IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /. %>^ 1.0 I.I 1.25 50 "" B^™ 2.2 '1.4 11 1.6 m Vi ^/) ^K ' ^ ' J^ ^ y^ ^ '-^ '/ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 l\ \\ lV ... <* o^ v.. %o CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques :\ Technical and Bibliographic Notaa/Notas tachniquas at bibliographiquaa Tha Inatituta has attamptad to obtain tha baat original copy availabia for filming. Faaturas of thit copy which may ba bibliographicaily uniqua. which may altar any of tha imagas in tha raproduction, or which may significantly changa tha usual mathod of filming, ara chackad balow. D D D D D D D Colourad covara/ Couvartura da coulaur I I Covars damagad/ Couvartura andommagia Covars rastorad and/or laminatad/ Couvartura rastaurda at/ou palliculAa I I Covar titia missing/ La titra da couvartura manqua r~n Colourad maps/ Cartas gAographiquas an coulaur Colourad ink (i.a. othar than blua or black)/ Encra da coulaur (i.a. autra qua blaua ou noira) I I Colourad platas and/or illustrations/ Planchas at/ou illustrations an coulaur Bound with othar material/ Reli6 avac d'autras documents Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion along interior margin/ La reliure serrie peut causer de I'ombre ou de la distortion la long de la marge intirieure Blank leaves added during restoration may appear within the text. Whenever possible, these have been omitted from filming/ II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajoutiat lors d'une rsstauration apparaissent dans la texte, mais. lorsque cela Atait possible, ces pages n'ont pas AtA filmies. Additional comments:/ Commentaires supplAmentaires; The toti L'Institut a microfilm* la mailleur exemplaira qu'il lui a 4t* poi )ible da aa procurer. Las ditaiia da cat exemplaita qui sont peut-Atre uniques du point de vue bibliographiqua. qui peuvent modifier une imana reproduite, ou qui pouvent exiger une modification dana la mAthoda normale de filmage aont indiqute ci-daasous. I I Coloured pages/ )^ D D Pages de couleur Pages damaged/ Pages endommagtea Pages restored and/oi Pages restaurias at/ou pallicultes Pages discoloured, stained or foxei Pages dAcolor6es. tachettes ou piquAes I — I Pages damaged/ I — I Pages restored and/or laminated/ |TT| Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/ The post oft! film Orig begi the sion othfl first sion or ill □ Pages detached/ Pages dAtachias Showthrough/ Transparence |~~| Quality of print varies/ QuaiitA in6gale de I'impression Includes supplementary material/ Comprend du matAriel supplAmentaire The shal TINl whic Map diffa antir begi I right requ mett Only edition available/ Seule Edition disponible Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata slips, tissues, etc.. have been ref limed to ensure the best possible image/ Lea pages totalement ou partiellement obscurcies par un fauillet d'errata. une pelure, etc., ont 6tA filmies A nouveau de fa^on A obtenir la meilleure image possible. This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document est film* au taux de reduction indiquA ci-dessous. 10X 14X 18X 22X 26X 30X j_ 12X 16X 20X 24X 28X 32X The copy filmed here hes been reproduced thanke to the generosity of: L'exempiaire film6 fu;; reproduit grice A ia ginirositA de: Srott Library, York University The images appearing here are the best quality possible considering the condition and legibility of the original copy and in keeping with the filming contract specifications. Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed beginning with the front cover and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All other original copies are filmed beginning on the first page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impression. The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall contain the symbol — ^- (meaning "CON- TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"), whichever applies. Scott Library, York Univeriity Les images suivantas ont 6ti reproduites avec le plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition at de la nettetA de l'exempiaire film*, et en conformity avec les conditions du contrat de filmage. Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en papier est imprimto sont filmto en commengant par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la derniire page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration, soit par le second plat, salon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont filmte en commenpant par la premidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par la derniAre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. Un des symboles suivants apparaltra sur la derniire image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbols — ► signifie "A SUIVRE ", le symbols V signifie "FIN". Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The follcwing diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent Atre fiimAs d des taux de reduction diff^rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seui cliche, il est filmA A partir de Tangle supArieur gauche, de gauche d droite. et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images nAcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 THE DEAD ALIVE; % StariT, liY WILKIH COLLINS. AUTHOl, or "T„. „■,,,,..,,„,,,,,,,, ., ,. „ ,„^^ >^'li-, nil-: MouX.siuNE," ETC., ETC. TORONTO : HUNTER, ROSE VN D (X^PANY PR 12:13 Kiitprort accordliiK to tlio Ait of tho Parliiimeiit of Ciuiailii, in t'-.. year One Thousand Elijlit IIi!m1io(1 and Sevrnty-tlireo. by Wii.KiE l.'ni.i.iNS, in the o."><>- jI tlu' Ministci- of Affrlcultnrt". CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. The Sick Man ^'^"g CHAPTER H. The New Faces 15 CHAPTER 111. The Moonlight Meeting 24 CHAPTER IV. The Beechen Stick 36 CHAPTER V. The News FROM Narrabee o.... 44 CHAPTER VI. The Lime Kiln 53 CHAPTER VII. The Materials in the Defence ..... 61 ciiAPTEii vrii. lllK CONFKSSION •. 72 CIIAPTEU IX. The Advertisement 80 ciiaptp:ii x. The Sheriff and tiii; (Jcaehxor S7 CHAPTER XI. The Pebble and the Window 95 CHAPTEL* XII. TiiK End of it 1Q5 Note in Conclusion 107 J '"> miMtMy. V'^'^^i^ I i AUR. 72 80 i THE DEAD ALIVE. 87 95 05 07 I I Chaptef^ I. THE SICK MAN. EART all right," said the doctor. " Lungs all right. No organic disease that I can discover. Philip Letrank, don't alar^ your- self ! You are not going to die yet. The disease you are suite ring from is — Over- work. The remedy in your case is — Kest." So the doctor spoke, in my chambers in the Temple (London), having been sent for to see me about half an hour after I had alarmed my clerk by fainting at my desk. I have no wish to intrude myself need- lessly on the reader's attention ; but it may he neces- sary to add, in the way of explanation, that T am a "junior" barrister in good practice. I coir 3 from the Channel Island of Jersey. The French spelling of my name (Lefranc) was Anglicised generations since — in the days when the letter " k" was still uso(l B U) THE DEAh A LITE. ill Eu'^land at tho oiid of words which now tc^rminate ill "c." Wo hohl our heads hii^h, novertheloss, as a Jersoy lamily. It is to this day a trial to my lathor to hear his son descril)ed as a memlx'r ol' the Kno-lish Bar. "Rest!" I repeated, when my medical adviser had done. " My ii:ood friend, are you aware that it is Term time Y Tlie courts are sittiii'^. Look at th(; briefs wait- ing- I'ur me on that table. Rest meiiiis ruin, in my case." " And work,' added the doctor, cj^uietly, " means death." 