the last time upon the old footing ; and when
friends part — ^we have been friends, I think — ^they v/l'l
speak as kindly as they can."

" Mistress Cherry, I will not submit."

" Are we not foolish when we make that cry ? "

" Yes, when we make it against heaven."

" They who order our destiny represent to us the
power of heaven. Believe me your father is kind,
though he seems to work in a mysterious way. Friend,
good-bye ! 'Tis Peter speaking."

She put out her right hand, and Martin seized it, but
would not let it go. She smiled, and drew it free,
saying, " It is good to fight a tyrant, or to resist any
evil which seems stronger than ourselves ; but some-
times it is bravest to submit."

" Why should friends part ? "

" You may not harm yourself by dJ'.obed?ence ; but
you will injure me."

" If my father plays the tyrant— why should he ? "

" That is not for me to answer."

"It is no question of birth or fortune ; for he is
willing — anxious — ^that you and David should be
friends. Let him dare ! He cannot be your friend-
not as I am."

" Still you ignore me," said Cherry impatiently.
" My father says this ; my father does that. Come out
of the influence of your father and regard my feelings ;
and hear my voice in this matter. Friendship is a
contract to which both parties must set their hands
and seals. My signature is lacking.'

" It is an unwritten contract," urged Vartin. " The
very act of setting it down in black and white would
destroy the mutual trust, which is the foundation of
all friendship. You have signed with your voice, and
sealed with your eyes."

" I repudiate Peter with all his forgeries."

' 'I

244 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" You have given me a bond ; and now would tear
it up before my eyes."

"We are getting involved in metaphor like two
wrangling attorneys. Let us return to simple speech ;
and not mar farewell by flinging learning at each other.
I am sorry to end our walks and conversations ; I shall
think with pleasure of our quarrels ; but I shall obey
the wishes of my patron, who has protected John Clabar
against his enemy, and provided us with the happiest
home, and has given me a place to worship in, and
granted me the liberty of these woods. So I bid you
farewell, and may God be with you."

" You shall not leave me," cried Martin. " I will
answer the question I just now put to you— why should
my father play the tyrant ? It is because he knows I
loved you as Peter — ^ay, loved you, as I feared, unnatur-
ally "

" I must leave you," broke in Cherry. She retreated
a few steps, then hesitated to murmur, " I believe
there is nothing more to say ? "

" And now you are Cherry. You stand before me,
clad in the garments of my dear friend Peter, but a
princess in disguise, a most lovely maiden. And I
fought with you, more out of love than hatred — I know
not why— and I shed your blood— I bruised your
beautiful face."

" This is a strange parting, friend," she murmured ;
but did not go, although she was so fleet of foot he
could hardly race with her.

" I have the stained handkerchief beneath my coat ;
I shall wear it ever^- day. It is because my f?*her
knows this — ^knows I shall transfer my love from ^ ter
to Cherry, and make it natural— I perceive now it was
indeed an honest love — it is because he knows I do
love you, and seek you for my wife, that he issues
this cruel order, separating me from you. I will
not leave you until I hear my sentence from your
lips."

BIARTIN IS EXPELLED

«45

She put up her arm and plucked a sprig of honey-
suckle. She threw it upon the grass between them,
and said in a voice scarce higher than a whisper :

" This is the barrier which you may not cross to me ;
nor I to you. It is the barrier also which divides the
romance of Bezurrel Woods from the dark wajrs of the
world. You must know," she went on, with her gaze
fixed upon the flowering grasses, " Peter, though a
rascal, was not dull. He could see all that a maiden
does see. He declared sorrow had no existence — or
rather that it could not exist while we lead an easy and
a natural life. Yet he knew there are stinging-bees
in the honeysuckle and vipers at Halcyon. But he
knew also it is possible to raise a barrier of sweet-
scented flowers between the world of romance and that
whole horrid land of darkness that we shrink from —
and ever to remain upon the romantic side. We appear
to dwell in two different worlds at present. Yet, I
do assure you, we are separated only by the honey-
suckle. '

" Can you love me, Cherry ? "

" Do not cross my frontier. Perceive the large
humble-bee, who is my officer ! "

"Answer me Adth an acceptance, lovely sweetheart ;
and I go to my father like a hero."

" Scarred by his campaigns I With news of a fresh
engagement — great tidings of battle," she said.
"Carry the honeysuckle to Sir Thomas, if you will,
and say I gave it you. And tell him, what my hand
has placed between us, his hand must remove."

" Promise at least you have some afiection for me."

" Love for my brother's murderer, Martin ! Oh,
for shame i "

i i

;

Its

'' 'I

i-r

CHAPTER X

THE YOUNGER SON DOES BUT LITTLE GOOD
FOR HIMSELF

A SULLENNESS came over Martin. He was short with
Sir Thomas, who chose to take no notice of his wilful-
ness ; treated David with cold civility ; but revealed
his heart to my lady, and opened his soul to Father
Benedict. The mother, while upholding her husband,
sympathised m secret with her son. The old priest
spoke with uncommon harshness, and inflicted a
penance, which one fears was not observed.

" Sir Thomas," said her ladyship at lart, " do you
not perceive what is going on before your eyes ? "

" I see it very well," he answered. " But I desire
our sons to settle their differences without my inter-
ference. They are young English gentlemen."

" My father was a noted fighter. Both my brothers
arc much addicted to the duello," she warned him.

" I have not forgot," said Sir Thomas. " Within the
next few days I start for London. Martin, I believe,
will determme the date of my departure. David will
brood over an insult. Martin strikes at once."

After that Sir Thomas made much of his younger son,
and appeared not to notice his delinquencies ; which to
be sure were hardly serious, for though he often tres-
passed in Bezurrel Woods, he had no speech with Cherry;
that young lady being obdurate. But Martin put a
wrong construction upon his father's forbearance, and
became more open in his disobedience, and allowed his

feelings play. , ,

" I trust Mistress Clabar is well, David," he would say

346

THE YOUNGER SON

247

in a sneering fashion. " Yet I do not know hoT> you can
tell me, for I believe you seldom visit her."

One evening the brothers met just within the wood ;
indeed, Martin was not more than a dozen paces from
the lane, when he saw David advancing towards him ;
hearing him first because the young man whistled as he
walked. Fir-trees grew in that place, and a few cones
had fallen. Martin was angered by the knowledge that
David came from Halcyon ; therefore he took a cone
and threw it so that it struck his brother upon the chest.

" I see what it is, Martin," said David, stoppmg short
upon the path. " You mean to challenge me."

" You may take my action as you will," cried Martin.

" I will have you loiow this, brother," replied David.
" You are out of bounds. These woods are mine, and
I do not choose to have you walking here."

" It is tyranny indeed when a son may not walk upon
his father's property," cried Martin hotly.

" There is no tyranny. My father has appointed me
the guardian of these woods, and he has forbidden you
to enter them. You gain nothing by displeasing us."

" Us ! " exclaimed Martin with increasing anger.

" I am the heir. All this property will be mine. You
are entitled to nothing save what the generosity of my
father may bestow. The yoimger son must be kept in
his place. You are rebeUmg against us, brother."

" He swells with a word of two letters like the frog in
the fable," said Martin with contempt.

" Brother, you have been strange with me lately ,"
David continued, still keepirig his good humour. " I
believe you study too much. You have it in your mind
that I ar ^ i pr^anting you— to be plain, you are jealous."

" I sh II aiwiys stand up to daim what is my right."

" But understand, brother, you shall not insult me.
I will not have you lurking in these woods, until my
father withdraws his prohibition ; nor shall I permit
you to throw fir-cones at me. I am a year older than
you ; and a year stronger."

• If

24S

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" I am ten years cleverer."

" That may be. The law of descent does not include
brains in the reckoning. You may read Latin, and
enjoy Greek— which for my part I detest — but all the
learning in the world cannot make you the heir. I shall
not abate one jot of my privileges. Come, brother I "
said David in a kindly voice. " We have been un-
common good friends — side by side we fought against
the town at Oxford. Hang me if I will bear you
enmity."

•• A pretty speech," said Martin bitterly. " Why in-
deed should the one who has possession of the loaf bear
enmity to the crumb-snatcher ? I admit your right to
the first place in my father's favour, to the chief part of
his wealth, to the whole of his landed property ; for you
had the fortune to come first into the world."

" But you wiU not admit my right to Mistress Clabar.
I fear, brother, we cannot melt her into guineas nor yet
divide her into acres."

" You are a rascal ; ay, a precious blackguard,"
Martin shouted, almost choking in his passion.

" Calm yourself, brother," said David coldly.

" I wUl when I have beat you. With a smile upon
your face you talk of sharing her that you may mock
me. Divide her ! Would I spare you a single hair from
her head, were you mad for it ? Could you allow the
thought to come into your mind if you loved her ? I
would spare you nothing — not a blade of grass her foot
had pressed."

" Brother," muttered David, beginning to glow,
" you had best get home, and shut yourself up with
your favourite author."

" I will fight you, rascal ! Ay, and I'll fight my
father, and any other man who stands between Cherry
and myself, whether he be giant or pygmy."

" You are a fool, Martin, to arouse my anger," said
David, dropping at last the friendly title of brother.
" You cannot beat me ; and if you could you would

mum

THE YOUNGER SON

249

find yourself no better for it. My father desires his heir
to marry Mistress ClalKur ; and I am like to be more
obedient than yourself."

" You may beat me ; but unless you kill me "

" Let's have no more of this," broke in David roughly.
" Look at this arm — ^twice the strength of yours— an
arm which has broken horses ; while yours has done
litl^ save hold a book— and whip a woman."

" You dog I " sobbed Martin. Then he stumbled
towards his brother and kicked him.

David went white and had much difficulty to restrain
himself. He put out his arm and pushed Martin ofi,
murmuring, " We must wipe this out."

" With pistols ! If you take her from me, you may
kill me. If I kill you, I may win her yet."

" Swords," said David thickly. " I'll use no other
weapon."

" I swear to bring a pistol and shoot you. Follow me
— or if you must play the tyrant walk in front."

It was not far to the clearing where the battle with
Cherry had taken place; and here Martm paused,
groaning with memories, and carrying a passion far too
strong for him ; and said as calmly as was possible,
" In this place at sunrise — ^unless you choose to play
the coward."

" I would advise you to restrain your tongue,
Martin," said his brother fiercely. " I am far more
cool than yourself, though you have called me dog and
kicked me ; yet I have passion in me. I have no wish
to be the only son."

" The younger, it seems, is-iwt allowed to live. Go
your way now. We do not meet again, nor speak, until
the dawn."

" Martin I " called David, conquering his baser feel-
ings with an effort, " I am bound in honour not to
mention this affair to any person. It is my present
purpose to Ining no weapon. I will meet you here, and
fight you ; but let it be in manly fashion with the fists."

ill
It

rSl

350

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" This it lor Cherry," shouted Martin. " And for her
I will fight you to the death."

He staggered away into the wood, blind to the path-
way; while David went in the opposite direction,
muttering :

" This IS like to be an awful business, and my lips are
sealed. I must get first to the house and hide the pistols.
If the cnued fool knew all, he would not threaten, and
he would not fight ; but here again my lips are sealed
by ionour."

LHnner at Bezurrel was served at five, and had there-
fore been partaken of before the meeting of the brothers
in the wood. Martin went towards Great Gwentor, that
he might moan for an hour among the rocks. David re-
tuined with all possible speed ; and some minutes later
grave John Clabar waited upon Sir Thomas at the out-
ward door with an urgent message.

"Come within, honest John," said the baronet,
taking him by the hand.

" I thank you, sir. but would not detain you. I come
like the burd of night, I fear, to croak ill-omen," replied
the clerk.

" 'Tis a fine evening. I will take a turn with you in
the park," said Sir Thomas, calling to a servant for his
hat and cane.

" Will you ^t take your cloak, sir ? "

" Why should I, John ? "

" You said 'tis a fine evening ; but I can perceive
that a storm is coming upward from the sea."

" Give me my cloak," Sir Thomas ordered.

They walked a little way along the avenue, then
turned into the open park. Here Clabar pointed
toward the north and said, " You may see yonder,
travelling slowly, clouds like dark fleeces. When these
settle of an evening, sir, the night promises to be
wild."

" And you come with these clouds to bring me ill
tidings of my sons."

THE YOUNGER SON

251

" Nay, f'r if you know all I might have spared my
labour/'

" What is your knowledge ? "

" I was talang my evening walk through the woods,
when I heard high voices. I listened for some time,
deeming it my duty to do so, for I could tell the sounds
were full of danger to your house. It was not necessary
to advance and play the spy, for the voices would
almost have carried to my door. Sir, your two sons
propose to fight at daybreak."

" Your daughter, John I " exclaimed Sir Thomas,
after a moment's silence. " I have longed for a lovely
daughter, even like Cherry — and now, John I Provi-
dence gives with one hand, but threatens to take away
with the other."

" Sir, you will take some immediate action ; for I do
not like to mention this to Cherry."

" You are right, John. Do not vex her with a tale of
mischief she is in innocence guilty of. Yet I would
speak to her. Await me here, while I return to see my
lady, and give some orders."

Clabar had not long to lean against a tree with folded
arms, watching the changes in the northern sky ; for
Sir Thomas was quick in action when his mind was
settled. They went together towards the woods, where
darkness had fallen ; and as they entered the shadows
Sir Thomas stopped his companion to wring his hand.

" You have rendered me the greatest service, honest
John," he said with some emotion. " This is a matter
which must have escaped my knowledge. You believe
I know everything, yet you do not think so in your
heart, since you came to warn me. It is true I knew
something of this matter, but not the whole ; and with-
out your added iniormation my knowledge would have
availed me nothing. Therefore I thank you with all
my soul."

" Sir, I am heavily in your debt," replied Clabar.

They discovered Cherry engaged among her flowers,

■■ "1;

35a

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

though it was difficult to see ; destroying slugs, and
seekmg to trap a mole which worked havoc in the
border. Sending Clahar within, Sir Thomas drew
Cherry outside the fence, and told her he was likely to
be absent for some weeks, during which time he desired
her to go often to Bezurrel and entertain my lady with
her chatter.

" Gladly," she said. " Do you go in search of Ruth? "

" I shall strive my utmost to d^cover her. To-night
I visit you, that I may say farewell, dear child ; and
warn you against Grambla."

" He does not enter into my existence," she said
scornfully. " Long ago I swore to whip him, but now
I think he is not worth the trouble ; for he has become
like one of these black slugs, slow and lazy, hiding by
day and prowling at night. Indeed I would no k>nger
wear these clothes did I not fceJ so much at my oue in
them."

" Peace, pretty chattertr I " said Sir Thonas.
" Grambla mH soon awake from his stupor and com-
mence mischief. It may happen before my return, and
so I warn you. If he tempts you to enter Coinagehall,
do not go. And should you see strangers in Moyle,
beware of them ; for Grambla may devise some plan
to carry you away."

" Now you approach the real purpose of your visit '
said Cherry, when he seemed to hesitate. " A woma ■
is supposed to enjoy the last word ; and that is tme
when 'tis the word of conquest. But a man will talk of
a thousand idle matters before he reaches the words he
came to utter."

" Sorceress ! " said Sir Thomas. " When the cry
goes up to drown the witch of Moyle, it will not be
Mother Gothal we must rescue. I have some words for
your ear, young lady. You remember your first visit
to Bezurrel ? "

" When you read from a book of magic and con-
founded me 1 "

THE YOUNGER SON

a53

" And when I spoke of a danger threatening my
house— though indeed I did not see it in the fonn now
present."

" I carried that warning to my bed. And next mom-
vag I perceived your meaning. You were warning me
tnith mif^t come out some day, and then it might so
happen one of your sons might take a liking for me —
amazing things must happen in a world of wonder — and
it would be my duty to frown him away ; for 'tis ' nay.
young gentleman/ when the maid is poor and lowly,
and the young gentleman of quality puts the question.
I have learnt at least the grammar of your warning.
Your younger son has honoured me with the question —
which was indeed put somewhat in the form of an
eleventh commandment ; thou shalt not have any
other man but me — and I ^nt him from me with a
whipping."

" It was bravely done, dear child." said Sir Thomas,
using a lover's voice himself. ' ' I come to-night to with-
draw those words, and to issue these in place of them.
If you have idiection for either of my sons, I beg you
not to hide it at the moment when a maiden may express
her feelings ; for I have so far changed my mind that
now, should David ask for my consent to wed you, I
shall with the utmost happiness give that consent, also
my Idessing to the union."

" A change indeed ! What has caused it — not, I
believe, my face ? "

" It has served."

" Nor yet my character ? "

" That too has served."

" Nor my happiness, my strength ; nay, at this
moment I shall add courage ? I begin to discover
virtues in myself."

" All these have helped, my chattering piece of
vanity."

" Come, listen I I have other questions."

" Which you shall address to the storm. Let thimder

254

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

answer/' replied Sir Thomas, drawing the cloak about
him ; for the wood became merry with tapping of rain
on leaves.

" I beg you to answer — do you know anything of a
sprig of honeysuckle ? "

" You are talking of some dream, child."

" It lay upon the ground as a boundary between my
kingdom and yours; and your hand could alone remove
it. Now you withdraw the barrier and throw two king-
doms into one. Bezurrel Castle is now joined to Halcyon
Cottage. Ay, the court is at Halcyon. We must
plant trees, and scatter flower-seeds, so that Bezurrel
may be brought into the woodland. Oaks only. Sir
Thomas, and honeysuckle shall climb up every one.
Now the thunder rumbles. I need not escort you to
the frontier, for the barrier is down."

" You are a madcap maid ! "

" Free, Sir Thomas ! Free and happy ! This storm
is out of place, for the elements should be calm while
happiness is hatching. Here is a mischievous attempt
of some demon to blast out a pathway by which sorrow
may crawl in. Farewell, Sir Thomas ! Good angels
guard the trees you walk beneath."

" Sweetheart, good-bye ! Were you my own
daughter I could not love you more."

The storm grew fierce as Martin reached Beziurel.
Being informed that my lady desired to see him, he
went to her at once ; and was told : " I am making
changes in the house, and have placed you for to-night
in a different chamber."

" Nearer your own, mother ? " he inquired sus-
piciously.

" On the contrary ; further away."

" I thought, mother, you might wish to hear me
when I entered or left my room."

" That was not in my mind," she said.

Martin remained with his mother some little time, for
she detained him ; and when they parted for the night

THE YOUNGER SON

255

she embraced him with more than her usual affection ;
so that his suspicions became again aroused, and he
asked if she had seen his brother.

" David has not been with me," her ladyship replied.
" I am a little troubled, dear son, for I may lose you
soon. Your father determines to send you upon the
Continent, where you will visit some of my relations,
and complete your education by seeing something of
the world. You will retmn, I know, a brave and
honest English gentleman ; yet I know also the son
I shall receive cannot be quite the same as the dear
wilful lad I send away."

" You have some fear for me, my mother."

" I fear your nature, Martin. You are over-ready to
take offence, and apt to strike the friend who, it may be,
has nothing but affection for you. This lesson you are
to learn : control the little demon who whispers of
fighting in your ear, seek no quarrel, and do not draw
your sword save in defence of your own. or another's,
honour. You have courage, Martin. That will not
serve until you acquire restraint."

There was no sleep for Martin in the different cham-
ber, to which he hardly noticed no portion of his ward-
robe had been moved. The storm continued until mid-
night ; not only upon land and sea, but within his body
also. He dreaded the approach of morning, and grew
cold as he watched the sky for the first breaking of light
which was to summon him to the clearing in the wood«
No withdrawal was then possible ; he could not go to
David's room and offer his hand. That would be
cowardice. Neither could David come to him.

Yet a footstep sounded along the passage, and a hand
knocked firmly at the door. Martin made an effort to
answer, but, when no sound issued from his lips, he left
the bed and advanced to the door, fully expecting to
find his brother ; for he forgot that David would not
know of the different arrangement of the chambers.
He was amazed to find the door already open. Day had

i# MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

not yet broken, while the figure standing by the
tlureshold held no light.

" David I " he wluspered.

" Martin I "

" Father I "

" Dress yourself and follow me."

" But. father "

" No words 1 Disobey me now, and I use you as a
duld, and call the men-servants to dress you. Do not
speak to me again."

He went along the passage and called for lights. A
servant brought candles, and Martin dressed ; while
Sir Thomas stood by, stem and silent . Then he gripped
his son by the arm. and led him down.

The house was lighted, and servants were bustling as
though it had been day. Martin was led into the dining-
room, and here to his amazement discovered breakfast
set out. Sir Thomas forced him into a chair, seated
himself opposite, and still not a word was spoken. But
Martin cotdd hear the bumping of luggage, and while he
tried to swallow meat and drink, horses pranced, wheels
rolled, and there came the flash of lamps across the
windows.

" Father I " he cried, springing up. " It must be
daybreak."

" Be seated, Martin ! "

" Sir, I must go out or be dishonoured."

" Finish your breakfast."

" I can eat no more."

" Then come ! "

" I do not go."

" Martin," said Sir Thomas, " I give ywi the choice
of walking with me to the coach, or of being taken there
by force."

" You are carrying me away, sir I "

" Ay, from yourself."

" And from Cherry," Martin whispered. Then he
cried again, " Sir, I do not go ! "

THE YOUNGER SON

257

Sir Thomas went swiftly to the door. Pausing there,
he took out his watch and held it near the flame of a
candle, then said quietly, " I give you one minute.
When it expires, I call the grooms."

A few seconds they stood, the fatherbeside the candle,
the son leaning over the taWe. Then Martin flung the
chair back, and walked towards the door, passionate
tears streaming down his face. Sir Thomas replaced
the watch in his fob, and followed. A few minutes after-
wards the coach rolled down the avenue, and entered
the lane which would lead into the L(mdon road.

Mum

PART III

CHAPTER I

RUTH AND HER MEDICAL ATTENDANT ARRIVE
AT SALISBURY

Fortune favoured Ruth and her young gentleman, so
that they arrived at the ancient city of Salisbury after
as easy a journey as any couple coidd have wished for.
Having still a good stock of the Grambla guineas, they
put up at an inn, engaged rooms, ordered a dinner,
and proceeded to make themselves at home within a
snug-box of the coffee-room. Ruth, who passed as
Miss Cay, a name which she had no reason to dislike,
was exceedingly weary ; while her hero, who had
fallen somewhat from grace, owing to a sinful crav-
ing after the diamond necklace, chatted in a most
excited fashion :

" We are now in my uncle's country, Ruthie, and
within ten miles of the only place I am able to call
home. To-morrow we ride ever as desolate a road as
you will find in England, leading across these Wilt-
shire downs, where I wandered as a youth, praying
Providence to send me some damsel a thousand times
less fair than yourself to share my solitude. We shall
face the old curmudgeon in his den ; myself in the
penitential attitude of the prodigal returned ; my
Ruthie all tears, like Niobe. I shall offer the old
scoundrel my good horse — 'twill melt him, I warrant,
for he had always a mighty taste for horse-flesh — ^and
promise him I bring a young lady of fortune who has

358

RUTH AND HER MEDICAL ATTENDANT 259

sworn to have me. And after that we go on our knees
to beg a blessing. Horse, penitence, beauty, and
fortune, shall strike the milk of human kindness from
the flint of his heart ; and I believe we shall receive a
hearty welcome."

" That may be, Harry ; but I do not like to hear
you abuse the old gentleman," said Ruth severely.

" Why, sweetheart, did he not turn me out into the
world ? "

" I fear you were always a rogue, and such deserve
harsh treatment. I may yet run, if you do not im-
prove under my teaching. It is, however, my con-
solation to know that you cannot be hanged."

" Sweetheart, do not call up ghosts," he pleaded.
" We shall sight a gallows as we ride in the morning ;
and I do not wish to look in that direction."

" Dear Harry, I do but remind you we are not yet
clear of difficulties. Your uncle may not receive us,
and what shall we do then ? "

" In that case, Rutliie, I can think of nothing but
a trip to London."

" You may be recognised as the ghost of that most
infamous scoundrel. Black Harry — now dead, thank
Godl"

"I am as like to receive a tap on the shoulder in
this city of Salisbury as there. My horse is stolen, so
are my clothes. These guineas are my only property
won fairly, yet justice would declare I stole them as
well."

" And this ring upon my finger ? "

" Stolen, my love."

" Ah, Harry, what wretches we are, for by loving
you I make myself the partner of your sins."

" You forget, little one ! I am now become a
reformed character, and these my sins — which I
repent of heartily — ^have been washed away."

" That is true," said Ruth, always ready to defend
her new theology. " Yet consider the danger, Harry !

36o

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

A coach may drive to this door ; the owner of these
clothes may enter. He would not listen to your words
of penitence ; while the justices — ^who, I have been
informed, are a most unregenerate lot — ^would mock
at the story of your baptism."

" I have chajiged my character, love, and at the
first opportunity I shall change my clothes."

" Return to our plans for the future," said Ruth.
" If you travel to London, I do not accompany you."

" Sweetheart, our marriage I "

" Be patient, Harry. If I could aid you as a wife,
I would indeed be married to you in some dark comer ;
but I believe it will be best to wait until we see our
way more clearly. If your imcle is kind — very well 1
If not, you shall go upon your journey — after first
providing yourself with other garmer ^ — ^while I shall
find a decent lodging. But first you must write for me
to Sir Thomas, begging him to sell my jewels," said
Ruth, joyously adding, "It is a fine thing for a maid
who does not even know her name to have such jewels
for sale."

" He may keep them by him for many weeks," said
Cay. " Nor can he make a sale until he goes to London.
In the meantime, should my uncle not offer his hospi-
tality, we must starve, unless I obtain honest em-
ployment in the metropolis ; for I am not dull enough
to work in the country."

" What honest employment do you know of, Harry ? "

" I am best acquainted, love, with gaming-houses."

" What goes on there, Harry ? "

" Games of cards are played, and gentlemen specu-
late with sums of money ; yet by some strange mis-
chance they always lose."

" Is honesty always practised ? " she asked earnestly.

" I fear, little one, there may be sometimes corrup-
tion in the management. There are a great number
of officials attached to these houses ; and, while
the majority act with honesty, or are indeed not

RUTH AND HER MEDICAL ATTENDANT a6i

indifferent to that virtue, others are little better than
common cheats."

" Then I pray you have nothing to do with such
people."

