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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. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. 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 I 5 19 30 39 45 59 64 72 87 99 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- ( f 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 1 f 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 I ^ 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 : I 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 II 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 12 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN ii 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." I 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 14 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN i 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 15 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. x6 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. I 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 i8 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWN f \ i> 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. U. 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, 19 I If •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 sz 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 99 MOYLE CHURCH-TOWr I 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 23 " 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." 24 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 25 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. 26 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 27 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." 28 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 29 " 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 30 VISITOR TO COINAGEHALL 31 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 32 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 S3 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. 34 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. 36 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 37 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 39 40 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 ? " 42 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 43 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 44 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 4S 46 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' f 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 " 56 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 58 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 59 6o 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 I 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^^ ^ ^- ^?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 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. 64 IHHI THE PLACE IS HAUNTED 65 1 " 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