1 started, lie was not trying to frighten me ; he was plainly in earnest. " It is merely a question of time," he went on. " You have a line constitution ; you are a young man. But you cannot deliberately overwork your brain and derange your nervous system much longer. Go away at once. If you are a good sailor, take a sea voyage. The ocean air is the best of all air to build you up again. No; I don't want to write a prescription. I decline to physic you. I have no more to say." With those words my medical friend left the room. I was obstinate — I went into court the same day. The senior counsel in the case on which I was en- gaged, applied to me for some information which it was my duty to give him. To my horror and amaze- ment, I was perfectly imable to collect my ideas ; facts and dates all mingled together confusedly in my mind. I was led out of court thoroughly terrified about my- ' X- (i 'f f 5» i I TJIE SU'K MAN. 11 8eir. The next (lay my hrii'ls wtMit Imck lo the atlor- iioys, uiul 1 lollowt'd my doctor's advice by taking my passage lor America in the lirst steamer that sailed lor New York. I had chos(^ii the voyage to Ameri<'a in preference to i«ny other trip by sea, with a special object iii view. A rekitive oi' my mother's had I'Jnigrated toth(» United States many years since, and Lad thriven there as a farmer. He had given me a general invitation to visit him if I ever crossed the Athuitic. The long period of inaction Hinder the name of rest) to which the doc- tor's decision had condemned me couhl hardly l>e more pleasantly occupied, as 1 thought, than by paying a visit to my relatioii, luid seeing what I could of Amer- ica in that way. After a brief sojourn at IS'ew York, I started, by railway, lor the residence of my host — Mr. Isaac Meadowcroft, of Morvvick Farm. There are some of the grandest natural prospects on the face of creation in America. There is also to be found in certain States of the Union (by way of whole- some contrast) scenery as Hat, as monotonous and as uninteresting to a traveller as any that the earth can show. The part of the country in which Mr. Meadows- croft's farm w^as situated fell within this latter cate- gory. 1 looked round me when I stepped out of the railway carriage on the platform at Morwick Station, and I said to myself: '' If to be cured means, in my case, to be dull, I have accurately picked out the very place for the purpose." 12 TEE DEAD ALIFE. I look back at those words by the light of later events, and I pronounce them — as you will soon pronounce them — to be the words of an essentially rash man, whose hasty judgment never stopped to consider what surprises Time and Chance might have in store for him. Mr. MeadowcroE's eldest son, Ambrose, was waiting at the station to drive me to the farm. There was no forewarning in the appearance of Am- brose Meadowcroft of the strange and terrible events that were to follow my arrival at Morwick. A healthy, handsome young fellow, one of thousands of healthy, handsome young fellows, said : " How d'ye do, Mr. Lefrank ? G-lad to see you, sir. Jump into the buggy. The man will look after yoiu portmanteau." With equally conventional politeness I answered : " Thank you. How are you all at home ? " So we started on tho way to che fann. Our conversiition, on the drive, began with the sub- jectF ol i srriculture and breeding I displayed my total igmri^aC'^i of crops and cattle before we had travelled te 11 y ivr^ ?" on our journey. Ambrose Meadowcroft cast ab<>\;i for another topic, and failed to find it. Upon this, I cast about on my side, and asked, at a venture, if I had chosen a convenient time for my visit. The young farmer's stoUd brown face instantly brightened. I had evidently hit, haphazard, on an interesting sub- ject. s ■ THE SICK MAN. 13 a M i f % You couldn't havo chosen a better time," he said. " Our house has never been so cheerful as it is now." " Have you any visitors staying with you ? " " It's not exactly a visitor. It's a new member of the family, who has come to live with ns." " A new member of the family ! May I ask who it is? Ambrose Meadowcroft considered before he replied — touched his horse with the whip — looked at me with a certain sheepish hesitation — and suddenly burst out with the truth, in the p'ainest possible words ; "It's just the nicest girl, sir, you ever saw in your life." " Aye, aye ! A friend of your sister's, I suppose ? " " A friend ? Bless your heart ! It's our little Amer- ican cousin — Naomi Colebrook." I vaguely remembered that a younger sister of Mr. Meadowcroft's had married an American merchant, in the remote past, and had died many years since, leav- ing an only child. I was now further informed that the father also was dead. In his last moments, he had committed his helpless daughter to the compassionate care of his wife's relations at Morwick. " He was always a speculating man," Ambrose went on. " Tried one thing after another — and failed in all. Died, sir, leaving barely enough to bury him. My father was a little doubtful (before she came here) how his American niece would turn out. "VYe are English, 11 THE DEAD JLIVE. yoii know — and, though we do live in the United States, we stick fast to our English ways and habits. We don't much like American women, in general, I can tell you. But when Naomi made her appearance, she conquered us all. Such a girl! Took her place as one of the family, directly. Learnt to make herself useful in the dairy in a week's time. I tell you this — she hasn't been with us quite two months yet, and we wonder already how we ever got on without her ! " Once started on the subject of Naomi Colebrook, Ambrose held to that one topic, and talked on it with- out intermission. It required no great gift of penetra- tion to discover the impression which the American cousin had produced in this case. The young fellow's enthusiasm communicated itself (in a certain tepid degree) to me. I really felt a mild flutter of anticipa- tion at the prospect of seeing Naomi, when we drew up, towards the close of evening, at the gates of Mor- wick Farm. M I M ChAPTEF\ II. THE NEW FACES. MMEDIATELY on my arrival, I was pre- sented to Mr. Meadowcroft, the father. The old man had become a confirmed in- valid, confined by chronic rheumatism to his chair. He received me kindly — and a little wearily as well. His only unmarried daughter (he had long since been left a widower) was in the room, in attendance on her father. She was a melan- choly, middle-aged woman, without visible attractions of any sort — one of those persons who appear to accept the obligation of living under protest, as a burden which they would never have consented to bear if they had only been consulted first. We three had a dreary little interview in a parlour of bare walls, and then 1 was permitted to go up stairs, and unpack my portmanteau in my own room. " Supper will be at nine o'clock, sir," said Miss Mea- dowcroft. She pronounced those words as if " supper " was a form of domestic offence, habitually'committed by the Ifi THE DEAD ALIVE. men, and endured by the women. I followed the groom Tip to my room, not over well pleased with my lirst experience of the farm. No Naomi, and no romance — thus far ! My room was clean — oppressively clean. I quite longed to see a little dust somewhere. My library was limited to the Bible and the Prayer-book. My view from the window showed me a dead flat in a partial state of cultivation, fading sadly from view in the waning light. Above the head of my spruce white bed hung a scroll, bearing a damnatory quota" tion from Scripture in emblazoned letters of red and black. The dismal presence of Miss Meadowcroft had passed over my bed-room, and had bUghted it. Sup" per time was still a i event in the future. I lit the candles, and took from my portmanteau what I firmly believe to have been the first French novel ever pro- duced at Morwick Farm. It was one of the masterly and charming stories of Dumas the elder. In five minutes I was in a new world, and my melancholy room was full of the liveliest French company. The sound of an imperative and uncompromising bell re- called me, in due time, to the regions of reality. I looked at my watch. Nine o'clock. Ambrose met me at the bottom of the stairs, and showed me the way to the supper-room. Mr. Meadowcroft's invalid chair had been wheeled to the head of the table. On his right-hand side sat .1 I \\ i I THE NEW FACES. 