" A man in need of employment may sniff at his
butter, but he must not despise his bread," said Cay.
" I should enroll myself among the number of officials
who are honest ; and for your information, sweet-
heart, I shall tell you their names, and what manner
of duties they perform. First, we have the gentle-
man known as Commissioner, who is always a pro-
prietor, and looks in of a night to watch the run of the
game, and audits the weekly accounts ; he, for all I
know, may be a churchwarden and very honest fellow.
Next In rank comes the Director, who has charge of
the room, and, as 'tis a part of his duty to see that
the play be fair, he will indeed be honest. The
Operator has merely to deal the cards, and whether
he does so fairly, or employs a trick, we are not to
know ; therefore we shall give him the benefit of the
doubt, and call him honest. Two Crowpees, one upon
either side of the table, keep their eyes upon the cards,
and accept money for the bank; these gentlemen,
bemg cashiers and occupying a position of trust, are
surely upright. The Puff is a pleasing fellow, who is
supplied with money to decoy others to play ; while
the Clerk is a check upon the Puff, to see that he uses
not the money for himself. The Squib is a Puff of
lower rank. The Flasher is a gentleman of loud voice,
very finely clad, who walks about the room, swearing
he has himself broke the bank many times. The
Captain, who is retired from the army, fights any
gentleman who is peevish after losing his money. The
Attorney, who is a solicitor from Newgate, gives the
law to the company. The Dunner goes about to
receive money lost. The Waiter serves wine and
snuffs the candles. The Usher lights gentlemen up
and down the stairs. The Porter, who is dismissed

262

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

from the anny, is stationed at the door to challenge
suspicious characters. The Orderly Man walks up
and down outside the house, and makes a signal to
the Ptorter at any approach of constables. While the
Runner gets knowledge of the movements of justices.
Besides these regular officials are link-boys, cluurmen,
and drawers, who receive a reward of half a guinea for
bringing news of justices meetmg or constables being
out. And attached to the house are many Bails,
Afl&davit-men, Bravos, and Money-lenders for the
convenience of patrons."

" I am convinced they are a parcel of scoundrels ;
and would rather you filled mud-holes in the public
roads than be associated with such people," said Ruth
vehemently.

"The employments that are open to the gentle-
man of no profession are few, dear Ruthie. If you
like not the gaming-house, I must even try for a
livmg upon the turf."

" What is done upon the turf ? Would you turn
gardener, Harry ? "

" Nay, child ! I would act as the agent of gentle-
men who would buy or sell nmning horses."

" I like not that either," she declared.

"Then, sweetheart, I must write for the book-
sellers."

" Dear Harry," said Ruth gravely, " I am indeed
sorry to think you cannot devise a decent way of

living."

Their conversation was interrupted by a marvel-
lously thin waiter with unhappy eyes, who came that
moment to prepare the table. Cay inquired whether
they had in the house a London newspaper. " For,"
said he in a whisper to Ruth, " I would scan the
advertisements."

The waiter, wrapped in his melancholy, appeared
not to notice the question, since he made no sign ;
but upon his return, with articles for the table, he

RUTH AND HER MEDICAL ATTENDANT 363

presented a folded sheet to Cay, with the cold state-
ment :

" 'Tis but a week old ; but, sir, in my opinion, a
very silly paper without one dram of wit."

" Then I perceive, waiter, you can read," said Cay.

" Sir, I do far more than read. I am an author, sir.
I have latcily wrote a Treatise on Mineral Waters,
which I believe will be found a learned and valuable
production, when I have the opportunity to present it
to the booksellers."

" I believe you will get more money by serving
wine," said Cay.

" 'Tis very likely, sir. Are you a Grubaena, si ' "

" I do not understand your question."

" Then I know you are not one of us. We authors,
sir, are wont to call ourselves Grubaenas, which signifies
a dweller in mean places ; and when well received by
the pubUc, we are apt to designate to ourselves the
lustrous title of Parnassian. Sir, I have a plain and
mean exterior appearance," continued the unhappy
waiter. " But could you look into me, the prospect
would enlargen, and you would receive delightful
entertainment. I trust, sir, I am not superfluous to
this lady and yourself."

" We are both honoured by your confidence," said
Cay.

" Then, sir, I shall certainly proceed. There is a set
of books nowadays that I can't account for, nor yet see
the use of them. I mean the Novels. I should not
believe there could possibly exist such awkward,
'yrong-headed authors, if I had them not before my
ey s. What do these people mean by translating the
bv'-iness of life into low and creeping pro^ ? But,
sir, there's another thing which calls for animadver-
sion ; tii the publishing of these common Maggies,
^■uii of i«wd stuff and dirty personalities."

" Yii.i r?fer to the Magazines ? "

" I do indeed, sir. But what frightens me most is

a64

HOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

tL: street ballads and last confessions. The wings oi
Minerva are clipped, and her classical gown is fouled
with mire. Authorship, sir, is in mighty bad plight
at present."

Is there not Mr. Addison ? " inquired Cay.

" Mr. Addison, sir, has a very shabby wit. He
writes ill — very ill. His Spectator — much prated of,
sir — b no better than a common Maggy. But there is
hope — great hope, sir — for literature." The waiter
ducked his head to whisper. " Next week I go to
London."

" That will be good news for the booksellers," said
Cay.

" I believe, sir, I shall be given a flattering recep-
tion. I should be sorry to think I could disappoint
the public," said the waiter, perceptibly warming.
" Besides my Treatise upon Mineral Waters I have an
excellent Droll entitled the Death of Cleopatra. I
write, sir, with the greatest voracity and without the
least vanity. I challenge my brother Grubsenas to
show a category equal to mine. They have all relied
upon some single branch of science, as Divinity and
R)etry ; but I have scorned to confine my Pegasus.
A perfect Cyclopaedia may be collected from my genius.
I have carried the mystery of rhyming to a dizzy
height. And I hope to attain so vast an ascendancy
over the public that they will turn to any subject by
my advice and direction. Sir, I propose, when leisure
affords, to do the History of the World in hexameters
and pentameters. My extraordinary way of writing
must gain the admiration of the public, as it has
already aroused the enmity of authors ; for one gentle-
man, here in Salisbury, who is pleased to regard him-
self a scribbler of verses, invited me to a tavern under
pretence of reading his new lines ; and there, sir, he
put poison into my mineral water. This merely con-
tributed to my health, as it proved to act as physic,
and I was at the time much in need of an emetic

■siil

RUTH AND HER MEDICAL ATTENDANT 265

Coming, sir. coining 1 " called the waiter, becoming
again unhappy as he walked away.

Left again to themselves, Cay opened the soiled
newspaper, and began to search for the advertise-
ments, which were not numerous, reading aloud for
the benefit of ignorant Ruth :

" 'A woman delivered of a child with two faces like
Janus ; and 'tis said by the superstitious to be an
emblem of universal peace. A worthy soul, Jane
Hooks of Hoxton. aged one hundred and twelve, has
got a new set of teeth, which drove out the old stumps.
In Scotland a minister of the kirk fined bv his assembly
for powdering his wig upon the Sabbath. Yesterday
the Queen cupped and blooded for her swelling in face
occasioned by violent cold. Timbridge Wells more
full than ever was known, and play higher than usual.
To be let, a large warehouse in Bartholomew Close,
very fit for bookselling or the storing of old lumber.
Celestial Anodyne Tinctiure cures everything ; no
quack trifling thing, acting by stupefaction, but a
hiendly, balsamic, and subtle medicme.' "

Cay rose with a shout, then banged the newspaper
on the table, his fist upon it, and stared at his sweet-
heart in somewhat frightened fashion.

" What is it, Harry ? " she asked.

" Listen, my love I " said Cay. And he proceeded to
read in a guarded voice :

" ' At Winterberry, near Salisbury in Wiltshire,
young ladies are boarded, and taught the various arts
of deportment, also writing and arithmetic after an
easy and peculiar manner, by Eliza Cay.' "

" Who is Eliza Cay ? " cried Ruth.

" This means, sweetheart, that my old uncle is now
a married man ! "

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CHAPTER II

A FOOLISH OLD GENTLEMAN ENTERTAINS TWO
DISTINGUISHED GUESTS

WiNTERBERRY parish Stretched across the downs, its
church upon the highest point, its manor-house upon
the lowest. It was surrounded by roads, which
seemed to have been made for pedestrians and pur-
poses of agriculture ; for no public coach came within
five miles of the village, which remains to this day one
of the loneliest places in the land. Uncle Cay had a
very pretty property and well-wooded. Much time was
spent in chopping at the wood ; an occupation which
kept him in health and the hearth in fuel. He
looked a ferocious old gentleman, as he stood upon
the lawn, with stiff gauntlets and chopper, a black cap
upon his pate, for his only decent periwig was not to be
risked in the shrubbery, and besides it put- him into a
mighty sweat upon a summer's day ; his stockings a
mass of ripples, and his small-clothes unfastened at
the knee. He was not respectable in appearance ;
but then it was fooUsh to play the buck in Winter-
berry, where there were few eyes to admire, and not a
tongue to flatter.

Great trifles occupied his days. That morning it
was a matter for deliberation whether a long branch
of sycamore, the twigs of which raked the window of
his bedroom, should be trimmed, cut back, or lopped
off at the trunk. Should the knife prune, the chopper
hack, or the saw amputate ? Uncle Cay was vexed by
the threefold head of this portentous question. The
removal of the outer twigs would ensure more peaceful

266

A FOOLISH OLD GENTLEMAN

267

nights ; the cutting back of the branch would admit
more light ; while the lopping at the trunk might
throw open a more extensive vista. But here Uncle
Cay paused to put the supplementary question —
would the vista be assured ? It was by no means
certain, for while the branch remained in umbrageous
possession of the window, no powers of the human
imagination could foresee precisely what view would
be opened by its fall ; while once removed it could
never be restored should the result be disappointing.
So Uncle Cay placed gloves, knife, chopper, and saw
upon the turf ; then trotted off to his bedroom window
that he might again inspect the obstructive briiach
from that point of vantage. His trifling labour was
not to be laughed at, for a century later grave and
learned gentlemen of Winterberry were vexed in soul
by precisely identical problems.

In the ordinary course of things a full hour would
have been employed in estimating the amount of
space occupied by the bough, what daylight it dis-
placed, what air it excluded, with a hundred lesser
details, more particularly concerning other trees in
the immediate background ; but the speculations of
Uncle Cay were brought to nought presently by the
most astonishing apparition of a young lady, who
appeared at the shrubbery turning, and tripped
towards the door, bringing amazement to the mind of
Uncle Cay and reprieve to the branch of sycamore.

" A maiden alone ! And a woundy pretty one,"
muttered the old gentleman, whose eyes were well
enough. Then he ran to the head of the stairs and
called excitedly :

" Eliza ! Our first pupil is about to sound the
knocker. And, by heaven, she will do ! "

An elderly woman came to the foot of the stairs,
pulling o& an apron, and attempting to wipe her
hands with it at the same time.

" I saw her from the kitchen "

S«J

268

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" There goes the door ! " cried Uncle Cay.

" The young lady cannot be a pupil, for 'tis not
likely she would come alone, ou foot, and bring no
luggage."

" A letter may have miscarried — or it may be she
has travelled faster than the mail. A chaise may be
waiting at the gate. Remember what I taught you,
Eliza ! Show her the scheme for the classes which
I wrote out. And use her with great tenderness,
Eliza."

Uncle Cay was unbuttoning as he spoke, standing
in a position of perfect privacy ; and, while Eliza
made for the door, he ran to the press for his pedagogic
garments ; rejoiced to discover the wig upon its block
in fairly good curl ; listening his hardest, and chuck-
ling in vast content, when a fresh young voice could
be heard distinctly asking, " Is not this the Academy
of Eliza Cay ? "

" It is, young lady," replied the woman. " Will
you step inside and be seated ? And may I bring
you a glass of gooseberry or of cowslip wine ? "

" Port wine, you fool ! Port for pretty pupils ! "
muttered Uncle Cay, while he struggled into a clean
shirt.

"No, I thank you," replied Ruth. "Will you
infOTm Mrs. Cay I wait upon her ? "

" I am the lady you wish to see," came the
answer ; and Uncle Cay swore, because he knew that
the subsequent silence implied an awkward interval.

" I shoiild be glad to know upon what terms young
ladies are admitted to your Academy," continued
Ruth somewhat pertly.

" I will bring you the paper," said Eliza.

" Prospectus, blockhead ! " groaned Uncle Cay,
while he fastened his neckband.

" I perceive young ladies are here taught to dance,
to use the fan, and to flirt the handkerchief," said
Ruth.

A FOOLISH OLD GENTLEMAN

269

" ry genteel accomplishments, young lady."
30 writing in an elegantly sloping hand, and
PAith-iietic after an easy method."

" Very useful occupations, yoimg lady."

" No fees are mentioned."

" That matter can be arranged," said Eliza
pleasantly.

" Are there many pupils ? "

" None at the present time. You are the first."

" The zany ! She will spoil all. Why was I not
dressed for this occasion ? " gasped Uncle Cay, as he
drew on white stockings, then searched in vain for his
silver-buckled shoes.

" Does not Mr. Cay dwell here ? " inquired Ruth,
feeling that information was reaching her in patches.

" He is engaged in his studies, young lady, and
must not be disturbed until I hear his door open. He
is a very learned gentleman and most kindly."

" The gentleman who is my guardian waits outside,"
said Ruth, prevaricating with a blush ; for Cay stood
a full mile from the house, although it was true he acted
as her guardian. " You must faxow, Mrs. Cay, I am
an orphan, and a young lady of fortune, but my
education has been so much neglected that I do not
even know my letters."

" This is mighty fine ! " said Uncle Cay, as he with-
drew his head from the passage, to powder his wig and
scent his handkerchief. " A young lady of fortune,
egad 1 An orphan, egad ! Cannot tell her letters !
Zounds, but I'll teach her ! "

" That was the master's door, I believe," said Eliza.
" Ay, I hear him coming. Mr. Cay, here is a young
lady who desires to become a pupil."

" Why was I not informed of this honour ? "
demanded the old gentleman in great severity of tone,
mincing downstairs, shaking his lace ruffles, holding a
perfumed handkerchief between finger and thumb.
" Young lady, your most obedient servant."

'i;

270

MOYLE CHUPCH-TOWN

Ruth smiled in her best fashion, rose and curtseyed
to Uncle Cay, who turned in his toes and capered to
her side with the utmost alacrity ; while she resumed
her seat, conscious of dusty shoes, and murmured her
apologies for arriving in this imexpected fashion.

" My t^iardian and I have come a long journey,"
she explained.

" And you are now exceeding weary," cried Uncle
Cay, with more admiration than was needful. " Eliza,
a glass of port wine for the illustrious pupil."

" I thank you, but I drink no wine," said Ruth.
" We saw your advertisement by chance, sir, in the
Morning Advertiser ; and as my education has been
much neglected "

" We discuss no business till you are rested," inter-
rupted Uncle Cay. " EUza, tell the maid to prepare
a chamber — the best — for this distinguished pupil.
And Eliza ! let us have early dinner — and a capon
roasted. And Eliza 1 open the packet of Bohea
which I brought from Salisbury. My dear young
lady, oblige me by making use of this gilt foot-
stool."

" But, sir, you have not listened to me," cried Ruth
in some dismay. " Indeed, I am not weary, as we
lay last night at Salisbury, and this morning have
but ridden from the city. My guardian waits outside.

You will surely wonder why he has not entered with

...» "
me.

" I do assure you, dear young lady, all the curiosity
within me is strained to breaking-point," declared
Uncle Cay.

" I have a confession to make, sir."

" Why do you stay, Eliza ? " asked Uncle Ca^ . " I
have given my orders — the best chamber to be
prepared, a capon to be roasted, the Bohea for this
young lady — and rum-punch for myself," added the
disgraceful pedagogue.

" Does Mrs. Cay teach ? inquired Ruth in a

A FOOLISH OLD GENTLEMAN

271

wondering voice, when the obviously unlearned
woman had departed.

" My priceless pupil ! " cried the old gentleman
with tremendous vigour. " The good lady manages,
she caters, she plays the sacred part of chaperon. In
the schoolroom she is but a looker-on. She sits with
her sewing as it might be there, while I sta^.a with my
book as it might be here ; for I am the teacher,
beauteous pupU. 'Tis I that rear the tender feet to
minuets, and show pink fingers how to shoot the fan.
Nor am I neglectfid of such minor accomplishments
as writing and arithmetic ; having indeed invented an
easy fashion for the acquiring of both these arts. Yet
'tis in the more genteel accomplishments I pride myself."

" Are you not desirous, sir, to hear my confession ? "
SLsked Ruth, somewhat bewildered by this capering
little pedagogue.

" First of pupils— the best ! " cried Uncle Cay. " I
am upon hot coals of expectancy all this while."

" Well, sir," said Ruth, flushing in the prettiest
fashion. " my guardian is your nephew."

" Zounds I My rogue of a nephew. Job ! "

" TV 3 same, sir. But he is better known to me as
Mr. Harry."

" That young scoundrel guardian of a yoimg lady
of fortune, of great — nay, of surpassing, beauty 1
Why, he must be a fine gentleman I He has shot up
in the world. My lovely pupil 1 I am your master,
and I am at once to teach your ignorance how
dangerous it is to be associated with a scamp."

" I find your nephew a gentleman. He is much
improved since you parted from him," said Ruth with
dignity.

" Maybe I Maybe I I knew there was gentility in
Job. But he is a sad dog, my dear pupil. Would go
after wenches, and talk me down at my own table.
Your guardian ! Why, the dog must have his pockets
full of money."

273 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" You must know I am ar phan, Mr. Cay, and
have no knowledge of my parents. I am not now
disposed to tell you by what strange chance your
nephew became my guardian. Let me say he has
been faithful to me, while my contidence in him is
imbounded. I believe he was once somewhat loose in
his character ; but he has now come right."

" I shall watch yoiu: interests, I promise you,"
said the old man heartily.

" I am most willing to place myself under your
charge," said Ruth respectfully. " But, sir, I may
not remain in this house without my guardian's con-
sent."

" A fig for Job's consent ! Why, he must have
given it already since he brought you here."

" And without his presence, sir."

" Zounds ! Dost mean, young lady, you require
Job to come into my house, and eat at my table — and
run after my pupils— and drink my wine ? Nay, I
shall never consent to that."

" I go then to my guardian," said Ruth, rising, " and
inform him we are not to receive a welcome."

" We ! " cried Uncle Cay. " Be seated, fair pupil,
and receive your first lesson in etymology and syntax.
We— plural of I. Example, you, I, and others. I—
nominative case, singular, Latin ego. Example, I
stay. He — ^masculine pronoun of the third person,
'ixample, he goes. Illustrated also by the homely
proverb, ' Two's company, three's none.' "

" I thank you, sir, although you teach me nothing,"
Ruth replied. " With my guardian I stay, without
him I go. I bring a message from your nephew. He
desires to be reconciled with his only living relative,
and he begs your acceptance of a very handsome
horse."

" Job is my own flesh and blood, you see ; and for
my part I always professed friendship for him," said
Uncle Cay. " Is it a colt or filly, my dear ? What

A FOOLISH OLD GENTLEMAN 27J

breeding has it ? I'll find that out by the make of his
pastern. He may have got some knowledge in the
mysteries of the turf. He may be of consequence in
the racing world. I'U do something for him. Say no
nore, my pretty pupil ; no more words to this matter.
I "J do for him ; I'll invite him to my house. Bring
him to me and I'll give him a hearty welcome, od-
zc'okers I will, for your sake. Eliza I let the maid
prepare two bedrooms. My nephew has returned. He
may be an Arabian barb for all I know. He shall have
the best stall in the stable. I told you, Eliza, he would
make a fine gentleman one of these days, and return
to Winterberry with a fortune."

Ruth slipped towards the door ; but the old gentle-
man was by no means ready to see her go and followed
protesting his willingness to make the journey him-
self. This Ruth would not allow and, drawing herself
free from the ardent pedagogue, she hurried to a chalk-
pit beyond the village where Harry had engaged to
wait for her.

" The old rascal plays at some game. This scheme
of his is nothing but a trick, but it comes mighty handy
to our purpose. He shall teach you, while I super-
intend his stables, until your diamonds are sold ; and
then we marry in Winterberry church and drive off to
happiness."

So spake Harry, but Ruth had some conscientious
scruples which she expressed by the question, " Are
we not deceiving the old gentleman ? "

" We must do so," Cay answered. " For mind you,
sweetheart, if the old rogue thought we had no money
he would set the dogs on us. What manner of a
woman is my aunt ? "

" She is dull and gross. She must be near sixty
years of age. I was much taken aback when she told
me her name ; for I had supposed she was the cook."

" I teU ye again, sweetheart, he old fox plays some
game. The baggage is never his wife. He was one of

274

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

your hard-sldimed old bachelors when I left him ; and
to speak the truth I found him blind to women;
though it was said he ogled the wenches from his pew
in church. Yet a man may do that as a harmless
recreation."

" Harry, I must have a name," she whispered.

" I had thought of that. I shall call you Miss Just,"
he answered.

They mou ted the horse, which had served them so
well, and rode through the deserted village — for men
and women were at work in the fields — ^to the gate of
the manor. Immediately Uncle Cay came running
along the carriage sweep, shouting in vast excitement :

" Zounds, he's a good 'un I I can see that by the
way he moves. Got by a racer, I warrant. Will win a
plate at Newmarket. Let me see his teeth — open
your mouth, my beauty. Thunder, he's four years
old I Can carry weight — ^will win a handicap. Give
me your hand, Job. I thought you had grown a
gentleman and forgot us all."

" I am sorry, sir, for the way I abused your kind-
ness. I trust to please you better m the future," said
the nephew bluntly.

" You have been a sad dog, Job. As you are my
own flesh and blood, do ye see, I'll say no more about
it. You bring me a fine horse and a fair pupU. Where
is your luggage ? "

" Here," said Ruth, pointing to the pack, which
the kindness of Lady Just had provided for her.

' ;mall bundle, egad, for a young lady of quality,"
said ^ncle Cay suspiciously.

" I have less, and must seek from you an intro-
duction to the best tailor in Sahsbury. This yoxmg
lady and I have been most unfortunately robbed of
all that we possessed," declared Harry, bringing a
flush to his young lady's face.

" Eh ! " cried Uncle Cay. " All that you possessed."

" We have but ten guineas between us as w; stand.

A FOOLISH OLD GENTLEMAN 275

We are fleeced, uncle, and to speak plainly we did well
to escape with our lives."

" A pretty business," muttered the old gentleman.
•• I must have a word with you in private, Job. Young
lady, oblige me by entering the house, and making
yourself at home. Lead the horse to the stable. Job."

" I believe you are married, uncle," said the young
man, immediately Ruth had turned her back upon

them.

" Married, you rogue ! " cried Uncle Cay.

" Eliza Cay here instructs young ladies "

" Fudge 1 Thou art a fool," said the old man testily.
" Hast forgotten old Liz, my housekeeper ? A gentle-
man does not open an .icademy for your" ladies,
therefore I put the business in the name of Eiiza Cay,
and would let it be thought by parents she is my wife."

" What is your purpose, uncle, in opening this

Academv ? "

" I'll hear no more questions. Y^ a shall know soon
enough, and 'twill be when I learn something more of
this young lady and yourself."

This important conversation did not take place
at once, as Uncle Cay was kept well occupied in trying
the paces of the horse, and satisfied by attempting to
Iraw up its pedigree ; over the wine he talked of little
else, and appeared to avoid the subject of Ruth,
whom he pestered with his attentions as master : one
hour of dancing, another of reading, the next of
f 'rting, although the old fellow did not know the steps
.f the mi iuet m ,1 himself required a spelUng-master ;
but concemin;. ae ai ts of flirtation he possessed some
knowledge. Hov*ever, Ruth did not much understand
his by-play wt»*i handkerchief and snuff-box, and
proved an iV t'' wKn mvited to respond to his
various acts < try.

Uncle Cay «oased to speak by three incidents.

The greatest f^ =?se was the rebellion of Ivuth. who
intimated with ti*e utmost plainness that she regarded

a76

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

dancing rts a piofane pastime, and further declined to
attend the parish church on Sunday. The second was
a request from Harry for an introduction to the best
tailor in Salisbury. While the third was a windy ni^ht
which kept the twigs of the offending branch rakmg
his window in perpetual discord.

Upon the Monday morning Harry borrowed his own
horse to journey into town, and Ruth insisted upon
going with him as far as the chalk-pit ; contrary to
the instructions of the pedagogue, who waited to give
her a lesson in words of one syllable. The young man
was carrying to the post a letter, which he had written
the previous day, giving Sir Thomas Just their address
and pressing him to turn the diamond necklace inl ■
cash as soon as possible, and appoint a meeting-plac-
for the hanc'ing over of the money. They also required
a small surr. a advance.

" The sooner we are out of Winterberry the better,"
said Ruth. " I did not like to hear you call your imcle
an old scoundrel, but I be^reve now you judged Wm
fairly. He has taught Wmself a very unpleasant trick
of ogling. And as for teaching me to read and write —
why, my dear Harry, he finds more interest in my
ankles than my brains."

" The old fellow has reached his second youth," said
Harry. " He understands he wasted his first and has
a very shrewd idea he will not bt ilowed a third.
When I return there may be, I fea something of a
storm ; for after breakfast he drew me aside, and
said he had a few questic-'? to put to me this
evening."

" He has asked mc .«veral about my parents, but
chiefly concerning my fortune. I would not answer
him."

" He grows suspicious, but I shall settle him."

" With the truth, Harry. No more 'ies, I beg of you.
Let us speak the truth if we are to be turned out upon
the plain for it."

A FOOLISH OLD GENTLEMAN 277

i^ave it to me, love," said Cay. We arc to get
through the world as best we can," he ied darkly.

Ru^h returned to the manor, and ^as there in-
structed to r)ccupy the ^-our of study in skipping and
jumping, to increase her agility and grace : the peda-
gor T leaping before her as a model and an ex niple tn
be avoi'^c. . for his knees were stiff, but Ruth soon
decluiec co exhibit her grace and angles, demanding
instead a lesson in caligraphy, which was granted with
reluctance and bad spelling.

During the afternoon she escaped and walked in the
country ; while Uncle Cay, after an ineffectual search
for his pupil, lost his temper, seized an axe, and removed
the offending branch of sycamore by the radical
method of felling the tree — and wkj ever afterwards
afforded from his bedroom window an uninterrupted
prospect of his row of pigsties.

Harry returned during early evening, and discovered
his faithful sweetheart waiting near the chalk-pit. He
appeared somewhat ill at ease, but when Ruth sought
to know the cause he laughed and swore it was nothing.

" The tadlor's assistant — a rogue inclined to be in-
solent — appeared to recognise me. He asked me a
few question"^ concerning my previous tailor, which I
did not choose to answer. I thought maybe he ^lad
seen me when I dwelt formerly with my uncle, but he
deckured he had not been long in Salisbury."

" Had you seen him before, Harry ? " asked Ruth.

" Never, sweetheart. I have a memory for faces,
and had the fellow ever passed by me on the road I
should not have forgot his ugly features."

" I trust no ill wind is blowing," she murmured.

" 'Tis nothing, little one. The rascal saw I was
shabby, and thought he might try his insolence upon
a broken gentleman. I go next week to have my new
coat fitted, and if he tries to play this game a second
time I call the master."

" When does Sir Thomas receive our letter ? "

'f.::i

278

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" Upon the third day from now, if the mail do not
miscarry. We may receive an answer about the time
I go to have my coat fitted. How has the day gone,
Ruthie ? "
" In foolery," she answered.
After a good dinier, when Ruth had retired to
wander in the garder*, Uncle Cay, who was well into
the second bottle, opened business with the observa-
tion:

" Wild courses will never do, Job. I don't begrudge
a young fellow his fling, but why must he always pay
so confounded dear for it ? I make allowances — ^we
are all flesh and blood— but at your age I had as much
prudence as I possess now. I would cut as pretty a
figure with the ladies as any young dog of to-<^y,
and without any of his expense. I made every wench
a compliment, but look ye, Job, I never gave a present
for a kiss. And now I am as young in flesh and blood
as ever I was."

" Very true, sir," said the nephew respectfully.

" A fine maid, egad ! What fortune has she. Job ?
How came you to be appointed her guardian ? Has
she no relations ? I would hear the complete history
of her family."

" That is more than I can tell you, sir."

" You trifle with me. Job. I will hear the true state
of affairs before I finish this bottle, or I shall suspect
the pair of ye to be little better than vagabonds."

" 'Tis a story you may find hard to believe — a very
remarkable story, sir, I do assure you. As I have
already told you. Miss Just is a young lady of great
fortune."

" What is the amoimt ? " asked Uncle Cay.

"To tell the truth, sir, I hardly know myself,
but her jewels alone are valued at twenty thousand
pounds," said the young man recklessly.

" Have you documentary evidence ? " cried the old
gentleman.

A FOOLISH OLD GENTLEMAN 279

" You have my word, sir."

" Your word, sir ! That is not evidence. In this
matter we must have legal proof."

" Next week Mrs. Ruth will be receiving a letter from
Sir Thomas Just regarding the sale of a portion of her
jewels. I imdertake that you shall see this letter."

" This Sir Thomas Just is then a relation. How is
it, sir, he was not appointed guardian in the place of
you — a stranger ? "

" Sir, that is part of my adventure."

" Tell me the whole of this adventure."

" I believe Sir Thomas is very distantly connected,"
said the unhappy nephew. " He is a great gentleman,
while Mrs. Ruth's unfortunate father had lowered
himself by trading. He made a great fortune by
growing the tobacco-plant."

" Well, sir," cried Uncle Cay, " why should he not
have grown the tobacco-plant? How should we
smoke, sir, or enjoy our pinch, if worthy merchants did
not grow the weed, and ship it to us in England ? "

" Very true, sir, but 'tis not the occupation of a
gentleman."

" I would as Uef enjoy a fortune made out of tobacco
as any other. There is nothing dishonourable in the
growing of tobacco, or the shipping of tobacco, or the
smoking of tobacco," cried Uncle Cay, pounding the
mahogany with excited fists. " But your adventure,
as you are pleased to call it, had nothing of tobacco in
it, I beUeve, except the smoke. You are a rogue for
trifling. Job."

" I shall be plain with you, sir, and I shall also be
brief," said the harassed nephew. " After the un-
happy dissension, which caused me to leave you, I
foimd myself thrown upon my resources, and for a
time wandered through the country, endeavouring to
obtain an honest Uving by offering various commodities
for sale ; such as chemical washballs for beautifying
the skin, and blistering-plasters of my own invention.

:!.;

aSo

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

I came after a while to Cornwall, and while going
through the villages of the northern coast a great
storm blew one night — ^for it was winter — and many
vessels were destroyed upon the rocks, towarcb
which they had been partly drawn by the flares of
the wreclrers. So I went to the beach in the hope of
rendering some assistance, and by chance a raft was
flung ashore, and lashed to it were two ladies — ^mother
and daughter — the father havmg unfortunately been
washed away."

" Was there any witness ? " asked Uncle Cay.

" No, sir. I stood alone, and the night was very
dark. I drew the ladies into a place of safety, and
then perceived that the mother was on the point of
death. With her last breath, sir, she implored me to
act as guardian to her daughter, and with her last
action pointed to a bag which was fastened securely
to her. This contained the jewels, title-deeds of the
father's property, and his will appointing his daughter
and only child sole heiress."

" Was there no executor. Job ? "

" The mother was sole executor, sir."

" A very notable adventure. Job."

" A very wonderful adventure, sir."

" Where are these papers ? "

" In the charge, sir, of Mr. Jacob Grambla, a clever
and noted attorney of the church-town of Moyle, in
the county of Cornwall."

" You have no fortune. Job ? "

" I have nothing, sir, save what Miss Just allows me."

" You respect your uncle, I hope. Job ? "

" With all my heart, sir."

" Then we will have another bottle."

This was partly consumed before Unde Cay spoke
again:

" A very wonderful story, Job, and an amazing
pretty maid. I trust her title to the fortune is not
disputed ? "

A FOOLISH OLD GENTLEMAN 281

" Sir, there is neither man nor woman who is able to
dispute it."
" And it is undoubtedly a large fortune ?
" A very large fortune, sir."
"And this Mr. Jacob Grambla proves a worthy

atttrney ? " . „

" A liberal and open-handed gentleman, sir.
" You have wondered. Job, at my plan for opening
an Academy to receive yoxmg ladies ? "

"When I saw your advertisement, sk, I could
hardly believe my eyes."

" I will be plain with you. Job, and brief as you were

with me. I have a great fondness for you. Job."

" I am much obUged to you, sir."

" We are flesh and blood, therefore we shall rely on

one another. I wasted my youth, and idled away my

manhood. Now I would begin again. I would enter

into wedlock. Job. I conceived this idea of an Academy

under the management of worthy old Liz, might bring

into my house young ladies — ^they are few indeed in

this neighbourhood, and such as there are do not show

a proper respect for me— and such young ladies I

might consider with an attentive eye, which would

consider firstly youth, secondly beauty, thirdly fortune ;

for you must know, Job, I am not avaricious of ttas

world's goods. It was a mighty fine idea I think. Job."

" A very happy idea, sir."

" I beUeve it was an inspiration, Job. Was it not a
strange thing that your eyes should have fallen upon
the advertisement ; and that my first pupil should
have been Mrs. Ruth who, I take it. Job, possesses
youth, beauty, and fortune, in very excellent pro-
portions ? " ,,
" It was indeed, sir, a remarkable coincidence.
" It was providential, sir. We will have another
bottle, Job. I love and esteem you, nephew. I
propose to relieve you of all duties, yet I undertake
you shall not lose. I shall make provision for you,

382

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

job. You shall receive from me an income of two
hundred pounds."

" Upon conditions, sir ? "

" Nay, I impose no conditions. You shall live
where you like, and how you please. You did well
for all of us when you brought this yoimg lady to my
house. You have become reconciled to your own
flesh and blood, which is a happy thing. You have
obtained a sure income for life, which is also a happy
thing. And you have introduced your ward to as
gallant an old fellow as may be found in this county
of Wiltshire ; which I believe is the happiest thing of
all. For I have the honour to inform you. Job, that I
am determined to make Mistress Ruth my very
worthy lady — ^and I propose to lose no time about it."

CHAPTER III

A VERY CURIOUS FORM OF HOSPITALITY

From that hour Uncle Cay displayed a singular selfish-
ness with regard to Ruth. Upon one of the rare oppor-
tunities when guardian and ward were able to enjoy
each other's company, they escaped upon the downs
and discussed their distressing comedy; which re-
quired only negligence on the part of Sir Thomas to
promise a dark ending. For Uncle Cay pressed i^
suit with the impatience of age and the ardour of youth.
There was an end to reading, writmg, and arithmetic ;
but exercises ir, the arts of love went on from mom to

eve.

"All this comes of not speaking the truth," said
Ruth, far too unhappy to talk severely. " We longed
to find shelter in Winterberry, and have but run our-
selves into a trap, from which only Sir Thomas can set us
free. Had we revealed the fact that we are lovers

" We should never have passed the rascal's thresh-
old." finished Harr>'. " No more words about the
truth, sweetheart. It will not do for the world. I shall
never again wear a mask. I swear ; but if I am to wm
honesty by sticking to the truth, then I am done for.
Do we not lie in our own defence ? That surely is no
sin ; for even the criminal is urged to plead not guilty.

" I do not Ue."

" You have made the old rogue believe you are a
lady of fortune."

"And so I am."

" You suffer him to address you as Miss Just.

" I wish he would 1 He calls me lamb, dove, kitten,

383

«84

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

duckling ; I am become a menagerie of birds and
beasts. You forced the name of Just upon me, and I
accepted it, having none of my own. I do not lie,
Harry — and you are cruel."

'* Nay, sweetheart, let us not quarrel with all the
world against us. Tell me the latest threat of the old
reprobate."

" If I do not speedily consent, he will close his door
against you. I believe, Harry, I did wrong in leaving
Moyle, and am now being punished for it."

" Two days from now," said the young man hope-
fully, " we should receive a letter from Sir Thomas.
Should he send the advance for which we asked, I shall
get my horse out of the stable in the middle of the
night ; then we ride to some place of safety. Upon
returning to the manor, sweetheart, smile upon the
old fool — I wish he were nothing worse — and encourage
him."

" That I cannot do."

" At least do not repulse him ; lest in a fit of anger he
should turn us out, deny me my own horse, and leave
us to go on foot ; and we cannot go until we receive
an answer from Sir Thomas. Play with the scoundrel,
little one ; promise him a final answer this day sen-
night ; but, I pray you, dangle a little hope before
him."

" If he must live upon the hope I give him, he is like
to starve. But I shall do my best, Harry. I cannot
undo your lies, but I shall teU him a young maid does
not consign herself to the ejection of a grandfather
until she has searched her heart for at least a week.
Is it not strange, Harry, that he does not susp :t you
are in love with me ? "

' You must know, Ruthie, my uncle is a justice of
the peace ; therefore he knows nothing of the law. He
believes a guardian is not permitted to marry his ward ;
and 'tis none of my business to set him straight."

It was certain that Uncle Cay suspected some plot ;

A CURIOUS FORM OF HOSPITALITY ^85

for he went into a passion when Ruth begged for time,
and reminded her, in a sentence not his own, that love
brooked no delay. He loved her entirely, and it was
hardly possible to suppose she would refuse ihe name
of a gentleman of some importance in the county ; at
which Ruth smiled and was tempted to confess she
was not unwilling to accept the name. Warmed by
her smile, the old fellow went upon his knees, bowed his
head before her, and made himself absurd ; while
Ruth, with a view before her of a monstrous periwig,
well curled and powdered, merely sighed and wished
herself leagues away. Encouraged by the sigh. Uncle
Cay looked up and desired to know whether he had
not heard an expression of devotion. Ruth prevari-
cated and still required her seven days' freedom.

" I doubt, Harry," said the old gentleman over the
wine, "you are net so zealous as you might be in
forwarding my suit."

" Have no fear, sir," replied the nephew. " Ruth
likes you very well ; and I am sure she has set her
heart upon becoming Mrs. Cay. But you must humour
her whim, if you would win her. Sir, had you ever gone
angling, you would know that a trout will refuse your
most cunning bait during six days ; but on the seventh
it will rise and snap it. In the matter of coyness, maids
and trouts have much in common."

"Coyness is a mighty pretty thing," Uncle Cay
admitted. " But, look ye, Harry, a maid may show
too much of it. Mistress Ruth should have passed
through the stage of coyness by now. 'Tis her time to
snap ; and, by thimder, she does not snap. If she
dallies, she may lose me, Harry."

" I shall warn her, sir."

" Egad, I'll do that myself. She may find herself
without a husband ; for she is twenty-two, look you ;
she is not yoimg. I would rescue her from a solitary
existence — and she asks for another week ! " cried the
old gentleman, hurrying off to find the peccant damsel ;

286

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

who, when discovered, would not be shaken from her
purpose.

The day arrived when Harry was due in Salisbury for
the fitting of his coat ; and that morning '• *ncle Cay
was in so sour a humour that he locked the stable door,
clapped the key in his pocket, and refused the young
man his horse. " The animal is mine, and I do not
choose to lend him," he growled. So the young man
had to walk, and as usual Ruth accompanied him to
the chalk-pit ; but both of them felt uneasy, for the
letter which was due had not arrived.

" I do not like to leave you, love. I fear my uncle
may have some design against you," said Harry
glumly.

" He can do nothing worse than declare his passion ;
and that I am so well accustomed to hear, it teases me
no more than the buzz of a fly. Yet I hope you will
return quickly, Harry."

" I shall come by Giles the carrier, whose cart leaves
Salisbury about the middle of the afternoon. The mail
will have arrived before then, and may bring our letter."

" If anything should befall you or myself," faltered
Ruth.

" What do you fear, little one ? No harm can befall
me in this part of the country ; while my uncle has Aot
the strength to force you into a post-chaise and carry
you to Scotland. Yet I do not go, if you desire me to
stay."

" Go, Harry," she said. " I shall not be easy in my
mind until I see another coat upon you. I am troubled
with foolish fancies— I had ill dreams last night. Let
us appoint a place where — should we be separated —
we may meet again."

The young man looked disturbed. He drew out his
purse and divided the ten guineas, giving Ruth half,
and saying, " If I should not return, Ruthie— which
is most unlikely — or should my uncle force you away
in my absence ; in either case escape from lum, go to

A CURIOUS FORM OF HOSPITALITY 387

the city of Bath, and stand each day at noon upon the
bridge which crosses the Avon in the north parade.
Now let me say farewell, dear love, and may God help

us!"

Harry descended the long hill at a swmging gait ;
while Ruth, alter standmg to admire his ease and
strength, returned to the manor, and there submitted
herself to much hand-stroking, for during her absence
Uncle Cay had fretted himself into a better humour.
But when the time came for her to set out towards the
chalk-pit, her ancient lover asser1«id his authority and
declared she should not go.

" I discover too much friendship between you and
my nephew. Did I not know that the law forbids a
guardian to marry his ward— which is a very wise
piece of legislation— I should suppose you had set your
cap at the young rascal," he said.

" As we cannot marry, sir, there is no good reason
why I should not go out to meet him," she answered.

" I do not wish it to be put about this village that
my wife preferred the nephew, though she had the good
sense to take the uncle."

" I have not taken you."

"Do so, most beautiful of black-eyed damsels!
Utter the word, my precious gipsy ! Then you shall
go forth to welcome the scapegrace— ay, and you shall
receive my permission to flirt your handkerchief at
him for this one evening."

" I give my ansver, sir, upon the day I choose— and
upon the last moment of that day," she said incau-
tiously.

" Hey ! What is this ? The last moment ! " cried
the old gentleman. " I tell thee,^ Ruth. I will not be
played with. I am no tyrant "

" Then let me pass, sir."

" Nay, I am a qmet old fellow ; but I love thee.
Ruth — ay, I am smitten from head to foot. And, by
thunder, I will marry you."

1 11

;ii

288

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" Do you not perceive, sir, you are interfering with
my liberty ? " she cried.

" No more coob, my dove t No more bleats, my
lamb ! No more mews, my kitten I I have all the
keys in my pocket. You do not go out."

" Then, sir, will you leave me ? "

" Nay, pretty one. I fear you might leap from the
window and do yourself an injury. Be seated, my
little giantess. I would run my fiirigers through your
hair— for I find that ...ighty soothing— and I would
toy with this wonderful piece of nature which admits
to your brain my words of adoration. Maybe I shall
coax a most emphatic yes before our rascal comes."

It seemed only a matter of a few minutes, so Ruth
became resigned ; but with her thoughts far away and
her mind upon the chalky road. Time passed slowly
in that torture-chamber, yet she felt assured Harry
was long in coming With Uncle Cay's fingers in her
ears it was difficidt to distinguish sotmds from outside.
Thei-efore she started when old Eliza entered to remark,
" ITie carrier waits below. He brings an urgent message."

" Where is Harr/ ? " cried Ruth.

She looked round and found herself alone. Eliza
had gone to hear the message, while Uncle Cay was
running to the hall. She dared not follow ; besides
she could not. A fearful muttering of voices went on ;
that was the carrier, rough and surly ; while Uncle Cay
cursed and swore ; and Eliza appeared to be hissing
like a serpent. It was getting darker, and Ruth knew
that she was fainting ; and some awful thing had
happened.

The front door banged with a shock that shook the
windows ; while the master of the house was raving
and cursing his way towards her : "A scoundrel ! A
dog! A devil 1 And my nephew ! My own flesh ar.d
blood, the only son of niy only brother who, though a
fool who could never get money, was as proper a gentle-
man as ever walked on shoe-leather. A common thief,

bett r. This gown,
nch of a f otpad.
, of fortv. o| A
ay (fear. Marry
but rn g! ^ ye
et yt ir me. t as

A CURIOUS FORM OF HOSPITALITY 289

a cutpursc, a footpad ! I must change my name, resign
the commission, and sell my property. I a-Ti disgraced
in the county. I am now the scorn of the « ntire neigh-
bourhood. Let him hang, I say ! Let tht hang him
high I I would not cut him down for thousand
pounds. Hey, mistress I " shouted the old gentleman,
reeling into the room. " You know sometb^ of this.
You have been with your precious guardian long
enough to know how he got his living. But they have
him— ay, they have him last. He was taken in Salis-
bury to-day, and is to be brought beiort the justices at
their next meeting. A rascal, I say— ay^^a pair of
rascals, for I doubt you are no
young woman — 'tis too fine for t '
'Tis stolen, I warrant. A youn
mighty pretty story, but it won'
you 1 Not now, my wench, not
board and lodging. Ay, you «N
you got the clothes you lie in. "

But Ruth heard not a word, for ? ' , had faanted ; and
this was the best thing that ct uld havt happen d
during the old gentleman's hour of ana-chv

Uncle Cay was selfish and hot-temp«*^*i, i*< t he had
a sense of honour. He spoke like a ^« m*rel in his
rage, yet with no intention of behaviii , as .on**. An
old fool, who knew he was ft ohsh. ud believed the
young people were common ad^senturei ^^-^ had made
a game of him, was to be .cuse^ f< '^s of self-
control at the moment wife n the rs. * as Trought
that his name had been disgraced hv m nephew, who
was now found to be no better thai ^ *^t. By the
time Ruth had revived, he too was rti J to a more
equable frame of mind. ,,

" Giles is a worthy fellow, but ap^ to exaggerate,
he said to the horrified Eliza. " I believe a mistake
has been made. Mr. Job is a Cay and a genUeman.
Pressed by poverty, he may have purchased a second-
hand coat. He may even have forgot to pay for it. So

ago

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

he it taken into execution to tatiify tht debt— fcnd to
owe money, Eliia, i» not dishonourable in a gentlenian."

But later in the evening another messenger arrived,
in the shape of a leighbouring farmer ; and he declared
that the story of Giles the carrier was not exaggerated.
Then Uncle Cay locked himself into the dining-room
with a dozen of claret, and drank till midnight ; nor
was he so far gone by then that he could not hear a
timid knock upon the door.

Ruth stood upon the threshold fully dressed ; her
hair upor* her shoulders and her face much disfigured
by weeping. Uncle Cay drew her in, forced her into
a chair, and placed a glass of wine before her ; but the
girl only moaned and shivered until the bemused old
gentleman went upon his knees and kissed her hands.

" I am sorry for the words I spoke, my precious,"
he stammered. " I believe you are a good maid— ay,
an honest maid. That scoundrel is to blame for all.

" Tell me what has happened. I cannot sleep. I
cannot lie down," she moaned. ^^

" You know how the rascal has been living.

" Yes, I knew, and have scolded him for it. He has
come right now."

"Too late, Ruth. They have hmi— and he will

hang."

" He will not hang. He is safe from the rope unless
they make it of silk. He is protected b: St. Ludgvan's
water. I shall go to Bath and find hini on the bridge.
I am to tell you the whole truth. But in pity let me
hear what took place to-day."

" He has run his neck into the noose, said Uncle
Cay unsteadily. "The tailox's assistant— who has
lately arrived from London— recognised the coat our
rascal was wearing, and indeed could not mistake it,
having himself cut the cloth for a worthy gentleman
who resides near Exeter. So he lodges an information ;
and to-dav, when they know Job is to arrive m Salis-
bury, the constables await him in the tailor's shop."

A CURIOUS FORM OF HOSPITALITY 291

Then he mutten to himself. " I shall keep the door of
the stable locked, else I may lose the running horse he

gave me."

Some minutes passed before Ruth could find her
voice. At length she placed her hand in a friendly
fashion upon the old man's sleeve, and began to whisper
the whole true history of her life : how she had been
cast up by the sea and adopted by Grambla ; how
Harry had come to her at Coinagehall ; how she had
been rendered homeless, and cared for by the Justs ;
and how she had fled with the young man who, she
now conjfessed, was her acc^ied lover.

" I spoke the truth when I came here first," she
concluded. " I am a nameless orphan who has never
known her paf^nts. And I am a young woman of
fortvme, for I possess a diamond necklet of great
value."

" Very well," said the old gentleman, almost sobered
by her narrative. " I suspected Job, but I never sus-
pected you. Now he has gone, and you will hear no
more of him. Guardian, indeed 1 A pretty story I I
knew the rogue was lying. We are now to live down
the disgrace and the dishonour he has brought upon
us ; and, I tell ye, Ruth, I cam:ot lead that life alone.

u loved a worthless rascal, and have lost him ; and
tis your greatest happiness to have lost him, for had

u married the rogue he would have used ye ill."

" He would not, for I have reformed him."

" Now, child, you shall reform me. 'Tis an ill story,
et it may lead us to some good. You have indeed
ost the nephew, but what is that when you gain the
uncle ? "

" Do not tease me now," Ruth pleaded.

" I tease ye out of kindness," he declared.

" I shall wed no man if he be not Harry."

" He is dead. chUd."

" He will escape. They will find him innocent. I
know not what will happen, save that the magic of the

292 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

water frees him. During hundreds of years it has never

been known to fail."

" Nay, do not tell me about water. I know httle of
that. Job is damned by the coat he walked in. This
fine gown, child — did he steal that too ? "

" Nay, it was given me by Lady Just, and I cut it to
suit my figure. I am an honest maid."

" 'Tis one of your many virtues that I love. To-
morrow," said Uncle Cay, wobbling over the table as
he sought to snuff the candles, " I visit the curate and
bid him advertise the banns."

" Oh, sir, pity me ! Remember I am alone and un-
protected." ,. J -tr

" You shall obtain protection and lose sohtude. You
shall win the name you value. I am honest with you,
Ruth. Is it not m my power to force you to remam ?
Yet I propose to make you my lady. You might travel
many miles before you had the fortune to discover a
country squire with intentions so honourable as mine,"
declared the old gentleman with perfect truth.^

"Harry will return," Ruth murmured. "And if
not I must go to him." But her head was swimming,
so that she was forced to accept Uncle Cay's assistance
to her room ; and, his feet being uncertain, they both
stumbled sadly up the stairs.

In the morning Ruth awoke to misery ; also to the
discovery that her clothes and her money had been
removed, while the door was locked. Weak and ill she
lay until Eliza came with breakfast, and the informa-
tion that the master had gone out already upon a visit

to the curate. ^ „ -n. , , j

" Is there no letter arrived for me ? Ruth asked.
" Nay, my young lady, we get few letters here," said

Eliza sourly. . „ „ .,

" Pray bring my clothes, for I wish to nse, Kuth

went on coldly.

" I'll see to that," replied Eliza.

Presently feet pattered along the passage and stopped

A CURIOUS FORM OF HOSPITALITY 293

at Ruth's door. The key was turned, and Uncle Cay
had the unpudence to enter, with a chuckle of delight
and the full-throated cry :

" Ruth, my love 1 Good morning ! "

" Leave my room I Mr. Cay, sir, this is indeed vile
treatment," cried the girl.

" Hey-ho, my little dove ! Why are ye so disturbed ?
Why such a mighty fluttering of white plvunage ?
A pretty fuss to make ! May I not walk about my own
house, enter my own chambers, and enjoy a little chat
with the lady of my love ? I have visited the curate,
sweet one. Upon Sunday he is to publish our banns
for the first time."

" I care not if he publishes them twenty times,"
sobbed Ruth. " But I will never go to church with
you."

" I believe you will, Ruth. Ay, I am very sure you
will be happy to go," said Uncle Cay, who appeared in
a holiday humour. " I shall give you the week ; I am
bound in honour to give you the seven days. 'Tis true
we are (Ushonoured by that scoundrel ; but we are not
to be disgraced," he continued, capering about the
room. " I find there is much sympathy expressed for
me. 'Tis well known how I disowned Job, and turned
him out with a guinea in his pocket ; and 'tis said I
did all that an hohest gentleman could do to protect
the honour of his family. Ah, little one, suffer me to
fold you in these arms."

" Go ! " cried Ruth. " If you come within reach of
me I shall strike you."

The old man's countenance changed at that and his
hands began to tremble. He had not looked for so
much spirit in a weak young maid.

" Ruth, my love, I would not be cruel with you,"
he said. " But maidens must be tamed, my dear.
Little birds must have their wings clipped. I would
not remind you every day that you are in my power."

" Cruel — cruel wretch ! " she sobbed.

I
I I

1
'■ 1

294

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" I shall be wondrous kind when we are wedded.
Ay, a doting old Jack, I promise ye. 'Twill then be
your turn to plague my life out. Let's have no idle
words, my jewel. Here you are, and here you shall
remain, until you give me your oath to go upon my
arm to church. I wish ye no evil, Ruth ; nay, I desire
for ye all the good in the world. But I will marry ye.
By thunder, I will marry ye."