17 his sad and silent daughter. She signed to me, with a ghostly solemnity, to take the vacant place on the left of her father. Silas Meadowcroit came in at the same moment, and was presented to me by his brother. There was a strong family likeness between them — Ambrose being the taller and the handsomer man of the two. But there was no marked character in either face. I set them down as men with undeveloped qualities ; waiting (the good and evil qualities alike) for time and circumstances to bring them to their full growth. The door opened again, while I was still studying the two brothers — without, I honestly confess, being very favourably impressed by either of them. A new member of the family circle, who instantly attracted my attention, entered the room. He was short, spare, and wiry — singularly pale for a person whose life was passed in the country. The face was, in other respects besides this, a striking face to see. As to the lower part, it was covered with a thick black beard and moustache, at a time when shav- ing was the rule and beards the rare exception in America. As to the upper part of the face, it was ir- radiated by a pair of wild, glittering, brown e37-es, the expression of which suggested to me that there was something not quite right with the man's mental bal- ance. A perfectly sane person in all his sayings and doings, so far as I could see, there was still something 18 THE DEAD ALIVE. in those wild brown eyes which suggested to me that — under exceptionally trying circumstances — he might surprise his oldest friends by acting in some excep- tionally violent or foolish way. " A little cracked " — that, in the popular phrase, was my impression of the stranger, who now made his appearance in the supper- room. Mr. Meadowcroft the elder (liaving not spoken one word thus far) himself introduced the new comer to me, with a side glance at his sons which had some- thing like defiance in it — a glance which (as I was sorry to notice) was returned with equal defiance on their side by the two young men. " Philip Lefrank, this is my overlooker, Mr. Jago," said the old man, formally presenting us. " John Jago, this is my young relative by marriage, Mr. Lefrank. He is not well — he has come over the ocean for rest and change of scene. Mr. Jago is an Ame- rican, Philip. I hope you have no prejudice against Americans. Make acquaintance with Mr. Jago. Sit together." He cast another dark look at his sons, and the sons again returned it. They pointedly drew back from John Jago as he approached the empty chair next to me, and moved round to the opposite side of the table. It was plain that the man with the beard stood high in the father's favour, and that he was cor- diolly disliked for that or for some other reason by the sons. THE NEW FACES. 19 The door opened once more. A young lady quietly joined the party at the supper-table. "Was the young lady Naomi Colebrook ? I looked at Ambrose, and saw the answer in his face. Naomi Colebrook at last ! A pretty girl, and (so far as I could judge by appear- ances) a good girl, too. Describing her generally, I may say that she had a small head, well carried, and well set on her shoulders ; bright grey eyes, that looked at you honestly, and meant what they looked ; a trim, slight, little figure — too slight for our English notions of beauty ; a strong American accent, and (a rare thing in America) a pleasantly-toned voice, which made the accent agreeable to English ears. Our first impressions of people are, in nine cases out of ten, the right impressions. I liked Naomi Colebrook at first sight — liked her pleasant smile, liked her hearty shake of the hand when we were presented to each other. " If I get on well with nobody else in this house," I thought to myself, " I shall certainly get on well with you!' For once in a way, I proved a true prophet In the atmosphere of smouldering enmities at Morwick Farm, the pretty American girl and I remained firm and true friends from first to last. Ambrose made room for Naomi to sit between his brother and himself. She changed colour for a moment, and looked at him with a pretty reluctant tenderness 20 THE DEAD ALIVE. as she took her chair. I strongly suspected the young farmer of squeezing her hand privately — under cover of the table-cloth. The supper was not a merry one. The only cheer- ful conversation was the conversation across the table between Naomi and me. For some incomprehensible reason, John Jago seemed to be ill at ease in the presence of his young countrywoman. He looked up at Naomi, doubtingly, from his plate — and looked down again, slowly, with a frown. When I addressed him, he answered con- strainedly. Even when he spoke to Mr. lleadow croft, he was still on his guard — on his guard against the two young men, as 1 fancied by the direction which his eyes took on these occasions. When we began our meal, I had noticed for the first time that Silas Meadowcroft's left hand was strapped up with surgi- cal plaster : and I now further observed that John Jago's wandering brown eyes, furtively looking at every bod V round the table in turn, looked with a curious, cynical scrutiny at the young man's injured hand. By way of making my first evening at the farm all the more embarrassing to me as a stranger, I discovered, before long, that the father and sons were talking indirectly at each other, through Mr. Jago and through me. When old Mr. Meadowcroft spoke dis- paragingly to his overlooker of some past mistake made THE NEIV FACES. 