" If you have any affection for me, or can feel pity
for my misery, leave me," she implored ; and the
persecutor departed with many grimaces and queer
oaths of constancy.

So the day passed, with Ruth in tears and Uncle Cay
in triumph ; since both foresaw the ending of that
struggle. Even had the door been left open, the
prisoner could not have escaped without her clothing.
Being unable to write or read, she could not have sent
for assistance to Sir Thomas ; nor would she have
known what instructions he gave iiad the long expected
letter been delivered. There was nothing to hinder the
old gentleman of the manor from keeping her a prisoner
untU either her health, her reason, or her determination
gave way.

After two days of this confinement Ruth decided to
free herself by committing a mortal sin. It was now
evident that the mail had miscarried, or that the letter
intended for her had fallen into the hands of some
rascal of the road ; for it was not pc oible to suppose
that Sir Thomas could have failed iier. The sin was
perhaps no great one. She made the plan of winning
her liberty by agreeing to marry Uncle Cay ; though
at the first opportunity she intended to slip cut ol the
house and to run all the way to Bath.

" I accept, not him, but my clothes and my ^ve
guineas," she assured herself.

Uncle Cay paid visits like a doctor during the course
of every day ; and certainly he tried to make himself
agreeable, and saw to it that the young lady was well

A CURIOUS FORM OF HOSPITALITY 295

supplied with meat and drink. Early in the afternoon
Ruth arrived at her decision ; and not long afterwards
the old fellow capered along the passage and trotted
into the room with the air of a young rake but without
the grace of a dancing-master. He brought roses for
his lady, and while forcing them tenderly upon her
he was struck by a certain change in her appearance,
and cried joyously : " My precious jewel I shall be
astonished if you have not some kindly words for me."

" You are right," said Ruth in a low and frightened
voice. " I think, sir, you have used me very ill, and I
may not easily forgive you. But I pine for my
liberty "

" And so you marry me," cried the old man, mter-

rupting her. „

" I thank you for taking the words out of my mouth,

said Ruth. „

" My love and my life, let me embrace you, cned
the amorous old gentleman.

" And now, sir," said poor Ruth, when that ordeal
was over for the moment, " let my clothes be brought,
and suffer me to leave this hateful room— and let there
be some decency between us."

" Nay, my sweet love, the old lad must have his way
a short while longer. Birds, my pretty, have a trick
of flitting. On this window-sill one minute ; half
the way to Bath the next. The dove in a cage is
safe, my love. But the dove in a tree is her own s>yeet
mistress. Be patient, my shining pearl. The marriag«i
shall take place with all possible despatch. I shall ride
to-morrow into SaUsbury and procure a Ucence— ay,
and would pay for it a hundred pounds with the utmost
pleasiu-e. You do not fly from this chamber, iittk
dove. You do not leave it till you flit with i to
church."

" Can you not trust me ? " cried Ruth ; but could
say no more, for the knowledge of her intended wicked-
ness choked her; while the sense of her terrible

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

position, which now seemed doubly worse, crushed
her last hope.

" Marriage is a sweet thing, love, but 'tis also a
matter of business," said Uncle Cay excitedly. " I go
for pen and paper ; and to call good Liz. I shall draw
up a contract of marriage, and we will put otu* hands
to it."

" I cannot write," moaned Ruth.

" 'Tis not needful, love. You shall set your pretty
mark against the seal, and the worthy Liz shall witness
it."

All was bustle the next few minutes. The gasping old
gentleman sat to the table and began to scribble,
while Eliza stood stifHy at his side ; and Ruth lay
white and silent on the bed. Birds were in song upon
branches near the window. Winterberry was ever
famous for its blackcaps.

" A contract of marriage between John Charles
Cay, of the manor of Winterberry, in the county of
Wiltshire, gentleman ; and Ruth blank — nay, a name
must go down. Let it be Ruth Just," chuckled the
old fellow.

" Ruth of no name, and no parents, and no county —
and no hope," whispered the pale girl. Then she
started upon her elbow and gasped, " What is that ? "

" A cart upon the road," said the sour Eliza, who
feared that her reign was nearly over.

" Zounds, 'tis a visitor ! " cried Uncle Cay suddenly,
pushing the paper from him ; then sitting up and
listening.

" They are carriage wheels I They go swiftly."

" They are turning into the drive ! They approach
the door ! " cried Ruth, who was staring wildly at the
window which overlook'^d the garden side.

" We shall conclude this business later," said Uncle
Cay frowning and imeasy ; for this delay appeared to
him a trifle ominous.

" Do not go ! " Ruth exclaimed.

A CURIOUS FORM OF HOSPITALITY 297

" Nay, my precious. I shall stay with you. Eliza,
go to the door and receive my visitors."

" Do not leave me, dear Mr. Cay ! " cried Ruth
again ; dreading lest he might depart and lock the door
behind him.

" Some kind neighbour calls to sympathise. He
shall stay to crack a bottle and congratulate us," said
Uncle Cay.

His face was turned towards the door, so that he
could not perceive Ruth sitting up, excited, alert,
wide-eyed ; listening for the sound of voices from
below. They came : the voice of Eliza inviting ; that
of a man accepting. And the master of the house cried
out ; for he felt himself pushed violently, and was
staring the next moment at an empty bed. Ruth had
run. Along the passage she scampered, and down the
stairs, upon bare feet, in ghostly nightdress, with hair
streaming behind ; and so to the hall, there to fling
herself with sobs of joy and gratitude upon the matting
to embrace the knees of that calm gentleman and great
magician, Sir Thomas Just.

CHAPTER IV

RUTH CONTINUES HER TRAVELS

" O HORRID ! this fellow comes to ruin me," cried
Uncle Cay, as he stumbled down the stairs.

" I believe, sir, you are detaining this young lady
against her will," said the guest. " My name is Sir
Thomas Just ; my English seat is in the county of
Cornwall ; and I have appointed myself the guardian
of Miss Ruth."

" Another guardian I The pretty wretch is overdone
with them," the old man muttered. " Sir, I am pleased
to see you ; I am honoured, sir," he continued. " I
also am the self-appointed guardian of this lady. She
has been the accomplice of a robber ; and I am pro-
tecting her, sir, from the severity of the law. Besides,
she has promised to become my wife." ^^

" He forced consent from me," sobbed Ruth. He
has kept me locked up, and has stolen my clothes and
money. He is himself worse than any highwayman."

" I shall waste no words with you, sir," said Sir
Thomas. "Restore this young lady her property
immediately."

" Have you a justice's warrant to search my house t
asked Uncle Cay, trying to bluster.

" I shall certainly procure a warrant ; not to search
the house, but to punish its master, should you press
me. Now, child, return to your chamber and dress your-
self," said Sir Thomas, leading Ruth towards the stairs.

" This young lady has promised to marry me. She
has signed the contract."

" I have done no such thing," cried Ruth.

298

RUTH CONTINUES HER TRAVELS 299

" But you would have done so had this gentleman
not arrived. I have a right to claim you ; I have
sheltered you, and given you food, these ten days ;
and, by thunder, I claim you— ay, I will be paid.
Oh, little bird, will ye never chirp again at poor old
John Charles ? "

" Have done with this foolery, sir," said Sir Thomas.
" If this yoimg lady stands in your debt, I will discharge
what she owes. I say again, restore hei garments, and
let her clothe herself decently ; for I am about to carry
her away with me."

" The garments are destroyed ; they were but stolen
rubbish and moth-eaten."

" This is a lie, sir."

" I believe you, sir. Yes, sir, I know I am lying,"
said Uncle Cay feebly. " I locked the garments in a
chest, and now have lost the key. This is another lie,
sir. What more can a man do ? "

Then he dr< )ped into a chair, and began to rave
concerning los. opportunities and doves with uncUpped

wings.

" My good woman," said Sir Thomas, addressmg the
housekeeper, " pray show this young lady where her
property is hidden."

" Am I to obey the gentleman, sir ? " asked Eliza,
who was well pleased at the prospect of seeing Ruth
quit the house.

" She will fly— with feathers or without. Oh,
wenches, wenches ! " raved the old gentleman. " Why
do ye torment me ? Why was I so sluggish in my
youth ? "

" Step into your room, young lady, and I will bring
your garments," said Eliza pleasantly ; and went on
to herself as she bustled away, " If I have any more to
do with this wenching business, may I be hanged for it.
Master has forced me to use his name, has allowed me
to pass as his wife. Now I shall ride in Master Giles
his cart to SaUsbury, and visit an attorney. If my

■I

300 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

gentleman does not make me his lady, he shall pay me
a sum in damages, I warrant."

Soon Ruth was dressed, and went with Sir Thomas to
the chaise, passing through the haU without a word of
farewell to the old gentleman, who sat huddled in a
chair, weeping bitterly and beating his hands upon the
table. The next minute they were whirled from the
manor and along the village street towards the downs.
In the sweet air of liberty Ruth again broke down, as
she told her kind protector how Harry had been taken.

" This is an ill business. I fear me, child, you have
wasted your love upon a scoundrel," said Sir Thomas

cravelv.

" He is become honest, sir. We travelled together,
and he behaved like a gentleman— nay, far better than
any gentleman save yourself. That >\icked old man,
from whom you have just rescued me, made my poor
Harry a robber. My lover must not be punished for
sins he has repented of ; which God has forgiven him.
Oh, sir, you will save my Harry ! "

" My poor child, I cannot help him."

" You are great and powerful. Will you not obtain
for him Her Majesty's most gracious free pardon ? "

" A Catholic baronet, who is moreover scarce an
Englishman by residence, must not go to Court and seek
for favours," replied Sir Thomas. " We lie to-night at
Salisbury, and I shall make inquiries about yovir lover.
But, child, I cannot bid you hope, for there is much
feeling against these gentry of the road, and 'tis indeed
right they should be punished. This baptism of which
you think so highly, my poor simple child, was but I
fear a form of blasphemy."

" Oh, sir I " sobbed Ruth.

" The water of St. Ludgvan's well has no more power
of magic than the rain from heaven."

" I have faith, sir ; and perfect faith will surely work
a miracle. I believe Harry cannot be hanged, except
by a silken rope. God, sir, will not permit it."

RUTH CONTINUES HER TRAVELS 301

" God, child, allows His creatures ' ecdom of action.
He does not restrain the man from robhing ; nor will
He restrain the hangman from his duty."

•• God did not restrain Mr. Cay from making me a
prisoner ; yet He sent you to deliver me."

"Ah, child! I perceive you have some wit. Do you
not wonder how it is I come for you ? "

" I suppose the power of your magic told you I was m
difficulty. I had looked for a letter from you, but when
it did not come I feared you had forgot me. I am very
sorry I disobeyed you, sir."

" You have been punished, Ruth. I was away from
Bezurrel when your letter arrived, and my lady de-
spatched it immediately to my lodgings in London.
Being upon my homeward journey, I turned aside m
order that I might carry you back with me to Moyle,
where indeed your presence will soon be necessary. I
permitted you to escape with your lover, for I deemed
It right you should receive an education in the hard
school of your own choosing ; yet when you sent the
necklace I would have brought you back."

" You were amazed, sir, to discover me a fortune ?
said Ruth, trying to force a smile.

" When you sent the necklace to my lady, you opened
our eyes indeed. You may live, chUd, a hundred years;
yet you can never perform a better deed than was done
by you that day."

" Is it of great value, sir ? "

" Of inestimable value, child."

" Oh, Harry ! " sighed Ruth, gazing across the sunny
downs. " Return to me and share my fortune."

An hour later the chaise rattled over the cobble-
stones of Salisbury to the door of the principal urn.
Having ordered rooms and a dinner. Sir Thomas set
forth alone to make mquiries about Harry ; and was
gone so long Ruth became nervous. At length he
returned, to be informed by the waiter that the dinner
had been put back so oft^ H was now completely spoilt.

302 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" Let another be served," Sir Thomas ordered ; and
then he went to Ruth.

" I can make little of this busmess," he said. " I went
to the shop of the tailor, who informed me the young
man had been apprehended in his presence, and taken
to the Bridewell, upon the charge of stealing the coat
of a well-known gentleman in Devonshire. I proceeded
to the prison, but was there treated with the utmost
incivility by the keeper, who appeared to resent my
questions, and indeed refused to answer them. I came to
the conclusion he had some good reason for withholding
all information from me. So I obtained the address of
one of the justices, a pleasant gentleman, who used me
civilly, and assured me, after a vast amount of hesita-
tion, he remembered the young man perfectly ; and
he was undoubtedly lying in the Bridewell, as other
charges yet more serious were likely to be prefeired
against him. I mentioned how I had been received at
the prison, and the worthy justice declared he could
not understand it; yet he appeared uncommonly
relieved to bow me out."

" What is it, sir, that perplexes you ? " asked Ruth.

" The strange manner of both the keeper and magis-
trate. There is no reason why the one should be
offended, and the other perplexed, at the natural
curiosity of a gentleman."

" Do you suppose, sir, Harry is lying in the prison ? "

" It must be so, for how could he possibly get away ?
My poor Ruth, you must abandon hope."

" That, sir, I shall never do."

" You won him too late, child. He is doomed. No
jury in these days will permit :. robber to escape. Your
honest shopkeeper desires to travel in safety and to
sleep sound at nights. Alas, poor Ruth, we must seek
you out a more worthy valentine come February."

" I will have Harry, or I will have none," cried Ruth.
" To-morrow, sir, will you carry me to Bath ; or shall
I go alone ? "

RUTH CONTINUES HER TRAVELS 303

" What do you mean, child ? "

" Wlien Harry and I parted we made a compact. If
he did not return, I was to go to Bath, and stand each
day at noon upon the bridge which crosses the Avon
in the north parade. There he would meet me ; and
there, sir, he will meet me."

" Child ! Child ! " said Sir Thomas sadly. " Come
to your dinner and forget these fancies."

" If I am to walk all the way, I go to Bath and wait
for Harry," she said. " You tell me the necklace is of
inestimable value. I do not want a fortune, now I am
lonely and cannot share it ; but I must have my
memories and the bridge. I know, sir, you will in your
kindness sell the necklace and invest the money for
me. And I pray you, sir, to advance me a sum, so
that I may go to some respectable lodging in the city
of Bath, and wait for Harry. I shall stand every day
at noon upon the bridge — in hope, sir. And if he is —
is hanged," she said, struggling against tears, " I shall
still go each day to the bridge, and wait for Harry,
untU I grow too old, or become too weak, to walk ; for
the bridge of Bath will join me to my Harry ; and to
visit it will be the only happiness I shall know."

" Why will you play thus with your misery ? "

" Because I love him, sir."

" Such love, child, is too sacred to be scoffed at. To-
morrow I carry you to Bath, and shall myself find a
lodging for you ; and there I will leave you, upon the
understanding that you come to Moyle when I have
occasion to send for you."

" Not to dwell, sir. Not without Harry."

" For a few days only ; and when hope is dead."

" For what purpose, sir ? "

" That I may, at the proper time, reveal tl mystery
of your birth."

" What, sir ! " she cried. " You know my name an
the history of my family"? "

" I know aU."

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" Was it the necklet told you ? "

" It was the necklet. There is not another like it in
the world. No more words, else we shall spoil a second
dinner." ^ ^^ ,

He would say no more ; and Ruth, who was utterly
exhausted, in spite ^f her long period of inaction, partly
perhaps because oi it, was glad to seek forgetfulness in
sleep. Upon the following morning they left Salisbury ;
but the weather being wet, and the roads in a very bad
condition, they did not enter Bath until late in the
afternoon. Sir Thomas was for go\ng out at once to
find a lodging, but Ruth dissuaded him.

" I have a feeling," she said, " that I am not to stay
long in this city." ., ^. ^

" The maid has the gift of second-sight, Su- Thomas
murmured to himself.

Ruth was eager to discover the bridge, which was
indeed not difficult to find ; and pleased herself sadly
by walldng across it many times ; and when they had
dined she begged for leave to continue her mournful

passages.

" You may go, child ; but be careful not to speak to
either man or woman. There are many rakes and
procuresses in this city," replied Sir Thomas, who had
for some time been regarding her eager face with
puzzled eyes.

So Ruth went again to the north parade, and passed
to and fro across its bridge, until night had fallen ;
watching that strangely mixed company of the best
wits and greatest fools in Europe, flocking to pump-
room and gaming-tables from tennis-court, cock-pit
or bull-ring ; for Bath was in full glory, having but
recently been honoured by a royal visit. Sedan-chairs
passed, bearing stout ladies wrapped in flannel from
the baths to their lodgings, where they would remove
these wrappings and dress fine'y for the night. Great
gentlemen, sick Nabobs, livid-faced statesmen, wealthy
idlere— representatives of the highest names and the

RUTH CONTINUES HER TROWELS 305

wont morals in the world — went by ; while Ruth
peeped eagerly at every face, sometimes receiving an
ogle in response.

With night the bridge and all surroundings became
unreal. One minute in darkness, the next weirdly
iUuminated by the flare of a link-boy's torch, or the
flash of carriage-lamps. Revellers were abroad, yet
Ruth had no fear of them because she could not thmk
of danger : her mind was settled upon Harry, who had
promised to meet her there ; certainly not then, under
cover of darkness ; yet, if free, he would act as she
herself was doing, and haunt the bridge by day and
night until they saw each other.

"A wench ! A wench I " shouted a richly dressed
young man, holding his lantern near Ruth's face.

" A mighty pretty one, egad ! " cried his companion,
catching her by the arm.

" Leave me, gentlemen ! " she said angrily.

" Nay, pretty one, you are captured. You are our
prize. Call a coach, Harry I "

'■ Harry I " murmured Ruth, staring at the two faces ;
and seeing nothing but disease and vice upon them

" Ay, youi Harry, my love ! " shouted the d
bauchee.

" Young gentlemen 1 " cried a shrill excited voice,
and an old woman ran up to them. " Unhand my
daughter I I have the watch behind me. Let her go,
I say, or I'll scratch your eyes out."

She caught Ruth round the waist and forced her
onward ; while the revellers cursed and went their way,
leaving the bridge again in darkness. Immediately
Ruth found herself caught in a strong embrace, and
with a sudden f aintness she fell to dreaming of sunshine
and noon ; and forgot that it was night with damp and
odours rising from the river.

" It is not strange ; it is not wonderful. I knew
you would be here," she murmured.

" Oh, my Ruth I my sweetheart ! I have haunted

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MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

this bridge; I have waited three days. Why were ye
so long in coming ? "

" Where are we, Harry ? "

" Over the bridge ; between dark houses. This way
to the fields, love. The open country is the only place

for us." , ^ . J • r» i.u

" Hold me. H^rry, until I waken. I arrived in Bath
this aftemo u. I came Id the bridge— you were not
here. I di: cd and cawc again. I knew you would
come. Sir V" -onas supi>osed I was out of my senses.
I did not come with an idea you might by some happy
chance arrive ; for I was allowed to see the future.

" Sir Thomas with you ! "

" He rescued me from your uncle."

A chair passed, accompanied by two link-boys. The
lovers saw each other clearly by the light of their

torches. . ^ j i.

" Now I am awake. Oh, Harry ! Harry ! God has
brought you out of prison and restored you to me.
But why are you dressed as an old woman ? "

" Can you walk, sweetheart ? "

" Ay, walk to Cornwall ! "

" Then let us get out of this Bath, which I feel too

hot for me."

" Sir Thomas awaits me at the White Hart Inn.
Come back with me, for all constables are drunk by
now, and let me hear your story. I will tell you mme
while we return."

They went very slowly across the bridge and along
the parade ; but Ruth had hardly finished her tale
before they reached the inn.

" Sweetheart. I did not think my uncle would go so
far " said Harry sternly. " Had I known I should have
returned to Winterberry. But it was very well I did
not know ; for I must have been taken had I stayed.
I thought you would nm the night I did not return ;
and I was getting afraid as the days passed, and still
you came not. In these clothes I dared not wait upon

■^

RUTH CONTINUES HER TRAVELS 307

the bridge by day — I have told I know not how many
questioners I am out to win a wager, and many stranger
things are done by the young bloods who visit Bath —
but I spent each evening in this neighbourhood, for
I guessed you would ne^ver be far distant from our
meeting-place. And as I came across the bridge just
now, I saw your own sweet face by the light of that
rascal's lantern. Thfcse clothes are not stolen, Ruthie,
I have come by them honestly ; and though they hang
so awkwardly upon me, I am more easy in my mind
and body than I was in the handsome coat which was
very near the cause of my undoing."

" Where is that coat now, Harry ? "

" Upon the back of some serving-man, or gone to the
second-hand shop. I have no garments save this greasy
wear of some old cook of Salisbury ; nor do I possess
a single coin ; but methinks I have an empty belly."

" Here are my five guineas, Harry ; I kept them for
you. Now you can buy some clothes and get yourself
a dinner."

" Ah, sweetheart ! Lucky is the rogue whom heaven
supplies with such a guardian angel."

" We are now beside the inn," said Ruth. " You
cannot enter, but I shall beg Sir Thomas to come out
and speak with you."

" The first inn of Bath is no place for a young gentle-
man in the clothes of a kitchen woman. But, hark ye,
Ruthie, I am by no means safe in this gay city."

" We depart in the morning. Sir Thomas will make
a plan. Ah, Harry, did I not tell you how baptism in
the water of St. Ludgvan's well would save you soul
and body ? "

" And you spoke truly ; had it not been for you in
the first place, and St. Ludgvan in the second place,
I should have gone in the cart to be turned off," he
answered.

Bidding him wait at the comer, Ruth entered the
inn, and discovered Sir Thomas reading a newspaper.

$ I

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MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

He listened to her excited narrative ; then rose to go
forth, saying, " I am rejoiced for your sake, child. I
perceive you do possess the Celtic gift of second-sight ;
which formerly I had not believed in."

" What, sir, is Celtic ? " inquired the ignorant Ruth.

" Cornish folk belong to the Celtic race."

" But, sir, I am not Cornish."

" Nay, you are Spanish," he said with a smile.

They went to the awkward Harry, who, when pre-
sented to the deliverer of Ruth from his uncle's clutches,
behaved in so manly a fashion, and expressed his grati-
tude with such earnestness, that Sir Thomas had a
liking at once for the young adventurer. Proceeding
into a quiet street, they strolled in the dark, while
Harry explained how it was he found himself at liberty.

" I was taken, sir, to the prison in order that I might
be brought before the justices upon the following day.
The keeper was a very civil fellow, who had been, I
believe, a bit of a dog himself ; and he made very merry
over my misfortune, telling me I was a fool to be hanged
for a laced coat, when for the same penalty I might
have shot the mayor of Salisbury, against whom it
appeared he had some grievance. Finding him so
merry a fpUow, I resolved to test him ; and the same
evenii ving an opportunity, I drew him aside and

whispc lad five guineas hidden in one of my shoes,

which i. ne had the inclination he could earn very

easilv.

" ' Nay, my lad,' said he. ' You are for the cart,

and fifty guineas do not save you.'

" ' It may be I shall enter the cart,' I said. ' But
they can never hang me.'

" ' Zounds man ! ' he cried. ' Have ye a neck of

brass ? ' • , n

" ' My neck is the same as yours,' I told him. Bui

I was baptised in the water of St. Ludgvan's well.'
" ' Say, you so ! ' he cried. ' Why then, you are a

Comishman.'

RUTH CONTINUES HER TRAVELS 309

" ' Not only that,' said I. ' But I am to be married
to the fairest maid in all the Duchy. I did not expect,
friend, that you would have heard of St. Ludgvan's
weU.'

'"If you are amazed, why so am I,' he answered.
' For you are the first man out of Cornwall I have met
with who has mentioned St. Ludgvan's well. I am a
Comishman, brother. And not only that, but I was
bom in the parish of Ludgvan, and I too was baptised
with water from the holy well.'

" ' Now you perceive, brother, that I cannot be
hanged,' said I.

" ' I perceive this, broth' r,' he answered, ' I am
bound to help you escape, lest the credit of St. Ludg-
van's well should be destroyed ; and that, I believe,
would mean the ending of the world. There is great
power in this water, as we know ; but we must help
it, do ye see ? Therefore I know it is my duty to secure
your freedom. But how am I to know you are my
brother Comishman ? Come, friend, give me some
proof. If you were bora west of the Tamar, you will
know some sign-words.'

" ' Listen, brother, while I tell the numbers — ouyn,
dow, tray, peswar, pimp.' I said, remembering the
lesson, sweetheart, you had taught me.

" ' Enough, brother ! Here is my hand,' said he.
' I will go away now, and shall retura when I have
thought of some plan for helping you without getting
myself into trouble.'

" Late in the night my friend aroused me, and was
then so merry I felt assured of getting free.

" ' Brother,' said he, ' when we swear to miraculous
power in St. Ludgvan's well, we speak but the truth.
I know very well you are not for the gallows, and I am
sure St. Ludgvan — ^whoever he may have been — ^is
doing his best to get you out of prison ; and has indeed
supplied the very plan and fellow for this purpose.
The constables have brought in a gay young spark who

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310

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

is a stranger to this city, and a mighty queer figure he
cuts for he is dressed in the clothing of old Betty the
cook of the Red Lion Inn. He arrives at Salisbury to
visit a young lady, hoping I warrant ye to run with her
to Scotland ; but the parents of this maid keep their
bird behind bolts and bars ; and have warned my
gentleman he will be placed under arrest if caught tres-
passing. Well, brother, you know the old saw about
locked doors and lovers. The young blood bribes Betty
the cook to loan him her bonnet and outward garments
for the night ; and dressed in these clothes he goes to
the young lady's house, with what plan in his head I
cannot tell you. Upon the way it so happens he runs
into a watchman, who mistakes my young rake ior
Mrs Betty, chucks her under the chin, then attempts
to kiss her. The young gentleman fhes into a temper
and beats the watchman soundly ; and the constables
being out, and hearing the fellow's cries, run up and
carry off my gentleman. Now, brother, it is my opimon
that the good saint Ludgvan has arranged all this for
the special benefit of one of his own Cornish lads.'
" 'Maybe,' said I. ' But how is .his young rak*' going

to assist me? ' , x j

" • I shall now proceed to tell you, said my fnena.
' He is in a great state of mind at being taken in Betty's
gown and bonnet, and has declared he will strangle
himself rather than be brought before the justices m
such attire. I have told him I shall not permit hun to
send for his own garments ; but I will myself, for a
consideration, supply him with a very handsome smt.
Now, brother, I desire you to strip, so that I may carry
your clothes to the young gentleman ; and I shall
bring you presently the garments of B-tty, m which
you shall appear before the justices to-morrow.'

"'This is a vcxy pretty trick,' said I. ' But the taUor s
assistant is the principal vvitness agauist me ; and he

knows my face.' , -j xu

" ' You may leave that matter to me, said the

RUTH CONTINUES HER TRAVELS 311

keeper. ' I will undertake to have this young gentle-
man's case brought on first ; for it will not last five
minutes. I am about to carry a guinea to the watch-
man, who I know is a very kindly fellow ; and as you
will appear to answer this charge, and I can readily
persuade the watchman not to give evidence against
you, the justices will discharge you immediately. Then
you must run from the city, and get well away before
the young gentleman comes up in your clothes to answer
the charge against you. He will be mightily astonished
to hear himself called Job Cay, and to discover he has
to plead not guilty to a charge of highway robbery ;
but he will not be hurt by it, for the justices — who I
must inform you are an uncommon lot of blockheads —
will believe you have tricked him ; and I shall do
nothing to discourage that opinion. Therefore he too
will be discharged. You will be by that time well away
upon Salisbury Plain. The credit of St. Ludgvan's well
will be saved again. And I do not know that I shall be
out of pocket by this trickery.'

" ' Brother,' said I, while pressing his hand, ' I have
only five guineas. Here are four ; one I must keep to
get me food.'

" As I am here, sir," continued Harry, addressing
himself to Sir Thomas, you will perceive that tho plan
did not miscarry. The keeper provided me with a
parcel of bread - ■'.d meat, which I hid in the pocket of
this skirt ; and , en discharged with a caution as to
my future behaviour, amid much merriment on the
part of the worthy justices, I escaped from the city,
concealed myself in a hay-stack until nightfall, and
then set out for Bath, reaching the city boundaries
early the next morning. Since then, sir, I have waited
for Ruth, and assured at least a hundred persons I am
out in the cook's clothing to win a wager. Yet the re-
port may have followed, so that I dread any moment
to be challenged."

" I shall see to your safety," Sir Thomas promised.

312

MOYLE CHURCH-T0>\7^

" Wait in this quiet street, and I will send Ruth to you
presently with a suit of my own clothes, which I shall
not require you to return. Then you will go to some
place outside the city, discard these garments, and
return dressed suitably to spend the night where you
will. To-morrow morning be at the yard of the White
Hart Inn by eight, and I shall carry you with us into
Cornwall."

" Sir, if I enter Moyle, I may be arrested at the suit
of Jacob Grambla."

" You shall not enter Moyle. I am to make tried of
you, Cay, for I desire to learn whether you are worthy
of this young lady. I leave you at a farm which belongs
to me, though it is situated some twenty miles from
Moyle church-town. The tenant is a worthy man, and
I shall inform him you are to work on his farm and gain
some instruction in agriculture, which may be of
service to you at some future time. I believe your
period of labour will not be long."

" I am indeed grateful to you, sir ; and I shall
endeavour to please you," the young man answered.

They departed from Bath the next morning and,
travelling in safety, came into Cornwall at evening
upon the second day ; reaching the farm about mid-
day, and there leaving Harry to begin his life afresh,
and to win blistered hands at last ; afterwards driving
towards Moyle at the highest speed, for Sir Thomas
vfas anxious to be home before dusk, and the days
were closing in. But, as they drew within sight of
Great Gwentor, his amazement was great to discover
a number of vehicles all going in the same direction as
themselves.

" Some great thing is happening in Moyle to-night,"
he said to Ruth. " These are the carriages of small
gentry from the adjoining parishes — ship-owners,
people of an hundred acres, with a parson or two. No
person of quality passes. I believe Jacob Grambla
^ves another of his parties."

CHAPTER V

JACOB GIVES A PARTY

The glow of candlelight in Coinagehall was sufficient
to show that Jacob Grambla indeed gave a party ;
and, being a gentleman who conceived it proper to
mimic the ways of London society, according to
information afforded him by the newspapers, he
required the company to appear in masquerade, and
not to reveal themselves in their true characters until
a signal was made at two o'clock in the morning.

Neai the door stood Jacob, in the character of a
Friar, to receive the guests, whom it was his duty not
to recognise. To him appeared Italian Shepherdess,
Cardinal, Druid, Quack-Doctor, Vestal, Jockey, Sul-
tana, Diana, Political Bedlamite, with many another
stock character of the masquerade. A dating lady
appeared as a Daughter of Venus ; showing — in the
words of the host — ^that true elegance of form might
be expressed without embroidery and diamonds. A
gentleman, more daring, came in the character of
Adam ; in a dress fitting so closely, and painted so
naturally, that at a glance there was some excuse to
imagine he had studied the part in too liberal a fashion.

At such an entertainment it was no unusual thing —
especially when the party was political — ^for the im-
invited guest to make an appearance. Dancing and
gaming were in full swing, when Jacob, in malang a
tour of the rooms, perceived a little fellow whom he
could not name. This stranger wore the familiar
parti-coloured dress of a jester, but carried no bauble ;
while his red mask was so large as to obliterate his

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314 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

features. He passed about the rooms, by far the most
sprightly figure there, with a jest for all ; winning taps
from the fans of ladies, and many a shout of laughter
from the gentlemen. Jacob followed, anxious to get the
red mask into a comer and to enjoy a few words with

him. . , ,

" Excellent lady ! Matchless wife ! " cried the
motley, bowing before the Daughter of Venus.

" Jester, I am neither wife, maid, nor widow,"
replied the lady.

" Excellent mineral ! Matchless vegetable ! said
theje&'er.

" I am an immortal, jester."

" There is much virtue in that letter T, dear lady."

Jacob pursued the jester into another room, where he
went up to Adam, who acted his part with very little
dignity, and asked, " Do you not know me, father ? "

" I am acquainted, jester, with only snakes and
ladies," replied Adam.

" What ! " cried the motley. " Not recognise your

son ! "

" 'Tis a wi^ man who knows hk child," said Adam.

With the laughter against him, the red mask ran up
to a costume made of cards, and said, " I see the king,
and I see the queen ; but where, fair lady, is the

knave ? "

" He is the knave who puts the question," came the
answer, and again the laugh went up against the jester.

" A company of wits, sir," remarked Jacob, as the
little figi re reached the hall.

" A very pleasant company, good friar," replied the
jester. " Yet I believe they could listen with advan-
tage to your sermons. Plenty of wit, friar, but not
much modesty."

" Nor morals, jester ? "

" A village maid would shame the lot."

" Nor religion, jester ? "

" No more than you would f nd in the bell of a

JACOB GIVES A PARTY

315

church, which makes a mighty noise concerning
religion, but has none itself."

" Do you know me, jester ? "

" Very well indeed, holy man. And you will know
me when all unmask. You believe I come uninvited ;
yet the truth is I am so well disguised that my own
mother would not know me."

" I shall be glad, jester, to learn your name, and to
see your face."

" You urged me to come, friar ; though, to speak
plainly, I had a more pressing engagement."

" I am greatly honoured," said Jacob. " So, jester,
you have but an ill opinion of this company ? "

" And if I am to judge, friar, you have a very mean
opinion of your guests."

" As host I must disguise my feelings. To-night,
jester, we all wear masks."

" Express yourself, not as host, but as a godly friar.
Here is a choice collection of characters— your friends,
holy man. You see that plump female dressed as a
nun ; her body round like a barrel. She loves a cut of
beef, I warrant. What, as a friar, do you think of her? "

" For all her size she will dance the hornpipe^ like
your sailor-boy," replied Jacob with alacrity. " She
has a large family, but I doubt whether she could
tell you the names of her children ; for, as a lady who
desires to be exceedingly polite, she disdains her off-
spring, and leaves them to be educated by groom and
chambermrid. But she is a very respectable person,
who promotes the cause of gaming, and has already
run through a great part of her fortune."

" People much given to playing cardf are sometimes
in need of your assistance, friar ? "
" Why, jester, that is true."

" You preach a sermon, friar ; and very properly
demand a fee in return for your eloquence ? "
" A modest fee, jester."
" I understand, friar, you are noted for modesty.

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MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

II II

But how does the Italian Sh' ' «rdess appear to your
priestly eye ? "

" You will perceive, jester, her one idea is to fas-
cinate the men. Her husband is a plodding fellow,
who keeps at his business to supply her with the latest
fashions, and to enable her to make a figure in the county.
She hates the man for the meanness of his stature and
the poorness of his wit ; while he is so infatuated with
her charms — ^which nobody but himself has been able
to discover — that he indulges her in every whim, and
is mighty pleased to feel her foot upon his neck."

" May I presume, friar, that the husband requires a
loan occasionally ? "

" And let me assure you, jester, he gets it so low as
ten per centum."

" There is moderation indeed ! And who is the
gentleman with a chin of unpolished mahogany, who
appears in the character of the devil ? "

" Ah, jester ! you see how well he plays the deputy
for his master ; and that is a position he can easily
support as he has great wealth. His grandfather, let
me inform you, was a convict who when transported
made a fortune by planting sugar. From one of his
by-blows this gentleman descends ; and he possesses,
I do assure you, far less virtue than his ancesto"
Indeed, had he not presented large sums to certaii.
ministers in power, he would long ago have been
carried to the gallows."

" I see you are as catholic in your tastes as in your
dress," said the red mask. " Pray who is the coxcomb,
attired as an orange-girl, standing near the convict's
grandson ? I never saw such a foppish figure of a man
in all my life."

"Ho I ho ! " laughed the friar. " What will you say
when I tell you the orange-girl is a general of the army ? "

" That I can hardly believe," said the jester.

" 'Tis true nevertheless. He is a delicate and harm-
less creature, and no lady in the land has a toilette so

JACOB GIVES A PARTY

3x7

well furnished with powders and washes. He spends
the greater part of his day before a mirror, setting of!
his person to the highest advantage. He not only
aspires to look like a lady, but to act as one ; and
should a mouse run across the room you would see my
general the first to skip upon a chair. Now he has grown
so weak by his efleminate ways of living that he could
not advance with his army unless carried in a chair."

" The gentleman splendidly attired in gold as a
Sultan is, I take it, a man of some importance ? "
continued the jester.

" Merely a tailor," replied Jacob, " who has gained
a fortune, as the bird of prey obtains a living, with his
bill. Having obtained money like a knave, he now
spends it like a fool in trying to make a figure in the
county. The Quack-Doctor, on the other hand,
desires to be considered a knavv , though he is nothing
more than a good-natured fool. He owns a large
property, but leaves the administration of it to lus
wife, whom you may there perceive in the character
of Diana ; though she is twice the man that he is.
Possessing neither wit nor knavery, he trusts all men,
believes every lie, and actually supposes Diana is
faithful."

" The Vestal yonder has long engaged my attention,
friar."

" She is of very common birth, but has made herself
important by laying out her capital of beauty to the
best advantage ; although, as you shall perceive when
her mask is off, she squandered the last blush of a
naturally blooming cb*ek many years ago. Her father
was engaged in the hbhing trade, and upon his death
she goes to the market with her face, and has the good
fortune to sell herself to a gentleman just arrived from
the Indies. My lady, having caught her husband,
proceeds to show him what the devil of a creature
woman can be ; and for my part I am heartily sorry
for the man, who is never seen in company with her, as

3i«

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

the very sight of him provokes her to fury. At home
she behaves like a Bedlamite ; here you behold her
obliging and polite, save when slio loses at the cards.
Temper has destroyed her charms, and now she has
nothing to live for except dress. I should be sorry to
say she sees fit to appear as a vestal because that is of
all characters the most unfitting ; for, speaking as a
friar, jester, I would but tell the truth, and would not
judge my fellow creatures harshly. Yet I believe you
would not wish to be her husband."

•• Not for the world, good friar. Who is the Dryad
standing in admiration at her side ? "

" She is my lady's toad-eater."

" Yet another fine character, a very showy person-
age, and gay as a butterfly. He appears as a rake, and
surely he does not wear disguise."

" He is in masquerade, I do assure you. Can you
name me his profession ? "

" By my soul, I cannot, unless he be a dancing-
master."

" Nay, jester. He is a clergyman."

" You have a mind to be jocular, friar. That caper-
ing beau a parson ! Who would trust his soul to the
care of a butterfly ? "

" He has several good livings, and is like to get more.
Once during five years he makes a grand tour to visit
his parishes and to tease his curates ; for 'tis a point of
honour with him to have preached in each one of his
churches. He is a man bom to live upon the labour of
his fellow-creatures without doing anything to deserve
it ; yet he has a passable understanding and a taste
for literature. He laughs at the bishops ; they call
him coxcomb ; he regards them little, but wraps him-
self up in his pluralities and rolls triumphant through
his parishes."

" I am diverted with his airs and graces. He is as
busy as a bee among the fair sex ; and I may suppose he
is allowed to enjoy a tolerable share of honey ? "

JACOB GIVES A PARTY 319

" That is indeed the case, jester. The parson is
master of that httle talk with which women are much
pleased. He can suit his company to a card-table or
the cock-pit. He is too well-bred to intrude upon the
delicacy of those whom he addresses ; for instance, he
would never think of conversing with another parson
upon divinity, or with a lady of quality upon polite-
ness ; because he knows these are subjects they have
nothing to do with."

" One other character interests me, holy man," said
the red mask. " 'Tis yonder long-shanked fellow,
who masquerades as a Roman Consul. He seems to
be in a mighty fidget."

" He is a doctor, my good jester, and is of so restless
a disposition that he cannot stand in one place for more
than a minute. He is so much in love with motion
that, before midnight, he will have visited every comer
of this mansion, and gone in the dark around the
garden. 'Tis said he has killed so many patients that
his conscience now surfers from St. Vitus's dance ;
therefore he appears in the character of Roman Consul,
who has subjugated a territory and slaughtered one
half of the inhabitants. See the rogue start ! You
would think a catchpole was at his shoulder. And
now, my good jester, I am sorry to desert you, but I
must again mingle with my guests."

" You have diverted me exceedingly, friar ; and I
am much obliged for your information. Your friends,
I perceive, are uncommonly well supplied with all the
vices."

" I have conversed with you, jester, in my character
of friar. As host I shall discover in this company all
the virtues."

" We shall meet again, good friar," cried the jester.

They parted and Jacob saw the red mask no more ;
nor could he obtain information from any of the guests
regarding the identity of this stranger. The jester
had certainly departed ; yet no horse had been brought

330

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

from the stable, and no carriage had been ordered.
When the lady in the character of Diana observed she
had not felt at her ease in the motley's presence,
Jacob trembled.

About three o'clock the company began to depart,
many of them glad to go, for there had been quarrels
between some of the masks, of whom not a few had
dnmk too deeply ; and there had also been some
awkward recognitions. An hour later the rooms were
empty ; the last tired servant had gone to bed ; and
the house was in darkness save in the saloon, where
candles were guttering in thek sconces. Jacob flung
back the shutters, then opened the windows to dispel
the fumes. He sank upon a chair and looked out for
the dawn.

" The fools are gone, the lights are out, the treasure
is exhausted," he muttered. " I must to work again.
Now I play the last card and claim my son ; and if
Sir Thomas would take him from me he shall pay the
ransom."

He was staring into the garden ; and by the raw
light all the strange monsters in yew and box and holly
appeared to live and move.

" The hour before dawn ; when men sleep tight and
burglars are abroad. I have an uneasiness in my mind
—I feel as though I had not always done my duty.
Yet I am fortified by the knowledge that I have
reUgion. I preach, I baptise, I pray in public ; and if
I practise no religious exercise in secret, 'tis because I
would have men know I am no hypocrite. Who was
that jester ? What brought him here ? I know well
he received no invitation. And how did he depart ?
And why were my guests afraid of him ? As I sit here
— somewhat afraid of sleep — ^watching these dying
candles, I am reminded of the kitchen yonder, where
I sat sifter the wench had robbed me. That haze
promises the dawn. I would give what little I now
possess to be told that jester's name. What little I

JACOB GIVES A PARTY

331

possess — yet in a few days the fools will come for
advice ; with suk^s to invest, with property to sell ; for
many I know are dipped. The figure was much the
same — maybe a trifle higher. The voice not familiar.
One minute he stood in yonder doorway. The next "

" Jacob Grambla ! " called a voice.

Upon the threshold stood Red Cap. The same
apparition, with the wound upon its face, and the
smoky light surrounding. For a moment Jacob was
conscious only that melting wax was dripping on the
carpet. Then he rose shivering to his feet.

" I know not how it is, yet I expected ye. I feel less
terror than before. By that I know I have not done ill."

" Take off that habit, Jacob Grambla."

" You are welcome," stammered the lawyer. " This
habit indeed means nothing."

" While wearing it you found no virtue in your
guests. While disguised you were yourself."

" Come, jester, we were friends a few hours ago. Let
us again make merry. Can it be that you — a spirit —
mingled with my guests ? "

" Approach and put your hands upon me — if you
have the courage. Yet I warn you ! "

" It is past cockcrow — ^yet you linger. Surely you
cannot survive the dawn."

" I am with you now — each night — until the end."

" Do you lead me to more treasure ? "

" Did I not tell you, when we stood together upon
Great Gwentor . . . ? Nay, I perceive you remember
my warning now. How have you spent the treasure ?
What poor creature have you helped ? Every guinea
has been spent upon yourself. Instead of lifting the
curse from me by your good endeavour, you have
condemned me to a further period of wandering upon
this earth. Soon you shall wander with me."

" I will make amends — give all I have to the poor."

" That I beUeve you cannot do. The guinea you
offered would cling to your hand as closely as the skin,"

4 :

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322

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" If I have not done my duty, I know not what duty
means."
" Remember Ruth ! "

" A wicked wench who robbed me. Ay, and the

fellow who swore he was her brother robbed me too. I

am a poor simple gentleman, the dupe of every rascal."

" Remember your title to Comagehall. Remember

the Clabars ! "

Jacob began to bite his fingers, and to tremble.
" I have not invented my profession," he muttered.

" No man at this period of the world's histoi. an
be so ingenious as to discover a new crime. Yet he
"'• lose his soul by practising the old ones."

.\n unpaid debt."
" Of a few guineas."
" Sir, it is the custom."

" Custom, Jacob Grambla, fills the air with unhappy
spirits, Uke myself, who long to escape, but cannot.
No more words. Henceforth I hav 't you."
" Is there left me no loophole of escape ? "
" None, Jacob Grambla. Yet you may escape a
great part of your punishment by restoring this pro-
perty to its rightful owner ; and by proclaiming to
Moyle the truth concerning Ruth and Peter Clabar."

" You are indeed an apparition from the de?d,"
said Jacob hoarsely. Then he cried, " The Ught breaks !
This is the day of my repentance."

" Too late for your happiness," replied Red Cap.
" Yet not too late for your salvation."

" I shall restore the property to the Clabars— I shall
pay every man; I shall live in poverty ; I shall go out
naked."

" Can you do these things ? "
" I reform from this hour. I go to sleep, and shall
arise a new man — a poor and honest gentleman."

Mocking laughter sounded through the saloon, where
the flames of the last candles leapt from dripping wax ;
and when Jacob looked about he found himself alone.

CHAPTER VI

A DAY OF QUARRELS ENDING WELL

Upon visiting the churchyard after her return, Ruth
was mightily astonished to find her mother's grave
protected by a fence, which swine could not uproot,
and churchwardens were afraid to destroy. One day
while bringing her offering of flowers, Cherry ap-
proached upon a similar pilgrimage ; but she carried
wild-flowers of the wood, and these were few because
summer was nearly gone. As they drew together it
occurred to Ruth that Clabar's handsome son was
none too well-disposed towards her.

"So you are returned, Mrs. Ruth. I trust you
enjoyed your holiday in Wiltshire," said Cherry.

" I was not aware. Master Peter, that anybody
knew I had ^en in Wiltshire," replied Miss Runaway.

" Sir Thomas has few secrets from me ; even though
he must heap favours upon you."

" You are much mistaken. Both Sir Thomas and
my lady are somewhat too hard upon me. I am for-
bidden to join the prayer-meeting at Master Honey's,
or to walk about Moyle church-town. I may not even
leave the castle without permission. I am not allowed
to forget I have been disobedient. If Sir Thomas tells
you everything, it may be you know my name and
history."

" It seems I have my own history to discover.

Yours is of no account to me," said Cherry impatiently.
'' You speak very strangely for a young gentleman."
" You would crow over me, I think. You have a

pretty fine opinion of yourself because you are a

333

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m
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324 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

fortune, and you beUeve you may awate some morning,
and find yourself hailed as a young lady of quality.
" How do you know I am a fort'one ?
" Mr. David tells me. And you love a highwajjnan
who now whistles behind the plough and no doubt
robs his master. God help the farmer's daughters 1
" For shame, Master Peter ! «:„!,+„ f„c«

•• And Sir Thomas must needs make a "Jghty fuss
overVour mother's grave, while he leaves the restmg-
p^Tmy mother to the sheep. He has discovered
your histo^. and knows your mother w^ some ^eat
LX So he permits you to bring flowers from
Bezurrel gardens to scatter upon her grave ; while I
mustbe satisfied with the weeds I can gather m the
woolla^d But lady or no lady. I shall nde over you
vet although I possess no diamonds.
• ' PiayVhat would a young gentleman be doing with

diamonds ? " , , ,. • j rv^^rn^r

" Hold your tongue, wench 1 cned Lherry.
" I shaU have no more words with you. I would
not be seen Hrg here with so cowardly a fellow,
i^d Ruth, as wU. imed away.

" Ay I toow > -r tastes. You are for the man who
is brav^ and virtuous ; who will lie behmd hedges and
snaSh a purse from ladies ^^^^ ^^„^J°^ ^,f 'i
hundred times. Uke goes to hke Mistress Ruth. I
vTh vou ioy with your robber and long bfe m yoi^ den
^thieves ButifeverlseeyouwaUdngonmymotherc
^a^'Tshall drag you out of the churchyard by your

^'tn this wicked frame of mind Miss Jealousy strode
away to tidy and decorate the unfenced grave, which
Xu? later was as desolate as before ; while Ruth
^uX angry, but sorely puzzled, resolved never again
S^^L Sthe young bully, who could so far abuse
Ws^r as to insult a maiden. " Strong and hand-
^mfhe may be." she murmured " but I woidd^ther
enjoy one day with my Harry than a bfe with him.

A DAY OF QUARRELS ENDING WELL 325

Cherry retired towards home, still in a jealoiis
frame of mind ; for she was angered by the stubborn
silence of Sir Thomas, and thought it intolerable he
should lavish love and attention upon the grave of
Ruth's mother, merely because he knew she had been
higher in rank than the unfortunate Mrs. Clabar, and
far more beautiful ; but, when nearing the turning,
where the lane beside the woods touched the road to
Moyle, she heard a disturbance which robbed her of
petty spite ; and waiting saw presently a rabble
assembly of men and boys, hooting and throwing
refuse at the tall and stately figure of Father Benedict,
who walked in front with a cloak drawn round his head.

"The good old man continually provokes the
village. I have warned Sir Thomas his life would be in
danger," Cherry whispered.

A little man, richly dressed, leapt forward and
seizing the cloak, held on with wondrous valour,
shouting at the top of his voice :

" To the pond with the bald-pate ! The law is with
us. No priest is allowed in this good protestant
country. Come, neighbours, kick the Jesuit fox ! "

" Jacob Grambla — active at last ! " muttered Cherry.
Then she passed to the hedge and broke away a rod of
hazel.

The rabble did not advance. Its members were
horribly afraid of the old priest and, although disposed
to persecute an alien — more in the way of natural feel-
ing than in obedience to their leader, who had aroused
their passions — they were not in the mood to duck
him. For they feared the priest's master. Besides
Jacob grew unpopular ; he had robbed many a
parishioner, and he was plainly under the displeasure
of heaven, for all his prayers and sermons, since a
spirit had been sent to haunt him.

" Were this fellow in a town he would be clapped
immediately into jail," Jacob went on. "This is
country, and he finds himself protected by Sir Thomas

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326

MOYLE CHXJRCH-TOWN

Just — ^who, I declare to you, neighbours, is the foulest
wizard in the world — therefore he may go about our
church-town, spy into our houses, and do the devil's
work with half our young folk."

" He has done much good," cried Cherry, stepping
forward. " He has paid the rent of many of your
tenants, whom you would gladly have driven out into
the fields."

" Ah, young gentleman ! So you and I meet ! "

" And I have sworn to whip you."

" Do so then ! " shouted the valiant Jacob, drawing
his sword to oppose her rod of hazel ; so that even the
idlers shouted in disgust.

" Fair play, master," called a voice. " Put up your
weapon and go at young gentleman with your hands."

" That he will never do," cried Cherry scornfully.

" I will pay them all and free myself," howled Jacob.

" Stand aside," said the priest to Cherry in a voice
that compelled obedience.

" Moyle has been tormented by witchcraft since
Sir Thomas brought this fox to dwell among us.
Himself a wizard, he brings a wife, a most notorious
enchantress, who has bound us all by magic spells,"
shouted Jacob, having prudently turned his back on
Cherry. " If we do not end it, there will be neither
man nor woman in the place who shall escape destruc-
tion. To the pond with this sneaking Jesuit ! Assist
me, neighbours, else I shall denounce the lot of ye ; I
shall have the law against the whole commimity — ay,
I shaU swear you gave protection to the Catholics."

" Back ! " cried Cherry, as some of the hot-heads
threatened.

" Young Peter has also been seduced by him. To
the pond with him I " yelled Jacob.

" Nay, he is one of ourselves. He is a parishioner."

" My good nonconformists," began the priest, facing
the rabble with some appearance of contempt. " So
I believe you call yourselves, and for my psurt I care

A DAY OF QUARRELS ENDING WELL 327

little what name of religion you take so long as you
are Christian in your lives. I freely admit the Catholic
priest is not permitted in this land ; yet a gentleman
of that religion must have his minister. If I disobey
the law, what of yourselves, who have but lately
broken from the church, as by law established, and
now spend your nights defying it ? "

" Do not listen, my lads. He is an idolater and an
Antichrist. He raises spirits," Jacob shouted, still
harping upon the same old string, since all the rest
were broken.