21 in the cultivation of the arable land of the farm, old Mr. Meadowcroft's eyes pointed the application of his hostile criticism straight in the direction of his two sons. When the two sons seized a stray remark of mine about animals in general, and applied it satirically to the mismanagement of sheep and oxe : in particular, they looked at John Jago while they talked to me. On occasions of this sort — and they happened frequently — Naomi struck in resolutely at the right moment, and turned the talk to some harmless topic. Every time she took a prominent part in this way in keeping the peace, melancholy Miss Meadowcroft looked slowly round at her in stern and silent disparagement of her interference. A more dreary and more disunited family party I never sat at the table with ! Envy, hatred, malice, and uncharitableness are never so essen- tially detestable, to my mind, as when they are ani- mated by a sense of propriety and work under the surface. But for my interest in Naomi, and my other interest in the little love-looks which I now and then surprised, passing between her and Ambrosp, I should never have sat through that supper. I should cer- tainly have taken refuge in my French novel and my own room ! At last the unendurably long meal, served with ostentatious profusion, was at an end. Miss Meadow- croft rose, with her ghostly solemnity, and granted me my dismissal in these words : 22 THE bKAlJ ALIVE. '* We are early people at the farm, Mr. Lefrank. I wish you good night." She laid her bony hands on the back of Mr. Mea- dowcrol't's invalid chair ; cut him bhort in his farewell salutation to me ; and wheeled him out to his bed, as if she was wheeling him out to his grave ! " Do you go to your room immediately, sir? If nol» may I offer you a cigtir — provided the young gentle- men will permit it ? " So, picking his words with painful deliberation, and pointing his reference to " the young gentlemen " with one sardonic side look at them, Mr. John Jago per- formed the duties of hospitality on his side. I excused myself from accepting the cigar. With studied polite- ness, the man of the glittering brown eyes wished me a good night's rest, and left the room. Ambrose and Silas both approached me hospitably, with their open cigar cases in their hands. " You were quite right to say ' No,' " Ambrose began. " Never smoke with John Jago. His cigars will poi- son you." " And never believe a word John Jago says to you," added Silas. " He is the greatest har in America— let the other be whom he may." Naomi shook her forefinger reproachfully at them, as if the two sturdy young farmers had been two children. " What will Mr. Lefrank think," she said, " if you talk in that way of a person whom your father respects I t THE NEr^ FACES. 23 I and trusts ? Go and smoke. 1 am ashamed of both of you." Silas slunk away without a word of protest. Am- brose stood his j^round, evidently bent on making his peace with Naomi before he left her. Seeing that I was in the way, I walked aside to- wards a glass door at the lower end of the room. The door opened on the trim little farm garden, bathed at that moment in lovely moonlight. I stepped out to enjoy the scene, and found my way to a seat under an elm tree. The grand repose of Nature had never looked so unutterably solemn and beautiful as it now^ appeared, after what I had seen and heard inside the house. I understood — or thought I understood — the sad despair of humanity which led men into monas- teries in the old time. The misanthropical side of my nature (where is the sick man v\iio is not conscious of that side of him ?) was fast getting the upper hand of me, when I felt a light touch laid on my shoulder, and found myself reconciled to my species once more by Naomi Colebrook. j> ChAPTEF^ III. THE MOONLIGHT MEETING. WANT to speak to you," Naomi began. " You don't think ill of me for following you out here ? We are not accustomed to stand much on ceremony in America." " You are quite right in America. Pray sit down." She seated herself by my side, looking at me frankly and fearlessly by the light of the moon. " You are related to the family here," she resumed, " and I am related too. I guess I may say to you w^hat I couldn't say to a stranger. I am right glad you have come here, Mr. Lefrank, and for a reason, sir, which you don't suspect." '' Thank you for the compliment you pay me, Mieo Colebrook, whatever the reason may be." She took no notice of my reply — she steadily pur- sued her own train of thought. " I guess you may do some good, sir, in this wretched house," the girl went on, with her eyes still earnestly fixed on my face. " There is no love, no trust, no THE MOON LIGHT MEETING. 25 fan. you and •ray kly led, you lad ion, mr- hed 3tly no *f p»»aco at Morwick Farm. Thoy want somobody hero — except Ambrose ; don't think ill of Ambrose ; he is only thoughtlt\ss — I say the rest of them want some- body here to make them ashamed of their hard hearts and their horrid, false, envions ways. Yon are a jn^entleman ; you know more than they know — they can't help themselves, they must look up to you. Try, Mr. Lefrank, when you have the opportunity — pray try, sir, to make peace among* them. You heard what went on at supper-time, and you were disgusted with it. Oh, yes, you were ! I saw you frown to yourself, and T know what that means in you English- men." There was no choice but to speak one's luind plainly to Naomi. I acknowledged the impression which had been produced on me at supper-time just as plainly as I have acknowledged it in these pages. Naomi nodded her head in undisguised approval of my candour. " That will do : that's speaking out," she said. "But — oh, my ! — you put it a deal too mildly, sir, when you say the men don't seem to be on friendly terms to- gether here. They hate each other. That's the word, Mr. Lefrank — hate ! Bitter, bitter, bitter hate." She clenched her little fists ; she shook them vehemently, by way of adding emphasis to her last words, and then she suddenly remembered Ambrose. " Except Am- brose," she added, opening her hand again and laying it very earnestly on my arm. " Don't go and mis- c 26 THE DEAD ALIVE, judge Ambrose, sir. There is no harm in poor Am- brose." The girl's innocent frankness was really irresistible. " Should I be altogether wrong," I asked, " if I guessed that you were a little partial to Ambrose ?" An Englishwoman would have felt, or would at least have assumed, some liitle hesitation at replying to my question. Naomi did not hesitate for an in- stant. " Ycu are quite right, sir," she said, with the most perfect composure. " If things go well, I mean to marry Ambrose." "If things go well !" I repeated " What does that mean ? Money ? " She shook her head. " It means a fear that I have in my own mind," she answered. " A fear, Mr. Lefrank, of matters taking a bad turn among the men here — the wicked, hard-heart- ed, unfeeling men. I don't mean Ambrose, sir ! I mean his brother Silas, and John Jago. Did you notice Silas's hand ? .lohn Jago did that, sir, with a knife." "By accident? " I asked. " On purpose," she answered ; " in return for a blow." This plain revelation of the state of things at Mor- wick Farm rather staggered me. Blows and knives under the rich and respectable rcGf-tree of old Mr i THE MOONLIGHT MEETING. 27 a Meadowcroft ! Blows and knives, not among the la- bourers, but among the masters ! My first impression was like your first impression, no doubt — I could hardly believe it. " Are you sure of what you say ? " I inquired. " I have it from Ambrose ; Ambrose would never deceive me ; Ambrose knows all about it." My curiosity was powerfully excited. To what sort of household had I rashly voyaged across the ocean in search of rest and quiet ? " May I know all about it, too ? " I said. " Well, I will try and tell you what Ambrose told me. But you must promise me one thing first, sir. Promise you won't go away and leave us when you know the whole truth. Shake hands on it, Mr. Lefrank. Come, shake hands on it ! " There was no resisting her fearless frankness. I shook hands on it. Naomi entered on her narrative the moment I had given her my pledge, without wasting a word by way of jireface. " When you are shown over the farm here," she be- gan, " you will see that it is really two farms in one. On this side of it, as we look from under this tree, they raise crops ; on the other side — on much the larger half of the land, mind — they raise cattle. When Mr. Meadowcroft got too old and too sick to look after his farm himself, the boys (I mean Ambrose