" Where is the man who has harmed you, who has
brought misery into Moyle, and dif&culties into the
lives of its inhabitants ? " the priest continued. " He
is not Sir Thomas Just, whom you call an alien, and
believe is indifferent to you. He is not Father Benedict,
who devotes his life to study and to ministry. Who is
the man who has given you ill advice, who has in-
vested your money so carelessly as to lose it, who has
taken your property, and made this parish one of the
poorest m al! Cornwall ? There stands the •nan, my
friends — ^improtected, hated, haunted ! "

Jacob spning out like a maniac to beat at the priest
with his sword ; and when it was snatched from him
by Cherry, again appealing wildly for assistance. A
few rough men came forward, not out of love for
Jacob, but in anger at the alien's domineering manner ;
and there must have followed a scene of violence,
perhaps of murder, had not the priest advanced to
meet them, dropping his cloak, throwing off his hat,
and removing the grey beard from his face. While
Jacob threw out his arms in terror, and every one
wished himself at home or out to sea.

" A master may only learn the truth by going among
his servants in disguise," said Sir Thomas. " I have
some kindness for my people. I know their lives ;
I have watched over their affairs. As for this man,"
he continued, looking stem / at Jacob, seeing more

328

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

back than front, " he and I meet for the first time.
Nor will it be long before we meet again — ^and then,
I trust, he will allow me to see his face."

For Jacob was slinking away like a frightened dog.

" Is it your wish, sir, that we should throw him in
the pond ? " inquired a rough fellow with the utmost
reverence.

" Let him walk with his sins," replied Sir Thomas ;
then he turned away with Cherry, and the rabble
hurried back to spread in Moyle the news that the
lord of Bezurrel cared for the people, while Jacob
Grambla was not worth a gwean.

" I thought I knew you, sir ; but it appears I do
not. When you spoke to me just now I supposed you
had made that grey beard grow upon your face," said
Cherry.

" You are far from knowing me, child, if you still
believe I am a magician," he answered.

" May I doubt what is well known ? "

" By the dull and superstitious, child. You are
neither one nor the other. Yet I find you accepting
folk-tales."

" When we first met, you penetrated my disguise."

" By human intelligence, child."

" You read my fortune from a printed book."

" Nay, child, I read from the impressioiis of my
mind."

" You knew Ruth's mother — ^you have fenced in her
grave."

" I did not know Ruth's mother ; yet I believe she
was a worthy woman."

" You declare I am not Clabar's daughter."

" I am about to claim you as my daughter."

" You cannot make me your daughter except by
magic."

" Or by matrimony. It is upon that subject I desire
to speak. I should have sent for you this evening had
we not met."

A DAY OF QUARRELS ENDING WELL 339

" Let us first close up this argiunent. If you tell me
you have no spells, I must believe. Yet Mother
Gothal, a poor ignorant woman, is a witch ; and she
declares you are her master in the black art."

" Mother Gothal is indeed ignorant ; and I fear a
great perverter of the truth. My ordinary intelligence
is witchcraft to her ignorance. You, with uncommon
wit and learning, mistake a student for a wizard. Fie,
child ! You are little better in this respect than these
Moyle wiseacres, who suppose that my lady and my-
self proceed here from the East — France or Arabia
'tis the East to them — furnished with all the enchant-
ments of the ages. My lady is a sorceress indeed, for
she has bound me by a spell which shall not be broken ;
but the only arts she practises are commonly known
as music and painting — these, child, did not originate
in heU."

" But, sir, the apparition which now haunts
Grambla ! "

"Well, child! What of it ? "

" It is your work."

" That I may not deny."

" If you caii up spirits of the dead, you are — and
must be — the most potent of magicians."

" A few minutes ago I was Father Benedict ; now
I am Sir Thomas Just. The change has been effected
without magic. A little trickery plays havoc with
the guilty conscience of a rogue. Even a ghost may
appear upon the stage, and if he mimes well must give
a thrill. But now that we speak of Grambla, let me
again forewarn you. Has he yet shown friendliness ? "

" To-day, sir, was the first time I ever spoke with
him."

" He wiU come," said Sir Thomas firmly, " and will
make, I believe, a mighty protestation of affection for
John Clabar. When that time comes you will send me
word."

" Grambla i- love would not be Grambla."

530 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" But Grambla offering lov j for hatred is himself.
You toe him now aroused, fighting for property, fair
name— ay, for life itself. His fortune is exhausted,
and he now perceives he has lost, while spending it,
his former influence, by making new fnends at a
distance and despising the old ones amongst whom he
lives. He is also oppressed by the terror of exposure.
" And above all, sir, he dreads your power."
" Supposing, like yourself, my Cherry, that I know
everythmg, and can read his secrets, as I once feigned
to read your future from the musty pages of Sidney s

Arcadia."

They were now in the woodland, walking along a
pleasant pathway overhung with honeysuckle.

" I am young and strong. Let me bear the pnest,
said Cherry archly ; and Sir Thomas smUed in his
grave fashion while placing his late disguise upon her

" You too are an enchantress, child ; yet all charm-
mg women belong to that race," he said. " You have
transformed Bezurrel Woods ; many a flower grows here
which I did not note last season. I find it hard to grow
displeased with you— for is not this your territory ?

" If you frown, sir, I must bid you go."

" Ay, I have heard often of your tyranny. Beneath
it poor John Clabar has quite lost his sullenness."

" No sour face enters my woods, nor walks beneath
my honeysuckle. Such is the law, sir. Would you

threaten me ? " . , .

" Such is my desire. This monung I was m a passion,
as my lady will tell you. It was when I had received
your artful message."

" Was it not well done ? I placed my letter m the
volume, so that it should fall open at the title of Love's
Labour's Lost; and I gave the book to David, for it
was proper that he should deliver it into your hand.

" It was not well done."

" It is not well to speak the truth ? "

-I

A DAY OF QUARRELS ENDING WELL 331

" It caw^ s disappointment, even bitterness. Child,
you treat wbe future as a house of cards ; and sweep
all down with one wilful movement of your hand."

" I look upon the future as I have regarded these
woods — over which I reign. I have sown my seeds,
and you. Sir Sourface, would trample on the spring-
ing years."

" You grow too bold."

" And you too serious. I do not recognise the'
Frown King. I will make no treaty with him. A
potent monarch he may be across the lane, but a
Ftetender here."

" This letter is your ultimatum ? "

" Not my challenge, but my prayer. I declare
peace. Sir Thomas ; and I ask for happiness."

" If you had spoke of this before ! "

" I could not speak, not even in these garments,
until I had discovered that to obey your wishes was
impossible."

" This means more to me than you can dream of."

" Consider what it means to me. Sir, when happi-
ness and ambition race together, both cannot win the
prize. Ambition is commonly blown at the end of the
first stage, and then it fouls happiness, with the result
that sorrow, which started like the toi toise, passes the
two of them. I enter happiness only for the race, and
would win or lose with that."

" What is this ? " Sir Thomas asked, as they drew
near the stream.

" A summer-house which I have made these last
few weeks. The sun is caught in it early, and cannot
escape until evening. I believe my father turns poet,
for he sits here to write ; but hides the paper when he
seeb me coming. Is it not strange how men are ashamed
to be caught writing poetry ? "

" No more of this," said Sir Thomas almost roughly.
" I shall here make my last appeal ; and if it fails —
why then you must go your wilful way."

33a

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

•• With your blessing. SIT ? „

•• That I cannot withhold. Come into this arbour.
" There is a formality which you would overlook.
Will it please you to smile first ? "
" Come, child ! " he said impatiently ; but with the

words complied. ^ .. u j

They sat in the arbour so long that the sun had
escaped before they left. Cherry was now more
dignified, but happy, and she was inclined to feci
shame at the roughness of her hands. Moreover she
declared her neck was brown. They advanced a
little way upward; for mist was rising from the
water— yet the wood was in splendour at the close
of day— while Cherrj' could smell the trees, the sea.

and the moor. ^ ,, , -t

" How glorious is life ! " she shouted suddenly, as if

unable to control herself.

" What is your answer ? " Sir Thomas asked
tenderly ; they were walking arm in arm.

" The same. A woman will often change her mind ;
but once in her life she has it fixed. Poor Ruth ! I
am sorry I lost my temper w:th her ; for she has little,
and I have much. Poor sister Ruth ! "

" Her happiness is assured."

" I am aln ost afraid to return to Halcyon. John
Clabar loves me so well it will almost break his heart
to lose me." . ^^

" I go now to speak with David.

" Where is Martin ? "

" In London." , ^ . . .,

" A woodland life— yet I have been happy in it,
she said. " In poverty, in romance, as bov or girl, I
have been happy. Must you go ? I do not hke to

part with you now." , , , . u

" Come in the morning to Bezurrel, for I have much

more to tell you. Good night, sweet daughter mine."
" Good night, my dearest father."

CHAPTER VII

JACOB'S LAST STAKE

Once more Jacob trod the rocky pathway to Mother
Gothal's hovel; which was the shrine of the only
religion he could comprehend. During twenty years
he had visited that place, supposing himself to be
master of the witch, yet never discovering he was her
dupe. And now at last he came to save his life.

The old woman sat beside her fire, a cat upon each
side, and bunches of herbs above her head. One brown
hand stirred the pot, while the other held a fragment
of clay pipe between her gums. She looked so much
mor wicked than she was. Appearance, hovel, even
smoke and odours, were necessary for her existence ;
since nobody would have waited upon a witch who sat
in a neat parlour, with a bright kettle singing on the
hearth, and a canary trilling at the window.

"Master Grambla 1 " she c-ied. "You ha' been

long a-coming."

" Red Cap is returned ; he comes to my rout, mixes
with my guests in jestei s garb ; speaks to them a id
to me like a fellow of the town ; and at dawn appears
in his own malignant shape He now haunts me every
night. He walks with me in the garden. He follows
to the house. He threatens to stay with me to the

end."

So Jacob gabbled, falling to his knees before the
witch upon whose wisdom he depended.

" I say you ha' been long a-coming, Master Gram-
bla," she repeated sourly, drawing her grimy skirt from
contact with his ^"«

334 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" What do you mean, dear Mammy ? "

" While you be spending fortunes you never come
near me."

" I sent you a silk gown and a purse of money."

" You never sent me meat. You never came to
pass a word of kindness wi' old mother. You promised
to build me a house wi' two floors, Master Grambla."

" rU do it yet. Mammy. I'll build you a proper
house, if you come with me to CoinagehaU and lay this
spirit. And you are to prepare a brew for Sir Thomas,
and drench him with it at new moon, so that he may
lose his cursed power. I would have you settle him to
the day of doom ; for he has gone about Moyle, dis-
guised as his old priest, who I now perceive never
leaves the castle. He has gathered information against
me — has listened to the lies of gossip — and now sends
this hellish Red Cap for my ruin. I am alone. Mammy.
Even my servants run from a haunted master."

" He sent him once to be your fortune. Tell me this,
master— why did Sir Thomas make you rich ? You
cannot answer, so I'll tell ye. When a magician calls
up spirits he ain't allowed to choose ; he must take
the one who answers. There's a plenty of red caps in
the land of spirits. Some be big and sime be little ;
some be fat and some be thin. But all of them ha' hid
away money in their lifetimes. If a red cap comes to
a gentleman once, 'tis well ; but if he comes twice,
'tis mortal ill— for he don't wear the cap his second
visit."

" Why, that's the truth. He appears to me now
with a head uncovered; but he smelk the same.
Mammy— always most vUlainously of brimstone."

" Your time ha' come, master," said Mother Gothal.
" I'll serve ye no longer, lest I be moonstruck. I won't
go to CoinagehaJl, for sun, moon, and stars be all agin
ye. And I dare not brew a pot of broth to drench Sir
Thomas, for he would strike stifi a poor old witch body.
The devil himself goes a tiptoe when he hears Sir

JACOB'S LAST STAKE 335

Thomas coming. You ha' heen too long a-coming.
Master Grambla."

" Here is a purse, Mammy. I will give you all—
my house and land, my cottages, my mortgages — if
you can set me free."

" Keep your gold, master. 'Tis the first time I ha'
refused money, and 'twill be the last, I reckon. I likes
to sleep o' nights, and if I took your money now I
would be scratched by hell-cats. Give Coinagehall
back to the Clabars— and learn the truth, master."

" What truth. Mammy ? "

" Ay, and tell me the truth," cried Mother Gothal.
" You have played with all Moyle and robbed half the
folk in it ; but you can't play wi' a witch for ever. Sit
you there, master, till I call."

She dropped her pipe and went out of the hovel. At
her summons Jacob arose and followed her outside.
The day was clouded. Mother Gothal stood beside
the spring of clear water, where the maids of Moyle
came upon Maundy Thursday to throw in buttons,
and tell their future by the number of bubbles that
uprose ; and, while pointing at the water with her
magic wand, she told the superstitious man to kneel
and gaze into the depths.

" It is dark ; the water seems to boil," he muttered.
"Ah, now I see a picture — a figure upon the cliff,
holding a lantern."

" Do ye know the man. Master Grambla ? "

" The water lies ! I am no wrecker."

" Go back," commanded the witch. " Come again
when I call ye. I may not charm the water in your
presence."

A minute later Jacob knelt again by the enchanted
spring ; and now the water seemed darker than before.

" I have seen that room," he muttered, breathing
Iwavily. " That man with the child in his arms, look-
ing down upon the bed — ^he is myseii. There is no
movement."

336

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" 'Tis the past," said Mother Gothal.

" This is very like your former home."

" Where am I ? "

" I know not. Here are two infants — ^and myself."

" Now, master, confess you ha' played the rogue."

" Does Sir Thomas know of this ? "

" That's nought to me. Go your way, master, for
I have done with ye. I help no man who is cursed by
heaven and haimted by hell. Go your way yonder 1 "
she cried, pointing towards the summit of Great
Gwentor.

" Help me. Mammy ! Save me — I believe you can.
I have sdways protected you. When they would have
thrown you into the pond, to sink or swim, I would not
let them. Surround me with your enchantments — ^lay
this fearful spirit. Nay, if you command me to go upon
my hands and knees before Sir Thomas, I shall do so."

" Go to Master Honey's, and when the folk are
gathered about ye, stand up and confess your sins.
Tell Toby Penrice, before all the people, how you
robbed him. P&y your servants the wages due to them.
Go to Master Clabar and give him back his home."

" These thuigs I cannot do ; but I shall at least live
honestly."

"Too late," cried the witch, going towards her
hovel.

" Mammy 1 Is there no more treasure hid upon this
moor ? "

" What would you do with treasure ? "

" I would pay my debts — ^and help a few poor
widows."

" You would keep all, and spend all on yourself.
I'll have no more words with ye, lest I be cursed. But
I'U have ye to know 'tis an ill deed to cheat a witch.
'Tis our last meeting, Master Grambla. Get you gone,
wrecker and robber — and forget John and Cherry
Clal^r if you can."

Jacob went, stumbling over the rocks ; while Mother

JACOB'S LAST STAKE

337

Gothal, with many a chuckle of delight, dipped her
arm into the spring and drew out a little dark oU paint-
ing which, like its companion picture; had been made
by Lady Just, to fit an occasion such as this. She
carried them both into her den ; relighted her fragmert
of pipe ; then began to prepare for departure, knowin,
that the time had arrived when it would be necessary
to hidd herself in the castle of i3ezurrel.

" He'll come to-night, or send a gang, to end me ;
a few of them what pray wi' him will work for him —
but not many, my dear, and next week there'll be none ;
folk go shy of a man that's haunted," she said joyously.
" Twenty-five years I ha' been a witci; and got a living
by it ; but I don't know how any one be the worse for
what I've said and done. And soon I'll live in a cottage
wi' two floors, my dear. And I'll learn to read the
Bible, which be full o' the bravest witchery in the
world. And I'll wear my silk gown, and dance at two
more weddings — ay, and I'll cut my I ard off first.
And if I don't drink a bottle at each wedding— la, my
dear, two bottles — may I be pinched for it."

Cherry, an hour later, saw the meagre figure of Jacob
from a window of Halcyon ; and in a calm voice called
Clabar from his scribbling. Together they watched
the man who walked so lifelessly.

" Now our enemy comes at last. He opens the for-
bidden pathway when it is too late," she said.

" Do not abuse him," begged the fearful Clabar.

" I shall not lay a finger on him. He is whipped
enough."

Then she opened the door ; and, seeing her, Jacob
smiled and tried to amble at his ease along tlte pathway.

" Friends ! " he began. " You wondci wb.y I have so
long delayed to visit ye. Ah, John Clabar I these be
old times again. The office was never the same when
you had departed. I missed my friend and coimsellor.
Ah, John, I would fortune had permitted you to stay
with me."

338

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" I remember you did not encourage me to stay,"
said Clabar.

" 111 times, neighbour. I could not afford a clerk ;
and, as you know, I engaged no other. Clabars and
Gramblas have always been good friends. I loved
your father "

" Is it your way to express love by depriving friends
of property, and by driving them from their homes ? "
asked Cherry.

" Young gentleman, you and I are about to become
acquainted," said Jacob suavely. " Your grandfather
sold me Coinagehall, though I was ill disposed to take
it ; but a poor man, gentlemen — a mere attorney —
must get what he can. As for the other affair— wWch
was indeed unfortunate — I was the tool played with,
the corpus vile experimented upon — I have no great
strength of mind, John, as you very well know — ^the
pliant wand was I, so to speak, of the rogue Toby, who
harboured every feeling of resentment against thee,
friend John, knowing you had caught him once with
a sackful of hares, and believing it was you that lodged
the information which brought him into trouble.
Gentleman, I am a dupe, a fool — ^I was intended for
the life of idle squire. I have been in good truth an
idiot at these conveyances, mortgages, investments,
and the like. Preaching, praying, that I might have
done. Ay, I could have made a curate. I was trustee
for Toby — a deep rascal, I promise you ; that simplicity
of his, it will not do — I invested the sum in the South
Sea Company, and it went with my own small savings ;
all was caught away in that damnable whirlpool. Toby
would not spare me unless I gave him your cottage,
John — ay, and would have me get you out of Moyle
to boot. For, said he, this Clabar, by some cunning of
the pen, by some clerkly trick, has signed away my
fortune. The two families could never agree ; for
Ciabars have been alwajrs honest, while Penrices were
ever rogues and poachers. Eh, John, 'twas a happy

JACOB'S LAST STAKE

339

day for me when the excellent Sir Thomas gave you
friendship."

" You Lave a pretty trick of pleading," said Cherry.

" I do not plead, young sir ; I state my case. Truth
may demand a statement, but does not need a lawyer."

" Then why do you visit us ? "

" As a friend and neighbour ; nay more, as a bene-
factor. I grow old ; I desire to settle my affairs.
Young gentleman, are you not the heir of the
Clabars ? "

" What if I am ? "

" I would see you run the plough across the fields of
Coinagehall. A poor house and l^rren property. Yet
I would make you master."

" This is generous. Why should you favour me, and
neglect your adopted daughter ? And why do you
forget John Clabar ? "

" That you have a right to know. I have a tale for
your ear, but I would not speak it here. Will it please
you to accompany me. Master Peter ? Will you come
with me now to your future home, and permit me to
show you the entire property ? Nay, if you so desire,
I will seal you a deed of gift before the sun goes down."

" I go with you," said Cherry, making a certain sign
which Clabar understood ; but not a movement escaped
the eye of Jacob.

" John shall certainly accompany us. Our deed
of business calls for his honest presence," he said
glibly.

" I remain here," said Clabar. Then his anger broke
loose, and he struck the desk before him as he cried,
" I have sworn not to enter my father's house while
you remain its master."

" For shame, John ! You have forgot your manners
— and have spilt your ink," said Jacob.

Clabar watched them out of sight, then left the
cottage to run at headlong speed through the wood,
and so to Bezurrel. While Jacob and Cherry arrived

340

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

presently at Coinagehall, to discover a great silence ;
for nobody was to be seen in the garden, where imple-
ments lay as they had been dropped, and the door of
an empty house stood open.

" Have you not a great number of servants ? "
inquired Cherry.

" Rascals who cheated me. I have dismissed them
all," replied Jacob. Yet the trick of the voice could
not conceal a troubled mind ; for when he had left the
house a few servants had remained ; and now these
also had abandoned him.

" Answer me plainly," said Cherry, as they entered,
" Is it not true that you wish to dispose of this property
because it is haunted ? "

" It is indeed haunted," replied Jacob with a laugh.
" You shall see footprints form in the dust, and
wounded faces pressed against the windows. You
shall hear groans and tramplings all the night. But he
is a poor creature who fears a spirit. There is one Red
Cap — a pleasant knave — ^who haunts the house perpet-
ually. I am grown so accustomed to the rogue and his
impish tricks that I would not willingly be without
him. This fellow was once a Clabar, and you must
know, yotmg gentleman, that to be a Clabar is to be a
rascal."

" Is not that a strange admission ? "

" I hate the Clabars," cried Jacob, pressing both
hands against his chest as if he would have forced down
his nature.

" Why have you locked the door ? "

" I would have privacy. I will have no interference,
whether of man or spirit. Do you fear me, young sir ? "

" With one arm fastened I could whip you round
this house. Do you not rather fear me ? "

" I have no cause to fear you, my fine young gentle-
man."

" We stand alone in this house. There is nobody
within sight or hearing. I had sworn before coming to

JACOB'S LAST STAKE

341

Moyle that I would beat you soundly for having
snatched this property from my father."

" Instead of which you shall learn to love me. I
bring you here to claim you — to call you my own
Robin."

" Robin I " she exclaimed ; then murmured to her-
self, " The title fits his business."

" You wonder why I dispose of my property to you.
Now you shall perceive the deed is natural. You may
reproach me for having delayed so long to claim you ;
but you shall know the motive. Young gentleman, I
am your father."

Cherry walked towards the window, that she might
hide her face. " Proofs I " she exclaimed. " Not
words."

" Proofs you shall have, my son. But first let me
say why I was forced to leave you to the care of that
whining John Clabar, and at the mercy of the foul
wizard. Sir Thomas Just. Old Clabar would sneer at
my father ; and has cuffed me on the head many a
time when I was young. I obtained possession of this
property by a trick, if you like. I settled with the
father. I paid the son ; and by another trick I got
possession of his daughter, and I made her serve me as
a kitchen wench."

" So you confess to me of your own free will that
Ruth is Cherry Clabar."

" While you are Robin Grambla."

" And you are Grambla robbing me of name. Do
you desire me to call you father ? I know a better
tale than that," she cried with so much loathing that
Jacob stood dismayed.

" You are r.yy fcon indeed. And we shall fight our
enemies togeiMer," he muttered.

" John Clabizr, -;iy kind guardian, and Sir Thomas
Just, my more than friend."

" He will be your bitterest foe when he learns who
is your father."

34a MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" Still no proofs ; but methinks much perjury," she

said disdainfully. . . ... x j

" Do not vex me, Robin. I have the proofs, and
presently shall show them. Here we will live together.
You shall be master, and I the servant." ^^

" And build upon the ruins of your fortune 1
•• Son, there is something left. This morning I had
letters upon business— a property to sell, a sum to
mvest. I believe, Robin, you could win a purse at the
wrestling. And there is money to be got by this new
religion. Together we shall make a pretty fortune.
But Mother Gothal must be silenced first. And now

for proofs." . , .. , ^ ^ ui

" They are not needed," she said. Jacob Grambla,
you have made your last throw, and fortune— as a
diamond necklace— now defeats you." , ^^ ^ , ^. .

" What mean you, Robin ? May I fall dead this
instant if you are not my son."

" You are reprieved for a different fate. Do you not
hear the knocking dn the door ? " , „ ^ ^ , „

" No mortal knocks. Tis the cursed Red Cap I
shouted Jacob. " Stay. Robin I In pity sWeld me !

She had left the room, and now unlocked the door.
A moment later she returned with Sir Thomas ; and,
standkig between her protector and the meagre
Grambla, said triumphantly, " My dearest fnend and
my bitterest enemy meet at last."

CHAPTER VIII

JACOB ARGUES FOR THE LAST TIME

There was no man in Moyle parish quite so small as
Jacob Grambla ; many a wench was taller, many a
boy bigger. He looked then like the dry and shrunken
bean-pod hanging by a single stalk of life, the last of its
kind, with winter coming on. Thb pigmy stood and
trembled exceedingly, knowing that all the forms of
enchantment were likely to be brought against him.
He shifted so that a mirror opposite should not reflect
his shriveUed misery. Then he took snuff, and spoke :

" Coinagehall is honoured the second time by an
uninvited guest. Jester and ghost one day ; priest
and magician another. A pretty masquerade in
truth I I have no names for such great gentlemen,
and I may be pardoned if I profess no friendship. I
do not go to Bezurrel, yet Sir Thomas Just must come
to Coinagehall. I know not, sir, by what right you
trespass upon my private life."

" Let us not get talking about rights," said Sir
Thomas. " Were I to call the people of Moyle and to
say, ' Do justice to this man,' I might be led to pity
you."

" What brings you, sir ? "

" I come to force truth out of the mouth of a liar."

" He has just declared. Sir Thomas, that I am his
son," said Cherry.

" Truth in that form can hardly be a lie ; for such
a statement could deceive no man," replied Sir Thomas.

" I am to prove my words," said Jacob. " Sir,
th»ie is a law which forbids the interference of a

343

344

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

stranger between father and son. This young gentle-
man te mine. He is. as you are well aware, no relation
of the sour John Clabar. You have no need to scan
the sters, nor to search your books, to know this hand-
some fcUow could not be the son of dark and brooding
Clabar; and of a lady who, for all her Cornish
parentage, was of Spanish blood ; being descended
from one of the shipwrecked sailors of the great

Armada."

" ' pray you do not look at your own reflection in
the mSror, said Sir Thomas.

" Your insults, sir, proceed from greater strength.
My lady was beautiful mdeed— she had golden hair.
Yet I grieve to add no marriage ceremony took place
between us. Therefore this young gentleman is not
legitimate. Sir, if I wished to lie. how easy it would
be to declare I had been married."

'* Why, a most ingenious gentleman 1 " Sir Thomas
muttered.

" This my son, R»bin, was bom in the parish and
town of St. Germans, where as a young man I had
some business," Jacob continued. " I waste no breath
in telling of my love, my courtship. Death, sir,
prevented a more legal union. At an early age, and
oppressed by poverty, I found myself the father of a
son, whom I dared not own in this church-town of
Moyle. For jiys I fought against paternal tender-
ness ; and at last, defeated by the longings of my soul,
I set out for St. Germans, and returned with boldness
and my babe. I reached this parish during the great
storm which the old and middle-aged still tell of.
Hearing signals of distress at sea, and shouts of
wreckers on the cliffs, I tied my horse, and descended
to the shore, bearing the child Robin tenderly in my
arms. I stood there alone, and presently a lady was
washed up near my feet. Sir, that instant I perceived
how I might save my reputation and secure sympathy
for my darling Robin. Finding the lady was dead, I

JACOB ARGUES FOR THE LAST TIME 345

drenched the clothes of my child, then ascended the
cliffs, canyliit; my son whom I was to present to the
people as a cnild I had rescued from the sea. Thus,
sir, the story came about."

" How is it your son came to be Peter Clabar ;
while the maiden Ruth was known as your adopted
daughter ? "

" I shall be plain with you. I shall now tell of my
deed of vengeance," replied Jacob. " The half of the
cruelty of these Clabars to my family will never be
made known. Let that pass now ; I mention it to
justify my action. John Clabar himself had done me
no ill — ^he had the will, but not the power— yet God
in heaven knows how his father oppressed my parents.
Sir, I could produce you letters in proof of this. John
Clabar's wife had lately died, alter bearing hun a
child, which Mother Gothal had the care of. I went
to her cottage, having then the idea of bidding her
take charge of my little Robin also ; but when I
arrived she had gone out upon the cliff to join the
wreckers, and had left a little maid to watch the
child. I sent her out and, to be brief, sir, in my story,
I dressed my Robin in the clothes of Cherry, left him
in the cot, and carried to Coinagehall John Clabar's
infant daughter."

" This portion of youf story is true indeed ; but I
knew it akeady."

" For Mother Gothal told you. I would remind
you, sir, that old baggage lies to every man."

" I discovered it myself. I do not ask your motive
in neglecting yoiu- son and wrecking your vengeance
on the Claims. Nor do I require you to show me
proofs ; for I am very well aware this yoimg gentle-
man, as you are pleased to caU him, is no more related
to you than he is to the house of Clabar."

" You speak easily, sir ; but you cannot kill my
claim by talking."

" Why do you now require his services ? "

346

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

The aflectioM of a father, sir "

" Pray do not speak of the affections. You reqmre
him because he is strong ; and you ^lieve, by this
foolish story, you may win his help. B^* J?^*^» "J
you know I love him. So you woidd turn hmi agamst
me. you would force me to despise Wm. or you dream
by this trick to win my support and thus strengthen
your hold upon this property."

" You declare Robin is not my son. Ride with me
to St. Germans, and I shall there produce evidence of

his birth." _ ...

•• I am not mclined to fail into a trap. Travelbng in
your company might lead to accidents upon alonely
Joad. Ncwkt me burst this bubble." said Sir Jhomas
sharply ; then, taking the young lady by the hand he
led her forward and ccmtmued. My child. I shall
ask you a few questions in this ror^m s hearing- vo
you own this Grambla as your father ? "

" By heaven. I do not,' sho answered.^

" What was the platce of vour birth ? "

" The Colony of Virginia. "

" Are you maid or man ? " ^^

" A thousand times a maid."

" What is your Christian name ? "

" Elizabeth." ^ , ,

" What madness is this ? " shouted Jacob.

" The madness of the truth." replied Su- Thomas.

" A foul trick. Here is more enchantment. Are 3/ -

indeed a maid ? " .♦«*^iv

" You have heard me say so." answered the stetel>

young Elizabeth. ,

" Lay down your weapons, Grambla, and pray lor

pardon." , x* •

^^ Sir I have no desire to seek your pardon, it is
true I have fdlen into error— such as a man will make.
I have not disclosed the whole of the truth ; for a man

may tell his story in the way that smts him. This
yoimg lady is indeed not related to me. that is to say,

JACOB ARGUES FOR THE LAST TIME 347

she b not my flesh and blood. Yet I shall claim her
as my daughter, and I know well the law of this land
must uphold my claim against even a baronet— a most
religious Catholic gentleman, who has smuggled into
this Protestant country a Jesuit priest which, sir, is
against the law."

" I perceive you have more than one arrow in your
quiver," said Sir Thomas.

"Ay, sir, and here I have a sharp one which shall
riddle you. Seek your pardon — a pretty notion ! I
will have you beg mine before you go. I repeat, sir,
I would have strengthened my case by a different
arrangerrnnt of the facts. The former story carried
more weight; yet the plain truth is hardly of less
consequence. I may even appear before you in a
more honourable light when I declare I have not
known a father's transports. Let us have done with
quibbles. To Moyle I published the true story. I
saved the life of this young lady as a child ; I snatched
her from the ocean, and closed her hapless mother's
eyes in death."

" Then robbed her body."

" You lie, sir. I used the dead with every possible
act of reverence."

" Yet you failed to discover the necklace."

" You are playing with me, sir. Will you not find
virtue and kmdness in any man who is your enemy ?
iih, sir, you are bitter in your disappointment. You
perceive I make good my claim. You have showered
your favours — I know not for what purpose — upon
this young lady who is, I believe, of mean birth ; and
now you are unable to restrain your grief at discover-
ing her daughter of poor Jacob Grambla, and mistress,
not of your^, but of so mean a home as Coinagehall."

"Your claim. What is it ? "

" Why, she is mine by the law of the land, the
custom of the country, and tradition of the people.
I did not know of her sex. Nor upon that night of

348

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

the exchange did I know whether Clabar's chUd was
son or daughter. I gambled with the chance. When
I discovered his babe was a daughter, I thought to
hear more ; but the child was sent away immediately
—a few hours, I believe, after I had played my tnck—
and I then supposed my babe was also a maid. When
Pfeter Clabar came to Moyle twenty years afterwards,
I was indeed amazed ; and then I supposed my ex-
change nad not been discovered, while the people to
whom the chUd was sent knew no better than myself.
Sir, I do not possess your powers of divination— and 1
thank God for it. I am a plain man, duped by Mother
Gothal, who I am now well assured knew of this young
lady's sex. Sir, you may haunt me with Y©^ e"*^"
spirits, yet I have you. Here is my adopted daughter.
Leave her, sir, and leave my house, and nee me for
ever from your hateful presence. Come, Sir Thomas,
have the goodness to confess that 1 have beat you.

" Your nimble wit, has run away from reason and
left memory far behind," replied Sir Thomas. "You
have heard me question this young lady ; you have
listened to her answers. Can a chUd a few weeks old
know her name and remember her birth-place ? Ctae
more question I will put to her. Child, your full name ?

•• Elizabeth Virginia Just," said the young lady

" Now you are answered. You saved this maiden's
life : for that I thank you ; for that I might have loved
you • ay, and for that I am prepared even now to help
you. Yet you saved her in order that you might gratify
your evil nature by forcing Cherry Clabar, the heiress
of this house, to serve in your kitchen ; and how you
treated the poor maid I know. You claim this young
lady as your adopted daughter. I daim her as my
only brother's child." ,,

" Yet more enchantment," Jacob muttered. This
is trickery— foul plotting. You put these answere m
her mouth. She is a common creature— ay, daughter

JACOB ARGUES FOR THE LAST TIME 349

ol a Jew, I wanant. So I gave Cherry this one's
rightful name of Ruth."

" She is Elizabeth, for the name has become dear
in the traditions of my family ; and Virginia because
she was bom in that colony. The Justs were ever
wanderers ; and my brother, having no taste for life
in England, travelled much about the >vorld. Coming
to Italy for my wedding, he fell in love with a parti-
cular friend of my lady ; and as soon as could be
married her. They travelled to America, and were
so much attracted by the Colony of Virginia that they
decided to spend some years among the hardy pioneers.
A son was given them, only to be taken away. Then
came Elizabeth, but the letter which told me of her
birth contained also the news of her father's death.
His lady left immediately upon a visit to my father at
Bezurrel. The rest you know."

" I have heard another story marvellously like
yours," said Jacob bitterly. " I believe, sir, you and
a certain vagabond, who came to this house to declare
Cherry was his sister, have put your heads together.
Nay, I am certain that you sent him here ; and you
are his confederate in robbing me, and in passing
paper money that is false."

" You refer to a poor gentleman whom I now protect.
If he robbed you, I am sorry for it," said Sir Thomas
coldly. " I did not know of this man until he came
to this house and fell in love with Cherry ; and even
then I had no speech with him. By her wilful action
in ruiming with him I was to learn the truth. Had
you treated the poor child as a daughter, had you not
driven her from this house, I might never have dis-
covered my young lady's name and parentage — so I
should have mourned for ever the death of my only
niece."

" These are words, sir, wild words ; and, I believe,
wicked words."

" Then listen again. When my dear brother married.

350 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

my lady and I presented to his wife the most costly
diamond necklace that our fortunes could procmre ;
a neddace so splendid as to become the talk of the
whole city of Florence. This necklace was worn by
mv larfortunate sister-m-law when she \m vfashed
Khore. You did not discover it, but Mother Gothal
removed it from the body, and after many years ^ve
it to Cherry, who sent it to my lady, upon the day
she ran with her lover, by the hand of our dear luece.
At a glance we recogn^ it : nor could we have
failed to do so, for the crest of the Justs is cunnmgly
stamped upon each link. Are you answered ?

" I am content," said the meagre attorney, rubbmg
his dry hands together liowly. " I believe I must for-
go my claim, for I perceive you carry facts too weighty.
Sir, may I ask you to withdraw ? I wish this young
lady every happiness. I am engaged, sir, for a prayer-
meeting at Master Honey's. So I lost the necldace !
I had a fortune beneath my hands, and could not tmd
it. I saved this young lady for your happiness. I have
played into your hands at every move. Well. God be
praised for it. I have done good ; have saved 1^ and
made folk happy. I thank God for it. Permit me.
sir, to attend you to the door." ___.

" Stay. Grambla," said Sir Thomas, stepping towaaMte
the shrivelled manikin. " It is my purpose to reward
you— upon conditions— for you have unwittmgly done
a great service to my house. Ay, though you worked
with ill-intent, you have yet done good. I shall present
you with five thousand pounds; whUe you slMll
agree, upon receiving that sum, to restore tlcas
property to John Clabar. then to leave Moyie. never
to revisit the western side of Tamar."

" Five thousand pounds— I came into that sum
before." said Jacob harshly. " A year of life, of fine
furniture and servants and routs— a year of 1^
friendship. Nothing more. Again I am content. Sir,
I bow before you, I thank you for your kmdness.

JACOB ARGUES FOR THE LAST TIME 351

But, sir, will you not rather withdraw your enchant-
ments from me, and command your spirits to cease
from troubling me ? Can you not see misery upon my
face — misery too great for one small man to bear ?
I have done evil, sir. 'Tis true I have cheated and
robbed, but I have done no murder ; I have led no
wench astray, for all my talk ; I have been exact in
my reUgious duties. Sir, I am poor now, and cnehed,
my friends are gone from me ; and the years go with
me downwards, sir, downwards. I can face men, not
spirits. I have a great weakness, a great terror, for
these figures and fancies. Sir, I grow strange in my
mind when I behold this apparition. I take a knife,
yet fear to use it. Lack of reason may remove this
terror ; and, sir, you may not wish in time to come to
have even my death upon your soul."

" Enough, Grambla ! You are free from this hour,"
said Sir Thomas in a pitying voice ; while Elizabeth,
who had done with the masculine sex and name of
Cherry, was astonished to discover a haze upon her
eyes.

CHAPTER IX

ONLY JOHN CLABAR IS UNHAPPY

" Farewell to the woods 1 Farewell to John Clabar !
But not farewell to Halcyon ! " sighed the young lady.
" I gam the whole world, yet lose a devoted father.
When did you first suspect, dear uncle, I was no

Clabar ? " . j • j

" When I set eyes upon you. Golden-haired maidcM
are not bom to the swarthy. Damsels of leammg wid
keen wit do not spring from yeoman stock. Neither
do infants in their cradles alter the colour of their eyes 1
And more, your face and figure, your reUgion, yom:
fine spirit of freedom, the very canlage of your head,
reminded me of my dear brother. Now you under-
stand why I have always loved and protected you ;
and why I desire you for my elder son."

•• Poor Cherry-Ruth ! How she will gneve to lose

her diamonds 1 " .„ . . x *u „

" If I am not mistaken, she will rest content with a

father, home, and husband."

" If they do not satisfy her, with liberty also to pray
in her own queer fashion, I shall call her peevish. Here
comes David 1 Will he stoop to kiss his cousms

hand ? " , . .^, ., . , .

" Ah, child ! I would have seen him with the ngnt

to kiss your lips." . u

" David and I are warm friends ; but we should

have made cold lovers. Let this soreness heal.^^ Dear

uncle, you must take me, naughtiness and all.
The elder son approached along the avenue, leading

a horse ; and was now almost up with them.

35a

ONLY JOHN CLABAR IS UNHAPPY 353

" I shall inform David this evening you are his
cousin— not now, Betty," said Sir Thomas.

" Ho, Peter I " cried the young man pleasantly.

" My name is not Pfeter, young gentleman."

" Ho, Mistress Cherry ! " cried he.

" Neither is that my name."

" Then I am done."

" What, an't you got my name yet ? " she asked,
laughing. " You know the old folk-tale, my young
gentleman ? "

" I was brought up on it," he said. Then, bowing
and pointing at her, he sang, " Nimmy, nimmy, not,
your name is Tom-Tit-Tot."

" Now I should scream, and fly away, and be seen
no more. But I'll stay to plague you."

" Where are you going, David ? " asked his father.

" Ten miles along the high road, sir. I have made
a calculation which tells me my brother should reach
the other side of the downs in two hours' time. His
horses are makinjg the dust fly, I warrant."

"What is this?" Elizabeth murmured, with a
decided change of countenance.

" There was a quarrel between us when we parted,"
David continued. " I have a debt of honour to dis-
charge ; so, with your consent, sir, I shall meet the
rogue in a lonely place, and maybe pull his ears."

" If you do so, I shall never speak with you again,"
cried the young lady.

" Ho, ho, Mre. Tom-Tit-Tot ! Now we know which
way the wind blows. I shall beat Martin— ay, soundly,
I promise you. I shall bruise him from head to foot.
And then I shall force him to his knees and compel
him to kiss my boots."

" Sir Thomas, you cannot permit this ! "

"Go, David, and whip the young rascal,
a little of your rough handling will do
harm."

" If he does so . . ." began Elizabeth.

I believe
him no

*^ I

354

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" Young lady, what is this to do with you ? " asked

^""^Oi nothing whatever. I assure you Yet it must
hp hateful to me to see two brothers fighting.
^" You wm not see it ; for I shall beat hun u^n a
lonely road.^^ I would not trust you to hold the sponge.

^"S^vidipntng upon the horse and rode away ; while
the others went on towards the c^tle. ^^

" Uncle, you have sent for Martm l

" It was your wish, child."

" I did not express it." ,

•• D^r chUd. you write, you sigh, you look ; then
declare you do not speak." . ,,

" But David and Martm are enemies.

" ?Sey^ brothers first. Let them setUe heir
difieJS. Betty, my child. David^ the man c^J^e
two He has more roughness than Martm. but twice
the heart Come I my lady is waiting to embrace you
and to find you a gown for this evening's wear ; for
a?ter toSty you are to resign yourself to the unpn^n-
ment of sldrts. with all the vanities they imply. Now
?:^Ld for John Clabar. He must to wi^hus tbs
afternoon, hear himself depnved of Goldilocks, ana

his hSdlong fashion across the upland. Reachmg a
riace^here four roads met. some ten mdes out of

Lyle-a lonely spot ^th a gf S^^i^J^^3j;7Z^
leapt from his horse, and Pennitted the animal to g^
while he watched the eastward road. His time of wait
hiT^^as Thort. for a cloud of dust whirled across the
Knd. and presently a post-chaise dashed towards

*^'' Srother." said David. " you have fed your ^ot^s
upon something more substantial than wmd. though
it makes them go as fast." n^,^j »

" I did not look to find you here. David.

ONLY JOHN CLABAR IS UNHAPPY 355

" There is a matter to be settled between us. Better
here than at home. Come with me a few steps alone
this road." ^ ^

They walked side by side in perfect silence round
the bend, and stopped in a lonely place where the hill«
of the moorland rose upon either side.

" Here is a fine turf," said David. " A clear sky
above, no shadow of tree, not a human being as wit-
ness. Brother, you did your best to rouse the devil
in me. You insulted me. You would have killed me,

"Under the same circumstances I should insult you
again," said Martin sullenly. " Do you require satis-
faction, David ? " ^ H

"Ay, brother, I must have satisfaction. TeU me
now, do you know why my father sends for you ? "

" I do not know. He ordered me to return at
once."

" Well, brother, we are to fight for a young lady.
But did you never ask yourself whether I loved her,
or she loved me ? "

" I suppose you love her. I know she had little
affection for me— that knowledge inade me mad."

" What affection could you look for, brother, after
you had knocked her senseless ? "

" She showed me more harshness than I deserved,"
Martm contmued. "Then my father forbade me to
speak with her ; and told me he desired you to marry
her. As if that was not sufficient, you must play the
lord and use me like a hind."

'' Nay, brother, when did I do so ? "

" When we met in Bezurrel Woods, and you told me
I was out of bounds."

"I was but obeying my father. Come, brother, let
me inform you the young lady has far more affection
for you than for myself. She has some character to
prefer a younger son, and miss a title."

" Vou bring me here to take your vengeance," cried

356 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

Morfin throwine his hat upon the turf. " You taunt

m' -nSryottr doing, David, You forged my
LhM's hiid ; you issued the order in lus name. WeU,

■""^t !S;To» -ord. brother/- said David quieUy.

" You ha4 said too much. Protect yourself I By
heaven I shall do my best to lull you.

"Tothid to the'^last. Listen, brother I I wou^d
not taunt vou, for I know you cannot bear it. My
fa(*M tos int for you indeed : and I am come to wel-
«me y^hlme o«er you my hand, and w^h you joy

SdCk, brother, for I »■",!» 'fXt'^^aS«"to^»
♦i,a« xmiir«plf— ^we have settled that matter m oui
ft^dir^"sts I^ not to marry the young »dy

wtor^rhave known.-s Jol" J^l^^lutlf^^
" David," cried Martm hoarsely. Will you swear

^^'^'rri>t%tlir-V man-least of^
tempestuous brother-upon such a matter as this.
ChX likes me weU enough, and for my part I am
devoid to her ; but we are both agreed that our
h^HomZimn well in harness. I am not le^ed
S^?!;^h f or mv ladv ' while she has too much literature
for me sKfor 'G^eek and Latin, while I am for
hJrs^ and dog I have also no desire to find myself
^ted to a Udy who is well able to throw rr.e m a thorn-
Stho^3dILpleaseher. .fve-e .^f^^^^^^
and shrinking miss, who wntes a Pretty letter ol m
soelt words, and sighs out her heart upon a moral
t£ ; Choi weakness it would be my pleasure to
protect." ,

" What does my father say i* , ^ , „ , « rh\n •
" Little enough' He frowns and ?*^^,?P^ ^^^f
while our voung Mrs. Mystery uses him hke a figure oi
w^ a^d S^him into wh/tever shape may suit her

ONLY JOHN CLABAR IS UNHAPPY 357

fancy. She has t'\tn a liking for you, brother, and
has pressed my father to bring you home ; and that's
the Aid of it."

" But, brother," said Martin shamefacedly, while he
bent to regain his hat. " Why did you not speak be-
fore ? Why, when I insulted you, would you not con-
fess you were not in love with Cherry ? "

" That's a sunple question, brother," replied David.
" I was prepared to obey my father — who was uncom-
monly set upon this marriage— if I discovered the
young lady was also willing, as indeed she then appeared
to be. When you came like a roaring lion into my
preserve, I had to check you ; for I could not permit
you to play the elder son and encroach upon m
privileges ; nor could I have avoided fighting with you
had not my father interfered. Yet, brother, I would
rather appear to play the coward than shed your

blood."

" You ride out here to speak so kindly, to offer me
your hand, to bring me happiness ! Is this, brother,
your revenge ? "

" Nay, brother, I thmk you must give me some

satisfaction . ' '

" I am sorry I insulted the best brother in the world.
Your nature is far nobler than mine."

" I believe we possess the same nature ; but I have
the trick of controlling mine, while you are apt to let
yours run."

" Humiliate me, brother," begged Martin m a low

cried David.

voice.

"By heaven, I'll not shame you,'

QoC knows a brother is the best friend a man can
Lave. Still you insulted me. the heir of the house, and
tkat matter must be settled. Put up your hands 1 "

MiiTtin did so with eagerness ; while David stepped
forwar*! a-l struck his brother lightly on the breast.

" 1 ani ; hiisfied," he said. " Now, brother, I'll race
your horse* io BezMiTel."

35«

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

Dinner wm put back that evening to await the
brothen. When the chaise drew up, Sir Thomas and
his lady descended the steps to welcome their younger
son ; who, immediately he was alone with his father,
began to flow with penitential words.

•• Ay, Martm, it is easy to repent of sins when wt
intend to persevere in them," said Sir Thomas ; yet
in a kindly fashion. . . i j

" I do repent of my disobedience, sir ; but I could
not conquer my desires." .

" It is also easy to repent when we have obtamed our
desires. But, my son, I desire you to show more firm-
ness, and learn to rule your temper. Should you mairy
—as I think is likely— I hope you will choose a lady
strong enough to manage you— ay, and it is my earnest
hope she whips you sometimes. I believe David has
told you what has happened in your absence. There-
fore I shall not weary you by repetition. Let me say
this— without unkindness— I am glad you are not my

elder son." , _^. .

" I know, sir, that David is far more worthy to
succeed you than I am," said Martin humbly.

" That is the best thing I have ever heard you say.
In this matter of your possible marriage," said Sir
Thomas, with a slight caressing movement of his hands,
" I give you free liberty of choice, and from this
moment withdraw my former prohibition. Should you
have the fortune to win a young lady a thousand taaea
too good for you— and you may by chance have heard
of such an one— your tour abroad shall also be your
honeymoon. Your mother and I would be pleased to
accompany a newly married couple to our home m
Italy. And now, Martin, you may step into the gallery
of statues, where I trust you may find a figure to your
liking. Be careful not to upset the Cupid at the

door I" .^ ^ ^^ ^,

The gallery lay upon the east side of the castle,
where it grew dark early; so that Martin, upon

ONLY JOHN CLABAR IS UNHAPPY 359

opening the door, was not surprised to see a glimmer
of candlelight flickering across the statues. Somebody
was reading or moulding at the further end. Martin
beheld the Cupid extending towards him two baby
arms of welcome, and smiled at his father's conceit in
warning him ; smiled also at his own thoughts, declar-
ing David to be the best fellow in the world, and he
himself the happiest ; but wondered a little — ^hardly
daring to hope for the best — when he could not dis-
tinguish the human form beyond for statues.

" The Figure of Youth," he murmured. " Yet I
know that shabby suit of brown."

Advancing quietly, he had a full view of the young
lady, whom he regarded as Cherry, still in her boy's
clothes, standing with her back towards him, holding
a wax candle in one hand and a portrait in the other.
Looking round, she instantly blew out the candle and
hid the picture. Yet the gallery was not dark.

" Cherry ! " he cried. " I am returned."

" No wiser than you went," she said. " You arc
like the good people of Moyle, who will declare, ' It is
fine,' or ' It is wet,' as if they suppose you are not able
to discover such things for yourself."

" Are you not pleased to see me ? "

" I have now stepped among such a company of
relations, I may hardly require another."

" My father sent for me."

" Well, I did not, my gone yesterday and here to-day
young gentleman. Why are you not on the way to
France ? "

" I am free— the barriers are down. I may step
across into your territory. Sir Thomas gives his
consent."

"Pfermits you to walk in my garden ! I'll see to that.
Begone, trespasser ! "

" I shall not go."

" Then I wiU set traps."

" If I am caught, you must come to take me out."

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MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

" Not 1 1 There you shall remain, young gentleman."
" What was that picture you hid away ? "
" This young man is tyrant, father confessor, lord
chief justice, lover, and I know not what," she said
with teasing laughter. " He must know all. He must
get into my mind, and pick my brain, and dissect my
heart ; and if I please myself with the smallest idle
fancy;.he will get at it. Why did you not go upon the
Continent and leave us all at peace ? "

" Yes, Cherry, I must know all. I am jealous of
every thought which passes through your mind unless
I cause it. Cherry, no more words. Be serious now, I
beg. You know I love you. You know I am returned

to fall at your feet "

" Yet he has not done so."

" And offer you my life and fortune. Cherry,

answer !
" A dictator now ! Truly the lover ascends rapidly."
" Cherry, you may tease me ever afterwards."
" At last a concession, a privilege ! I'll plague you,
Martin ! If that is all you want, I'll see to it. I per-
ceive well enough there can be no peace until I give
you my hand, and hang my chains upon you, and lead
you about as my dancing bear. Come, Martin ! Take
me before I run. And here's my hand. I am ashamed
of the brown, but the coming life will tend to whiten
it."
" My sweetheart, you love me ! "
" Yes, Marcin, I am yours. And now there need
be no false modesty between us, I will show you
what it was I held when you most rudely broke upon

me. J

She drew Martin to the window, and there produced

a miniature oi himself which Lady Just had painted.

Perhaps the mother had flattered her younger son a

trifle.
" My lady gave me the choice between two pictures ;

and I took yours. Sir Thomas would not give me the

ONLY JOHN CLABAR IS UNHAPPY 361

choice ; so I made the selection for myself. You fought
with me, Martin, and beat me ; and now I take revenge,
even as I said I would, by bringing you to my feet. I
am growing weary of playing the strong man ; and
indeed my strength is leaving me. So from this hour
I abandon boy's clothes, and resign myself to the
protection of your arm. But one word more, young
gentleman ! Would you, a Just, marry a Cornish
yeoman's daughter ? "

" With the greatest happiness in the world."

" Happiness ! That is the word I wanted you to
utter. It is the best word in this lovely green world.
Well, you shall have your yeoman's daughter ; and
should she turn out to be a princess in disguise I believe
you will not love her less."

" Come, children ! " called my lady in a laughing
voice from the far end of the gallery. " Your world
is not entirely uninhabited. There is also dinner ! "

They ran to her with the lightness of birds, and the
young lady was hurried away to make the first great
toilette of her life. But in the meantime there was no
sign of Clabar. Sir Thomas had written a letter, invit-
ing him to Bezurrel and, knowing him to be a plain
man who might have been greatly disconcerted at
learning the truth suddenly amid company, he had
stated plainly that the young lady whom he loved so
well was not his daughter ; but Sir Thomas neglected
to add that the daughter lived, and was none other
than Grambla's former kitchen wench — ^to whom Clabar
had never exhibited any mark of friendship — ^as he
desired to discover that great secret to his guest in
private ; Sir Thomas having a weakness for dramatic
moments.