and Silas) divided the work between them. Ambrose looked " 28 THE DEAD ALIVE. after the crops, and Silas after the cattle. Things didn't go well, somehow, under their management. I can't tell yon why. I am only sure Ambrose was not in fault. The old man got more and more dissatisfied, especially about his beasts. His pride is in his beasts. Without saying a word to the boys, he looked about privately — / think he was wrong in that, sir ; don't you ? — he looked about priv^ately for help, and in an evil hour he heard of John J ago. Do you like John Jago, Mr. Lefrank ? " " So far — no. I don't like him ! " "Just my sentiments, sir. But I don't know — it's likely we may be wrong. There's nothing against John Jago except that he is so odd in his ways. They do say he wears all that nasty hair on his face (I hate hair on a man's face) on account of a vow he made when he lost his wife. Don't you think, Mr. Lefrank, a man must be a little mad who shows his jrrief at losing his wife by vowing that he will never shave himself again ? Well, that's what they do say John Jago vowed. Per- haps it's a lie. People are such liars here. Anyway, it's truth (the boys themselves confess //ta/), when John came to the farm, he came with a first-rate character. The old father here isn't easy to please, and he pleased the old father. Yes, that's so. Mr. Meadowcroft don't like my countrymen in general. He's like his sons, English, bitter English to the marrow of his bones. Somehow, in spite of that, John Jago got round him « i. THE MOONLIGHT MEETING. 29 — may be because John does certainly know his busi- ness. Oh, yes! Cattle and crops, John knows his busi- ness. Since he's been overlooker, things have pros- pered as they didn't prosper in the time of the boys. Ambrose owned as much to me himself Still, sir, it's hard to be set aside for a stranger, isn't it ? John gives the orders now. The boys do their work ; but they have no voice in it, when John and the old man put their heads together over the business of the farm. I have been long in telling you of it, sir ; but now you know how the envy and the hatred grew among the men — before my time. Since I have been here, things seem to get worse and worse. There's hardly a day goes by, that hard words don't pass between the boys and John, or the boys and their father. The old man has an aggravating way, Mr. Lefrank — a nasty way, as we do call it — of taking John Jago's part. Do ppeak to him about it when you get the chance. The main blame of the quarrel between Silas and John the other day lies at his door, as I think. I don't want to excuse Silas either. It was brutal of him — though he is Am- brose's brother — to strike John, who is the smallest and weakest man of the two. But it was worse than brutal in John, sir, to out with his knife and try to stab Silas. Oh, he did it ! It Silas had not caught the knife in his hand (his hand's awfully cut, I can tell you; I dressed it myself), it might have ended, for anything I know, in murder " 30 THE DEAD ALIVE. i f s- She stopped as the word passed her lips, looked back over her shoulder, and started violently. I looked where my companion was looking*. The dark figure of a man was standing watching us, in the shadow of the elm tree. I rose directly to approach him. Naomi recovered her self-possession, and checked me before I could interfere. " Who are you ?" she asked, turning sharply towards the stranger. " What do you want there ? " The man stepped out from the shadow into the moon- light, and stood revealed to vis as John Jago. " I hope I am not intruding ?" he said, looking hard at me. " What do you want ?" Naomi repeated. " I don't wish to disturb you, or to disturb this gen- tleman," he proceeded. " When you are quite at leisure, Miss Naomi, you would be doing me a favour if you would permit me to say a few words to you in pri- vate." He spoke with the most scrupulous politeness ; trj^- ing, and trying vainly, to conceal some strong agitation which was in possession of him. His wild brown eyes — wilder than ever in the moonlight — rested entreat- ingly, with a strange underlying expression of despair, on Naomi's face. His hands, clasped lightly in front of him, trembled incessantly. Little as I liked the man, he did really impress me as a pitia})le object at that moment. THE MOONLIGHT MEETING. 31 " Do you mean that yon want to speak to me to- night ? " Naomi asked, in iindisgnised surprise. " Yes, miss, if you please — at your leisure and at Mr. Lefrank's." Naomi hesitated. " Won't it keep till to-morrow ? " she said. " I shall be away on farm business to-morrow, miss, for the whole day. Please to give me a few minutes this evening." He advanced a step towards her ; his voice faltered, and dropped timidly to a whisper. " I really have something to say to you, Miss Naomi. It would be a kindness on your part — a very, very great kindness — if you will let me say it before I rest to- night." I rose again to resign my place to him. Once more Naomi checked me. " No," she said. " Don't stir." She addressed John Jago very reluctantly : " If you are so much in earnest about it, Mr. John, I suppose it must be. I can't gue^s what //ow can possibly have to say to me which cannc t be said before a third person. However, it wouldn't be civil, I suppose, to say ' No,' in my place. You know it's my business to wind u.p the hall clock at ten every night. If you choose to come and help me, the chances are that we shall have the hall to ourselves. "Will that do?" " Not in the hall, miss, if you will excuse me." " Not in the hall ! " I? ■ u H- 32 THE DEAD ALIP'E /w " And not in the house either, if I may make so bol d." " What do you mean ?" She turned impatiently and appealed to me. " Do //on understand him ? " John Jago signed to me imploringly to let him an- swer for himself. " Bear with me, Miss Naomi," he said ; " I think I can make you understand me. There are eyes on the watch, and ears on the watch, in the house. And there are some footsteps — I won't say whose — so soft that no person can hear them." The last allusion evidently made itself understood. Naomi stopped him before he could say more. " Well, where is it to be ?" she asked, resignedly. " Will the garden do, Mr. John ?" " Thank you kindly, miss, the garden will do." He pointed to a gravel walk beyond us, bathed in the full flood of the moonlight. " There," he said, " where we can see all round us, and be sure that nobody is listening. At ten o'clock." He paused, and addressed himself to me. " I beg to apologize, sir, for intruding myself on your conversation. Please to excuse me." His eyes rested with a last anxious, pleading look on Naomi's face. He bowed to us, and melted away again into the shadow of the tree. The distant sound of a door closed softly came to us through the stillness of the night. John Jago had rs-entered the house. Now that he was out of hearing, Naomi spoke to me very earnestly : •i 1 * ft 1 \ THE MOONLIGHT MEETING. 33 ?5 '^ ■1 " Don't snppose, sir, I have any secrets with him ! " she said. " I know no more than you do what he wants with me. I have half a mind not to keep the appointment when ten o'clock comes. What would you do in my place ? " "Having made the appointment," I answered, "it seems to be due to yourself to keep it. If you feel the slightest alarm, I will wait in another part of the gar- den, so that I can hear if you call to me." She received my proposal with a saucy toss of the head, and a smile of pity for my ignoranc(\ " You are a stranger, Mr. Lefrank, or you would never talk to me in that way. In America we don't do the men the honour of letting them alarm us. In America the women take care of themselves. He has got my promise to meet him. as you say, and I must keep my promise. Only think," she added, speaking- more to herself than to me, " of John Jago finding out Miss Meadowcroft's nasty, sly, underhand ways in the house ! Most men would never have noticed her." I was completely taken by surprise. Sad and severe Misp> Meadowcroft a listener and a spy ! What next at Morwick Farm ? " Was that hint at the watchful eyes and ears, and the soft footsteps, really an allusion to Mr. Meadow- croft's daughter? " I asked. " Of course it was. Ah ! she has imposed on you, as she imposes on everybody else. The false wretch! 1 i .34 THE DEAD ALIVE. She is secretly at the bottom of half the bad feeling among the men. 1 am certain of it — she keeps Mr. Meadowcroft's mind bitter towards the boys. Old as she is, Mr. Lefrank, and ugJy as she is, she wouldn't object (if she could only make him ask her) to be John Jago's second wife. No, sir ; and she wouldn't break her heart if the boys were not left a stick or a stone on the farm when the father dies. I haye w^atched her, and I know it. Ah ! I could tell you such things ! But there's no time now ; it's close on ten o'clock ; we must say good-night. I am right glad I have spoken to you, sir. I say again at parting what I have said already : Use your influence, pray use your influence to soften them, and to make them ashamed of them- selves, in this wicked house. "We will have more talk about what you can do, to-morrow when you are shown over the farm. Say good-bye now. Hark ! there is ten striking. And look — here is John Jago stealing out again in the shadow of the tree. Grood night, friend Lefrank, and pleasant dreams." With one hand she took mine and pressed it cor- dially ; with the other she pushed me away, without ceremony, in the direction of the house. A charming girl — an irresistible girl ! I was nearly as bad as the boys : I declare / almost hated John Jago, too, as we crossed each other in the shadow of the tree. Arrived at the glass door, I stopped and looked back at the gravel-walk. ! i ' i ! tl cf I i THE MOONLIGHT MEETING. 35 They had met. I saw the two shadowy figures slowly pacinf^ hackwards and forwards in the moon- light, the woman a little in advance of the man. What was he saying to her ? Why was he so anxious that not a word of it should be heard ? Our presentiments are sometimes, in certain rare cases, the laithful pro- phecy of the future. A vague distrust of that moon- light meeting stealthily took a hold on my mind. " Will mischief come of it ? " I asked myself as I closed the door and entered the house. Mischief did come of it. You shall hear how. I i * \l ^ Chaptei\ iy. THE BEECHEN STICK. EESONS of sensitive nervous temperament, sleeping for the first time in a strange house and in a bed that is new to them, must make up their minds to pass a w^akeful night. My first night at Morwick Farm was no excep- tion to this rule. The little sleep I had was broken, and disturbed by dre^^ms. Towards six o'clock in the morning my bed became unendurable to me. The sun was shining in brightly at the window ; I determined to try the reviving influence of a stroll in the fresh morning air. Just as I got out of bed, I heard footsteps and voices under my window. The footsteps stopped, and the voices became recog- nizable. I had passed the night with my window open ; I was able, without exciting notice from below, to look out. The persons beneath me were Silas Meadowcroft, John Jago, and three strangers whose dress and ap- pearance indicated plainly enough that they were p ' w ; I f THE BEECIIEN STICK. 37 labourers on the farm. Silas was swincrinG: a stout beechen stick in his hand, and was speaking to Jago, coarsely and insolently enough, of his moonlight meet- ing with Naomi on the previous night. " Next time you go courting a young lady in secret," said Silas, " make sure that the moon goes down first, or wait for a cloudy sky. You were seen in the garden, Master Jago : and you may as well tell us the truth for once in a way. Did you find her open to persuasion, sir? Did she say 'Yes?'" John Jago kept his temper. " If you must have your joke, Mr. Silas," he said, quietly and firmly, " be pleased to joke on some other subject. You are quite wrong, sir, in what you sup- pose to have passed between the young lady and me." Silas turned about, and addressed himself ironically to the three labourers. " You hear him, boys ? He can't tell the truth, tiy him as you may. He wasn't making love to Naomi in the garden last night — oh, dear, no ! He has had one wife already ; and he knows better than to take the yoke on his shoulders for the second time ! " Greatly to my surprise, John Jago met this clumsy jesting with a formal and serious reply : " You are quite right, sir," he said. " I have no inten- tion of marrvinff for the second time. "What I was saying to Miss Naomi doesn't matter to you. It was not at all what you choose to suppose — it was some- K :\H THE UK AD A LITE. thiii<^ oi' quite another kind, with which you have no concern. Be pleased to understand, once lor all, Mr. 8ilas, that not so much as the thought of making love to the young lady has ever entered my head. I re- spect her; I admire her good qualities ; but il* she was the only woman lel't in the world, and it' I was a much younger man than I am, I should never think of ask- ing her to be my wile." He burst out suddenly into a harsh, uneasy laugh. 'No, no! Not my style, Mr. JSilas — not my style ! " Something in those words, or in his manner ol' speak- ing them, appeared to exasperate Silas. He dropped his clumsy irony, and addressed himself directly to John Jago in a tone of savage contempt. " Not your style ! " he repeated. " Upon my soul, that's a cool way of putting it for a man in your place. AVhat do you mean by calling her ' not your style ? ' You impudent beggar, Naomi Cole brook is meat for your master ! " John Jago's temper began to give way at last. He approached deiiantly a step or two nearer to Silas Mea- dowcroft. " Who is my master V " he asked. " Ambrose will show you, if you go to him," answered the other. " Naomi is Ids sweetheart, not mine. Keep out of his way, if you want to keep a whole skin on your bones." John Jago cast one of his sardonic side-looks at the r ';l lor on f f :i ) ^ THE liEEiUEN l^TlVK. 30 farmer's wounded lel't hand. " Don't I'oroet your own skin, Mr. Silas, when you threaten mine ! I have set my mark on you once, sir. Let me by on my business, or I may mark you for a second time." Silas lifted his beechen stick. The labourers, roused to some rude sense of the serious turn which the quar- rel was taking*, got between the two men, and part(»d them. I had been hurriedly dressing myself while the altercation was proceeding, and I now ran down stairs to try what my influence could do towards keejv ing the peace at Morwick Farm. The war of angry words was still going on when I joined the men outside. "Be off with you on your business, you cowardly hound !" 