Still Clabar did not arrive, and at last the servant
returned with a letter written in the clerk's neat hand-
writing. The unhappy man — for so he styled himself
— thanked Sir Thomas for an invitation to festivities
which he himself could take no part in ; nor did he

362

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

forget to repeat his gratitude «o/ tt^J.g^.^V^^J,^?'
shown, and the protection afforded, him m the past
But it appeared th^t the baronet's motive was not
disinterested. " The kindness shown to me. he wrote
" was but the reflection of your love for the perfect
maid whom I stiU claim as my daughter. You took
charge of my small sum of money, you Provided me
with a home for which you would take no rent, you
have saved me from the enemy of my family ; not tor
my sake. sir. but because I happened to possess a
peerless daughter. And now you would take her from
me. by declaring she is a Just and your mece. You
claim her as your own. Sir. ^vlll you consider how
impossible this must sound to me ? You leave me
des^ute and miserable. You would restore me house
and land, yet take away all that makes life good. Sur,
I cannot sit at your table, for I am no longer able to
regard you as a friend." . , , , l „ +we

" Poor John I I am sorry indeed he shows this
spirit." Sir Thomas murmured as he closed the letter.
"It is too late to send again. In the morning I shall

go to him with Cherry." , „„r«j

Then he hurried away to the drawmg-room and caLed

his sons. When they had joined him he ordered a
servant to inform my lady that dinner was served.

" Watch yonder door, my sons. We have prepared
a great surprise for you." he said in his most gemal
mSmer. " It will be to you, David, a pleasure merely ;
though under different circumstances it would have
been something more. To you, my happy Martm. it
must come like a shower of gold."

"Iaskfornomorefortune.su:, cned Martin.

" Then you shall receive what you neither ask tor
nor deserve. I hear the ladies. Your eyes upon the

door, my sons ! " , ■• 1 j

It opened as he spoke ; and there stood my lady,
beautiful still in spite of the grey hair trespassmg among
the black ; but outshone by the dazzhng young lady

ONLY JOHN CLABAR IS UNHAPPY 363

at her side, with her golden curls and glorious com-
plexion. She was dressed in white, and the famous
diamonds flashed upon her neck.

" Pray do not speak, Sir Thomas," cried my lady.
"This is my part, and I cln i the right to piay it.
David and Martin I present you to your cousin,
daughter of your uncle and my dearest friend— Mistress
Eli^beth Virginia Just."

"Cherry no longer," whispered the happy girl,
running to Martin's side. " Betty to you, my love ! "

CHAPTER X

THE GREAT FIRE AND WHAT FOLLOWED

No sleep soothed Clabar before midnight, and after-
warSft^came with little kindness.mingled with waking
7^des which appeared to walk with human feet about
ircott^ge' Atlast a stone struck the window ; and
a harsh voice called : . - ,

" Mr Clabar. I have ?. message for you. bir. i nave

='*T?^Sgff':r^ark-Lddry; but a fine breeze
'""^m^^^Toa ? "Sed Clabar. whea he had pushed

'"""l^y'lKS?^ at your service. I ,.o»ld have you
to dress and walk out into the open.

'•mat is your meaning ? And why do you prowl
round my cottage at this hour when honest folk are
abed ' What message do you bnng, looy r

"Why sir. I woiSd as Uef talk with you as with
any n^n I know of." replied the simpleton "I wou^d
have vou know Creature answered nie w^ h yea this
rireveSnT In the morning she had an Arered with
mv audit is my belief she has giown so weary of
answeri^ the same question, she will now take me to

''"X^y^i'tr^^^ me that I may listen to your

nonsense ? " , • •> t o^ orwt a

" Do you flatter my t 'od sense, sir ? I am got a

trifle hard of hearing since I took to work. I have

bought a fishing-boat, and hope soon to pay for it.

364

THE GREAT FIRE

365

Sir, I am doing good and living honestly. I put out
my net yesterday and drew to shore as pretty a draught
of fishes, both small and great, as has been taken since
the great miracle. I believe it was the sig'-t of great
and little fishes that led Creature to ans^^er me with
yea ; for, sir, she is a wench who has a mighty taste
for fishes broiled."

" Get you home, Toby. Do you trespass in this
fashion again, I set the tithing-man upon your
heels."

" One word, sir. I had almost forgot my errand.
The truth of the matter is— to come to the point with-
out delay, sir— the Castle of Bezurrel is afire ; and you
and I are the only two honest gentlemen in Moyle who
be not present at the burning. Step outside and you
shall see the sky all bloody from these woods to Great
Gwentor."

Then Clabar cried out indeed and, seized by a
sudden suspicion, he demanded, " Why do you come

here ? "

"When I discover that Bezurrel is afire, I think it
but neighbourly to visit your pretty cottage, sir ; lest
that might also be afire. And if it was afire I, sir,
proposed to warn you ; and thus, sir, I might save
your life."

" Why, Toby, I smell burning ! "

" 'Tis very likely, sir. Now you will perceive I
have reasoned this matter mighty well ; for, to speak
in the direct manner, sir, your thatch is burning
merrily."

Before Clabar could snatch his clothing and descend
the stairs, Toby had departed ; and a few minutes
later flames were raging in the roof. Huddling on his
garments, the lonely man worked his hardest to drag
the few pieces of furniture, with his books and heir-
looms, into the open ; for the cottage was doomed,
and the approach to the bedrooms was akeady closed.
The sky was now awful, and it seemed to Clabar he

366

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

could hear the roaring of the immense bonfire in
Bezurrel park, which was to provide matter for Cornish
folk to teU of a hundred years afterwards.

Indeed, so stupendous was the spectacle that the
homeless man gasped when he reached the outer garden,
where the entire population of Moyle was assembled ;
each man — and each woman too — ^having worked
nobly to snatch a little from the mighty wreck. All
faces were black and streaming with perspiration;
while all eyes stared in wonder at the flaming
castle.

" No life lost ; even the horses are brought from
their stables and the dogs from their kennels," said the
bustling curate.

" Surely the devil has been abroad to-night ; for
my cottage has also been consumed," replied John
Clabar.

'* Nay, friend, the devil can but supply the brimstone.
He leaves it to mortal hands to add the spark and
tinder," quoth the curate wisely.

" Where are the ladies ? " asked Clabar ; though he
had but one face before him.

" Gone into the town to take shelter at the
van.

That moment the crowd surged together, for it was
seen Sir Thomas approached, grimy, half-dressed, and
wigless. He raised himself by standing on a gate, and
addressed the people, his figure illuminated by the great
light of the fire, which roared so terribly that he was
forced to shout his message :

" Men and women of Moyle, I thank you for the
sympathy expressed to me and to my family by your
presence, and by the very notable assistance you have
rendered. Much is lost, yet nothing of the highest
value ; for not the meanest servant has received a hurt ;
and all that yonder flames consume may be replaced.
The castle was old, and to my mind so little convenient
that I had thought of having it destroyed, and building

THE GREAT FIRE

367

in its stead a Gothic mansion nearer to the sea. What
I have contemplated is now become necessary by this
fi-e which, I believe, was caused neither by accident
n iT yet by Act of God."

" Sir Thomas ! " cried the busy curate, pressing
fcrward. " Halcyon Cottage has also been burnt to
the ground. You may for yourself behold the glow
upon the woods."

" I thank you for the information," replied Sir
Thomas. " My good people, I desire you now to go
quietly to your homes ; but first I shall inform you
what has happened this night. My home, and Clabar's
cottage in the woodland, have been fired, and are now
destroyed, as an act of despairing vengeance by the
man who has poisoned the life of Moyle these thirty
years. I do not utter his name — I perceive you know
it well — but with you I rejoice that he will not be seen
again, unless he is brought here by the constables,
^d that I do not wish to happen ; for I would
have no parishioner sentenced to the gallows on my
account."

Sir Thomas descended from the gate and made his
way along the avenue accompanied by both his sons ;
while the people stayed on to watch the burning — since
it was too late for bed and too soon to work — many of
them wagging their heads over the failure of Si'" Thomas
to subdue the flames, and venturing to regard him as
no very great enchanter after all.

" My master bade me search for you among the
crowd, and to tell you he goes to Coinagehall and
desired you to follow him," said one of the grooms ;
and Clabar, compelled by his homeless state to be
obedient, went in that direction, walking some distance
behind the three figures barely visible in the cold mist
of an autumnal dawn.

They waited for him beside the shrubbery, where
he and strong Peter had hidden from his own daughter
and her lover when they had masqueraded as his

368

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

ancestors ; and Sir Thomp stepped forwwd^^^^^
stretched hand to say. "Honest John. I beg you w
take possession of your father's house. W^ you be
pl^dto invite my famUy to take shelter for a tune

"^^tJZJ^l^U sir. I can refuse you nothing ^
repUed Claba. ; adding in his dogged fashion, though
you have stole my daughter from me.

•• I take what is mine ; and shall restore what is
yours," said Sir Thomas sharply.
^ " TTie door is not fastened, sir." caUed David.

" Av the rascal has flown, and none of us are likely
to seTeyes on him again. John Clabar. lead the way-

^" rpray^you enter, gentlemen ; though, to speak
plamly I feel myself a stranger here." said Clabar

^^ Th/y groped their way into the hcuse which was
sileni as it had been in days gone by when Cherry under
?he name of Ruth had toUed in the kitchen with the
ciock foi her companion. They entered the pnncipd
room • threw back the shutters to admit the glow
from Wzu^l and the first light of day ; aiid im-
meSaSy Sir Thomas perceived two documents upon
Srint?e table. He^irried them to the wmdow.
whUe the others gathered round him. .

-o," he muttered. " Cou.agehaU is indeed that
ra i's property. This is a deed of sale, signed by
your father^ John, conveying the whole estate to

^'"My^ather's hand! This is indcd no forgery
Yet he swore to me a hundrM times he had not

'*^ H^w his signature was obtained we are not to

^" U was b" fraud, sir-my father was a si.nple man.
Now I shaU .ake it upon myself to destroy this parch-
ment."

THE GREAT FIRE

369

" One moment I Here is the scoundrel's will. He
bequeaths the house and property of Coinagehall to
Honey the barber-surgeon and Toby Penrice gentle-
man, to be held by them as trustees, ad majorem Dei
gloriam — let us hoj>e the rascal could not translate
his Latin — for the benefit of the new religion, which
he has the kindness to wish may destroy the estab-
lished Church and confound the last papist in the land.
The property is not to be sold, but may be let to any
decent gentleman, with the exception of Sir Thomas
Just and John Clabar, or a<y person related to them
in any way whatsoever ; lor these, states t. e will,
cannot be worthy. The furniture and all fittings are
to be sold by public auction."

" Destroy that paper, sir," cried Clabar.

" Nay, we must do aU things honestly. Honey
the barber and Penrice the gentle.wan will know of
its existence. I will hand to them this document,
and invite them to act in any way that pleases
them."

" Then, sir, I lose aU."

" We may not prove in a court of law how the deed
fiom your father was got by cunning ; therefore take
this parchment, John, and do with it as you will.
Its destruction must lie upon your conscience. As for
the furniture and fittings of this house, they are
m ae. Grambla indeed bought them, but I have paid
jr all."

"Sir," mutt*
astonishment if
wizard."

" I shall prr
Thomas contin
for indeed this .
must have evideii,

Clabar, "I
did not

should feel
know you

greater
are a

3 witness in proof of this," ?' '
Yet no witness will be ncedeu ;
worthless. In the first olace we
of Grambla's death, and that may
not easily be obta med ; for owing to his deed this
night he has bec^ m outlaw. Glance at this parch-
ment and out of you '■egal knowledge inform me why

ii '

370 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

it is no lawvcr is able to complete his own wiU ; though
he may K.lJreat sldU in>paring the testaments

of his clients." . ^. .^ „

" I OCT ceive, sir, there are no signatures.

•• Soaritated was the mind of the man. so set was he
upon some act of vengeance. so.,determmed was he to
oStwit us aU, that memor' failed, and he ^rgpt to
sign his will or to call his witnesses. I now congratu-
late you. Squire Clabar, upon complete possession of

^M^t^SV^u^saldthed^ "But.sir.lcanno*
occupy this house without my daughter.

•• You shaU have your daughter. I swear, sa
Sir Thorn-, with a laugh. "Come, my sons, let us
to breakfast at the inn. Will you accompany us.

^•Tshall remain. Now that I have set ?oot in my
own house. I am not to hi drawn out of it, repUed

^^v midday Bezurrel Castle lay in ruins, and a heap
of smSiT^riiig ashes marked. the site of Hdcyon;
whUe neither man nor woman in aU Moyle toded that
Say save with their tongues. A full flood of hfe surged
into Coinagehall. overflowmg ever - cbam ^^.f^
stables and outbuildings, crowding e loft where Cay
had slept. The old house fo md itt -- ahve again and
laughed. Nobody had gain^'d except one man; au
hTd lost much except that . .e. Yet he alone walked
heavUy because hl^ a vughter ^vas now a fine lady and
did not speak with mm. ,

The trSe daughter of the house was thu^ f^
more about lover than father, whom she tod not
approached, partly out of neryousness^hiefly becau^
ii^the general bustle opportumty haa l^>^ lacking. It
was a grievance that Harry m ght be waltang betand
the plolgh ; for although she liked to thmk of Imn at
honSt work, it was a pain to know he was not walking
at her side. So she approached her busy patron and

THE GREAT FIRL

371

implored him to send a messenger infonaing Harry he
might now proceed to Moyle.

'' Come with me." he answered ; and led her towards
Eli7r4beth, who talked with Mother Gothal.

V^our ., ladies, make your peace. Then go to the
master ::a reveal yourselves,''^ he ordred.
^ " I ha' to!d Squire," said Mother Gothal. "Hound
en walking in the garden, more like a gentleman what
had lost a fortune than one who has got back his home.
I told 'en how Master Grambla changed the babes, and
how Miss Cherry is your niece, and Rutn is Miss Cherry,
and how there wam't no Ruth at all ; and I got so
mixed up wi' all the names that I made a proper tale
of it.

" How does he take it ? "

" Swears, your honour. CaUs me a liar, and says
if tis true he don't believe it, and there must be
witchery in it."

" Go to him, young lady, and do your best to make
him hapw. The poor gentleman has suffered much,"
said Sir Thomas as he left them.

" So I must call you Cherry," said Elizabeth, taking
the dark girl's hands. " That name makes you t ly
sister. I am sorry, dear girl, I was rough with you
when you tended my mother's grave. But neither of
us knew ! "

" I am so jealous of your diamonds I "

"^ A father is better."

"He is a stranger— and I had great love for the
diamonds."

" 'Tis an ungrateful heart you have, young lady "
cried Mother Gothal. " I kept the necklace for yeaii,
but I never got to love it."

" I am not ungrateful, Mother Gothal ; but yesterday
I was a fortune, and to-day I have nothing— and poor
Harry will be disappointed ! And he is twenty miles
awav—and Sir Thomas will not promise me to send a
me^ enger."

372

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

^■i^^ten' I wiU forget the diamonds," said Miss

'•^^y ,.ent through the Sfen and^^fl^rsl?;^
Srf i^Sth^S"a»*^ ^S-^anio J to

meet him. . , « yet always a second

" ^^^^^^^"ilT'l kowtow good and gentle you
father in my love, ^^^^^j^^^^^^^ you copied for

have been: ^ J^^^^^^^J^^^^SeS you will now
me. That kindness and tenderness yo ^^^^^

bestow upon your \^^*^,^^^^^^^^^

you>yiUingly ; I wojUdn^^^^^^ niefe of Sir

remamed. ^^y\^ J^^ ^.aid waiting is in truth

^orChJrry^'Jm"^^^^^^

what I have no right to claim. „ ^^^^^

JtUrtt^t^lhat ^SrKJ this young
•^?.Vh?Slo^^ot=| i. ^^ t^e Cherry

JeTli^ihTAf r-go^»-^d the other hUcU.
^?lto^'^o*^1^at*^«S^"had been lost,"

Gothal. hurrying forward v J* omJhomJto Coinage-
Snio? .^"nd^m^ Mother Gothal. You have ended

THE GREAT FIRE

373

the storm of long ago and solved the riddle of the
shipwreck."

Then she took the black Cherry by the hand, and led
her to Clabar, saymg, " Be as kmd to her as you have
been to me ; then, when I come to Moyle, and am
alone with you, I whisper to you, ' father.' "

" So, child," said the moody Clabar, " I am now to
discover in you a likeness to your mother ; but in faith
I cannot. You are dark, and so was she ; you are small,
and so was she. But there ends the resemblance."

" La, Squire, I can see the Ukeness plainly," declared
Mother Gothal.

"I believe you have deceived me," cried Clabar
sharply. " I believe you are no better than a
wicked old woman. Why did you not tell me of
this ? "

" A witch must needs be artful," said cunning Mother
Gothal.

" Well, child, it appears you are indeed my daughter ;
and many must have thought me mad that I should
claim relationship with this young lady," continued
Clabar. " I shall learn to love you, and if the name
of Cherry does not come easily to my tongue I must
ask you to be patient."

" For my part, sir, I shall promise to love you, when
you have given me permission to wed my Harry ; who,
I do assure you, sir, is the best man in the world," the
girl answered.

" That will come — ^like all else. Nay, you shall not
force me. The world is new to-day, and it seems to me
full of crosses. I will take a turn through the fields
to set my mind at ease."

He kissed the maid quickly, bowed to Elizabeth in
a lingering fashion, frowned upon Mother Gothal ;
then went away into the fields with his eyes upon the
grass.

True to her promise, Elizabeth rode with Martin to
the farm where Cay was apprenticed to agriculture,

2B3

374 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

J^tetaoWto Sby any other name than Ruth
llf^Uch te 1^ though^GrlbU hadbestgS^^^^
and the two were not quicWy seen again. Etobetft.
tS^a^rtdustv entered the house ; and, finding Snr
^mS an^my lady, had just begun to teU how m
Se CrT^hey tad covered forty miles, when a sei^nt
ta™uSwSer Jimmy Twitcher might speak for a

"■^iTt toMe'^'^tpM Sir Thomas ; and imme-
diat^a^nSSmtleSianstrutted into the room and

'^S:':^%i 1 Wh»t is your desire ? " asked

^'^'?am*'come, your honour, to ask permission to
depit I SvJ you will not require my services

*^^t is very true, Jimmy. I fear you are grown

*'"V^'S*7ei^!'sir, that I am more at home in

rS^ Tfor tKS; of the street, the coffee-ho^
fheTa^ of pleasure. I would notexchange Drury
Une, sir, for the whole of Cornwall. ,_

to MOTC tt I have a taU and stately wench awaitmg

"F^'t?rri^^^rrhSr?ocr?rs

Stewisl. So with your permission I shall depart lor
"^r^TZlo. J»n>y. My steward shall setUe

'"■^Aumbty'J^k you, sir. Will it please your
honour "SS I entertl the company after dmner

THE GREAT FIRE

375

with a few songs, sir, and some playing in bur-
lesque ? "

" You may certainly do so," replied Sir Thomas ;
and the dwarf, having bowed again, departed.

" I saw this strange fellow at Bezurrel," said Eliza-
beth. " But when I asked questions about him you
threatened to pull my ears."

" Jimmy Twitcher is a very noted little comedian,"
said Sir Thomas. " Seeing him one night at the theatre,
during a visit to London, I was so much taken with
the admirable way he played a ghost that I brought
him to Moyle that he might play the same part
here."

" My dear uncle ! " exclaimed the young lady.

" Ay, sweet niece, Jimmy Twitcher played Red Cap
before Grambla, repeating the words I had taught him.
There is yet more you shall know, though I desire you
not to repeat this story. I caused a sum of money to
be hidden in a certain spot upon the summit of Great
Gwentor ; and it was the business of my Uttle comedian
to lead Grambla to that place."

" Why did you reward him ? "

" To ruin such a rogue you shall find no surer way
than to provide him with money. Owing to my action
he was able to mix with his superiors ; and, as I had
foreseen, he then became too proud to own for his friends
the folk of Moyle. The new friends despised, while the
former friends grew to hate, the upstart. I perceived
also that, with money in hand, he would live well,
become idle, fall into indifference ; and in sluggishness
of mind he was less likely to act with malevolence
against Clabars and myself."

" There was no witchcraft, Betty," cried my lady.

" That is a name by which we frighten and subdue
the superstitious," said Sir Thomas. " The learned
rule by it ; some of the vulgar live by it. But the thing
itself has no existence. Do not suppose, dear child,
that the Almighty allows the laws of nature to be

37b MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

Mother Gothal was my accomplice in this matter, ^d
without her aid I could not have succeeded. Say
wS ^ttv Let the people of Moyle repeat their
^SoftlS'sti^ of R^d'cap. until it beco^a
TOrtion of their folk-lore. Let them beheye I ra^d
K^ by enchantments. It will be an m day when
?hf ^gar discover that the gentry do not possess the

P^^I^f wlr^erT^^rElizabeth. " that the truth

^'?tif Sl^jf my love/' said Lady Just, as she led the
girl away. " you are somewhat m advance of the age

^l^wts^a' merry scene in Comagehall that night.
Timmy Twitcher entertamed the company withjm-
c^on brilliance ; but then he was gomg home to be
mSied aSd^ knowledge made him clever at h^
St^Cheny and Cay sat in a comer, holdmg each
^er's W in simple fashion, although neither felt m
?hemoc^?o runaway, ^labar etched the 1^^^^^^^
» frnwn— which was apt to relax when he glancea at
xSer-w^drrSg how his son-m-law would manage
5r fm^^-ne^^ted farm, and gradually discovenng
S^'aulL'm his daughter Elizabeth and l^m^^^^
radiant, and hard by David beheld them vn^ a
Stisfied expression. Agamst the walls stood ^rr^ts
rocS with riotous laughter. Even Father Benedict
SoSfin to smile at folly whUe he tapped his snuff-
^x • for the famUy. he knew, prop^d to return
Portly to fair Italy ; and as Father Benedict could
not marry, by tJ the next best thmg was gomg

^°But a great commotion arose outside, as though thc-
dayfof hating were not over. J^e outer door wa^
opLed. and Toby Penrice fought his way through
?te Svants and^ppearsd in the presence of the
company.

THE GREAT FIRE

377

" Sir Thomas, I have been cheated. I have lost my
fortune, and now I have lost my hundred guineas —
and to-morrow I'll lose my Creature for ever and a
day."

*• Turn this rude fellow out," cried Lady Just.

" One moment, Manuela," said her husband. " Ex-
plain your words, Toby. How have you been
cheated ? "

" Master Grambla, sir, was trustee of my fortune,
and he went and sunk it in the sea. He used me Uke a
dog, sir. He kicked me out of this house. Then he says
to me, ' I'll give ye money, if ye bum down Halcyon
Cottage,' but I wouldn't do it, sir. I'm an honest
man, I told Master Grambla, and a decent reputrtion
is worth more than money. Last evening he comes to
me again and says, ' Bum Halcyon to-night, and I'U
I»y you a hundred guineas in the morning.' And he
gives me writing, sir. And, sir, I have it here. So I
go to Creature and ask, * For the last time will ye have
me ? ' And she answers, ' For the last time, nay.'
Then I say, ' If I put a hundred guineas in your lap
to-morrow, will ye have me ?' And she answers, ' yea.'
So I go off and do my duty. I set alight to Halcyon
Cottage. Then I have the politeness to warn Master
Clabar, who has always been a friend of mine "

" Stay, blockhead ! " Sir Thomas interrupted. " Can
you not understand you are confessing to a crime
which may send you to the gallows ? "

" Stars of heaven ! I never thought of that,"
mumbled Toby, coming to his senses and scratching his
foolish head. " If I have done wrong, sir, I apologise
most humbly. I have a great respect for you, sir. But
a hundred guineas, sir ! "

" What more have you to say ? "

" I have been all day, sir, hunting for Mastei
Grambla to make him pay the money what he owes
me. 'Twas getting dark, sir, as I came over Great
Gwentor ; and there I found him, sir. Master Grambl«>

,-\

378

MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN

was lying upon a great flat stone — ^upon his back, sir—
and he had a spade in his hand, sir ; and I thought he
had been diggmg and was now asleep. I stood, sir,
and called him names, which I would not wish to
repeat before your ladies, unless, sir, they particularly
desire me to do so ; but Master Grambla wouldn't
wake up, sir, and he wouldn't answer, sir. And I
knew if Master Grambla couldn't answer insults, sir,
he must be mighty sick. So I went up and touched
him with my shoe, and he was stiff, sir. And I
touched him with my hand, and he was cold, sir.
And he grinned horrid, sir."
" Dead I " Sir Thomas muttered.
" I believe, sir. Master Grambla had eaten food
what don't agree with folks. His eyes were like coals
of fire, sir. And he was wet, sir, with the dews of
heaven."

" Let the simple fellow go," said Sir Thomas, as the
ser\'ants advanced to lay hands on Toby. " And,
Twitcher, no more merriment. Seek to gain a little
knowledge, fool, and bum no more houses ; for you
are not likely to receive a second pardon. Put out the
canoes 1 Our diversion is over."

Jacob Grambla was buried at the break of day
beneath the flat stone upon which the body was dis-
covered; but at a later date parishioners of Moyle
church-town agreed he had been snatched away from
earth during the burning of Bezurrel Castle ; for many
of those present declared they had seen the meagre
figure of the attorney floating in the midst of the flames,
ascending from the falling walls, and finally disa^ oar-
ing '"^ the tempestuous smoke above.

Yet in a curious manner the provisions of his un-
signed will became carried into effect. Cherry Cay and
her husband were both earnest nonconformists ; indeied
the former robber became noted as a preacher ; and
Clabar in his old age yielded to them, deserted the
church, and emlnraced the new religion with a convert's

THE GREAT FIRE 379

zeal. So that Coinagehall during the four Georges won
great fame as a temple of nonconformity. And a
meetmg- place of Methodists stands upon its site
to-day.

Not far away are mounds of grass which conceal the
old foundations of Bezurrel ; lor the castle never was
rebuilt. Yet some memories of the Justs survive •
especially of the lady of that house, who attained the
great age of nmety-six, and was happy even to the dav
of her death. ^

THE END

t'\

rMNTSO IN OKKAI BaiTAIN BV
WM. aUMDOM AMD ION, LTB.

rivMOuni