1 heard Silas say. " Be off with you to the town, and take care you don't meet Ambrose on the way." " Take you care you don't feel my knife again before I go!" cried the other man. Silas made a desperate effort to break away from the labourers, who were holding him. " Last time you only felt my fist, ' he shouted ; " next time you shall feel this .'" He lifted the stick as he spoke. I stepped up, and snatched it out of his hand. " Mr. Silas," I said, " I am an invalid, and I am going oiit for a walk. Your stick will be useful to mo. 1 be"' leave to borrow it." 40 THE lEAD ALIVE. The labourers burst out laughing. Silas fixed his eyes on me with a stare of angry surprise. John Jago, im- mediately recovering his self-possession, took off" his hat, and made me a deferential bow. " I had no idea, Mr. Lefrank, that we were disturbing you," he said. " I am very much ashamed of myself, sir. I beg to apologize." " I accept your apology, Mr. Jago," I answered, " on the understanding that you, as the older man, will set the example of forbearance, if your temper is tried on any future occasion as it has been tried to-da3^ And I have further to request," I added, addressing myself to Silas, " that you will do me a favour, as your father's guest. The next time your good spirits lead you into making jokes at Mr. Jago's expense, don't carry them quite so far. I am sure you meant no harm., Mr. Silas. Will you gratify me by saying so yourself? I want to see you and Mr. Jago shake hands." John Jago instantly held out his hand, with an as- sumption of good feeling which was a little over-acted, to my thinking. Silas Meadowcroft made no advance of the same friendly sort on his side. " Let him go about his business," said Silas. " I won't waste anv more words on him, Mr. Lefrank, to please you. But (saving your presence) I'm d d if I take his hand. Further persuasion was plainly useless, addressed to such a man as this. Silas gave me no further oppor- 4^ :% THE BEECHEN STICK. 41 m't [ase :e to ^or- n ii< wi tunity of rem'>nstratmg with him, even if I had been inclined to do so. He turned about in sulky silence, and retracing his steps along the path, disappeared round the corner of the house. The labourers with- drew next, in different directions, to begin the day's work. John Jago and I were alone. I left it to the man of the wild brown eyes to speak first. " In half an hour's time, sir," he said, " I shall be going on business to N arrabee, our market town here. Can I take any letters to the post for you ? or is there anything else that I can do in the town ? " I thanked him, and declined both proposals. He made me another deferential bow, and withdrew into the house. I mechanically followed the path in the direction which Silas had taken before me. Turning the comer of the house, and walking on for a Utile way, I found myself at the entrance to the stables, and face to face with Silas Meadowcroft once more. He had his elbows on the gate of the yard, swinging it slowly backwards and forwards, and turn- ing and twisting a straw between his teeth. When he saw me approaching him he advanced a step from the gate, and made an effort to excuse himself, with a very ill grace. " No offence, Mister. Ask me what you will besides, and I'll doit for you. But don't ask me to shake h^nds with .John Jago. I hate him too badly for that. If I -V 42 THE DEAD ALIVE. touched him with one hand, sir, I tell you this — I should throttle him with the other ! " " That's your feeling towards the man, Mr. Silas, is " That's my feeling, Mr. Lefrank ; and I'm not asham- ed of it either." " Is there any such place as a church in your neigh- bourhood, Mr. Silas?" " Of course there is." *' And do you ever go to it ? " " Of course I do." "At long intervals, Mr. Silas?" " Every Sunday, sir, without fail." Some third person behind me burst out laughing — some third person had been listening to our talk. I turned round, and discovered Ambrose Meadowcroft. " I understand the drift of your catechism, sir, though my brother doesn't," he said. " Don't be hard on Silas, sir. He isn't the only Christian who leaves his Christianity in the pew when he goes out of church. You will never make us friends with John Jago, try as you may ! Why, what have you got there, Mr. Lefrank ? May I die if it isn't my stick ! I have been looking for it everywhere ! " The thick beechen stick had been feeling uncomfort- ably heavy in my invalid hand for some time past. There was no sort of need for my keeping it any longer. John Jago was going away to Narrabee, and Silas \ y , li I THE BEECHEN STICK. 43 . Meadowcroft's savage temper was subdued to a sulky repose. I handed the stick back to Ambrose. He laughed as he took it from me. " You can't think how strange it feels, Mr. Lefrank» to be out without one's stick," he said. " A man gets used to his stick, sir, doesn't he ? Are you ready for your breakfast ? " "Not just yet. I thought of taking a little walk first." " All right, sir ; I wish I could go with you. But I have got my work to do this morning, and Silas has his work too. If you go back by the way you came, you will find yourself in the garden. If you want to go farther, the wicket gate at the end will lead you into the lane." Through sheer thoughtlessness, I did a very foolish thing. I turned back as I was told, and left the bro- thers together at the gate of the stable-yard. ifort- past. pger. Silas III \ ii Chaptef^^ v. THE NEWS FROM NARRABEE. RRIYED at the garden, a thought struck me. The cheerful speech and easy manner of Ambrose plainly indicated that he was ignorant thus far of the quarrel which had taken place under my window. Silas might confess to having taken his brother's stick, and might mention whose head he had threatened with it. It was not only useless, but undesirable, that Ambrose should know of the quarrel. I retraced my steps to the stable-yard. Nobody was at the gate. I called alternately to Silas and to Ambrose. Nobody answered. The brothers had gone away to their work. Returning to the garden, I heard a pleasant voice wishing me " Grood morning." I looked round. Naomi Colebrook was standing at one of the lower windows of the farm. She had her working apron on, and she was industriously brightening the knives for the break- fast table on an old-fashioned board. A sleek black cat balanced himself on her shoulder, watching the r i THE NEWS FROM NARRABEE. 45 \ h flashing motion of the knife as she passed it rapidly to and fro on the leather-covered surface of the board. " Come here," she said ; " I want to speak to you." I noticed as I approached that her pretty face was clouded and anxious. She pushed the cat irritably off her shoulder ; she welcomed me with only the faint reflection of her bright customary smile. " I have seen John Jago," she said. " He has been hinting at something which he says happened under your bed-room window this morning. When I begged him to explain himself, he only answered, * Ask Mr. Lefrank ; I must be off to Narrabee.' What does it mean ? Tell me right away, sir. I am out of temper, and I can't wait ! " Except that I made the best instead of the worst of it, I told her what had harjpened under my window, as plainly as I have told it here. She put down the knife that she was cleaning, and folded her hands before her, thinking. " I wish I had never given John Jago that meeting," she said. " When a man asks anything of a woman, the woman, I find, mostly repents it if she says ' Yes.' " She made that quaint reflection with a very troubled brow. The moonlight meeting had left some unwel- come remembrances in her mind. I saw that as plainly as I saw Naomi herself What had John Jago said to her ? I put the ques- I ( ^ i 46 THE DEAD ALIVE. tion with all needful delicacy, making my apologies beforehand. " I should like to tell you,'' she began, with a strong emphasis on the last word. There she stopped. She turned pale — then suddenly flushed again to the deepest red. She took up the knife once more, and went on cleaning it as industri- ously as ever. " I mustn't tell you," she resumed, with her head down over the knife. " I have promised not to tell anybody. That's the truth. Forget all about it, sir, as soon as you can. Hush ! here's the spy who saw us last night on the walk, and who told Silas." Dreary Miss Meadowcroft opened the kitchen door. She carried an ostentatiously large prayer-book ; and she looked at Naomi as only a jealous woman of mid- dle age can look at a younger and prettier woman than herself. " Prayers, Miss Colebrook," she said, in her sourest manner. She paused, and noticed me standing under the window. " Prayers, Mr. Lefrank," she added, with a look of devout pity, directed exclusively to my address. " We will follow you directly, Miss Meadowcroft," said Naomi. " I have no desire to intrude on your secrets, Miss Colebrook." With that acrid answer, our priestess took herself \ t ThE NEJVS FROM NARRABEE. 47 and her prayer-book out of the kitchen. 1 joined Naomi, entering the room by the garden door. {She met me eagerly. " I am not quite easy about something," she said. " Did you tell me that you left Ambrose and Silas to- gether ? " " Yes." " Suppose Silas tells Ambrose of what happened this morning ? " The same idea (as I have already mentioned) had occurred to my mind. I did my best to reassure Naomi. " Mr. Jago is out of the way," I replied. " You and I can easily put things right in his absence." She took my arm. " Come in to prayers," she said. " Ambrose will be there, and I shall find an opportunity of speaking to him." Neither Ambrose nor Silas were in the breakfast- room when we entered it. After waiting vainly for ten minutes, Mr. Meadowcroft told his daughter to read the prayers. Miss Meadowcroft read, thereupon — in the tone of an injured woman taking the Throne of Mercy by storm, and insisting on her rights. Break- fast followed ; and still the brothers were absent. Miss Meadowcroft looked at her father, and said, " From bad to worse, sir. What did I tell you ?" Naomi instantly applied the antidote : " The boysjare no doubt detained 48 THE DEAD ALIVE. \l f over their work, uncle." She turned to me : " You want to see the farm, Mr. Lefrank. Come and help me to find the boys." For more than an hour we visited one part of the farm after another, without discovering the missing men. We found them at last near the outskirts of a small wood, sitting talking together on the trunk of a felled tree. Silas rose as we approached, and walked away (without a word of greeting or apology) into the wood. As he got on his feet I noticed that his brother whis- pered something in his ear, and I heard him answer, " All right." "Ambrose,does that mean you have somethingto keep a secret from us?" asked Naomi, approaching her lover with a smile. " Is Si J as ordered to hold his tongue ? " Ambrose kicked sulkily at the loose stones lying about him. I noticed, with a certain surprise, that his fa- vourite stick was not in his hand, and was not lying near him. " Business," he said, in answer to Naomi — not very graciously. *' Business between Silas and me. That's what it means, if you must know." Naomi went on, woman-like, with her questions, heedless of the reception which they might meet with from an irritated man. " Why were you both away at prayers and break- fast-time ?" she asked next. i eak- 4 i TEE NEWS FROM NARRABEE. 49 " "We had too much to do," Ambrose gruffly replied, '' and we were too far from the house." " Very odd," said Naomi. " This has never happened before since I have been at the farm." " Well, live and learn. It has happened now." The tone in which he spoke would have warned an}^ man to let him alone. But warnings which speak by implication only are thrown away on women. The woman, having still something in her mind to say, said it. " Have you seen anything of John Jago this morn- ing ?" The smouldering ill-temper of Ambrose burst sud- denly — why, it was impossible to guess — into a flame. " How many more questions am I to answer ? " he broke out, violently. " Are you the parson, putting me through my catechism ? I have seen nothing of John Jago, and I have got my work to go on with. Will that do for you ? " He turned, with an oath, and followed his brother into the wood. Naomi's bright eyes looked up at me, flashing with indignation. " What does he mean, Mr. Lefrank, by speaking to me in that way ? Rude brute ! How dare he do it ? " She paused ; her voice, look, and manner suddenly changed. " This has never happened before, sir. Has anything gone wrong ? I declare I shouldn't know 50 77//; DEAD ALIVE. \ 1 1 ! j 1 i^ ' •! '» : i i •J. Ambrose again, he is so changed. Say, how does it strike you ?" I still made the best of a bad case. " Something has upset his temper," I said. " The merest trifle, Miss Colebrook, upsets a man's temper sometimes. I speak as a man, and I know it. Give him time, and he will make his excuses, and all will be well again." My presentation of the case entirely failed to reassure my pretty companion. We went back to the house Dinner-time came, and the brothers appeared. Their lather spoke to them of their absence from morning prayers — with needless severity, as 1 thought. They resented the reproof with needless indignation on their side, and left the room. A sour smile of satis- faction showed itself on Miss Meadowcroft's thin lips. She looked at her father — then raised her eyes sadly to the ceiling, and said, " We can^only pray for them, Sir. Naomi disappeared after dinner. When I saw her again, she had some news for me. " I have been with Ambrose," she said, " and he has begged my pardon. We have made it up, Mr. Lefrank. Still— still " " Stm—what, Miss Naomi ? " " He is not like himself, sir. He denies it ; but I can't help thinking he is hiding something from me." The day wore on ; the evening came. I returned ') 1 THE NEPys FROM NAJUOinEK. :>! I 5) > i to my French dot el . But not even Dumas himself could keep my attention to the story. What else I was think- ing of I cannot say. Why I was out of spirits I am un- able to explain. I wished myself back in England ; I took a blind unreasoning hatred to Morwick Farm. Nine o'clock struck, and we all assembled again at supper, w4th the exception of John .Tago. He was expected back to supper ; and we waited for him a quarter of an hour, by Mr. Meadowcroft's own direc- tions. John J ago never appeared. The night w^ore on, and still the absent man failed to return. Miss Meadowcroft volunteered to sit up for him. Naomi eyed her, a little maliciously I must own, as the two women parted for the night. I withdrew to my room, and again I was unable to sleep. When sunrise came, I went out, as before, to breathe the morning air. On the staircase I met Miss Meadowcroft ascending to her own room. Not a curl of her stiff grey hair was disarranged ; nothing about the impenetrable woman betrayed that she had been watching through the night. " Has Mr. Jago not returned ? " I asker' . Miss Meadowcroft slowly shook her head, and frowned at me. " We are in the hands of Providence, Mr. Lefrank. Mr. Jago must have been detained for the night at Narrabee," ■■*§» -* » J " » ■ ■*- - 52 THE DEAD ALIVE. II' The daily roiitine of the meals resumed its unalter- able course. Breakfast-time came, and dinner-time came, and no John Jago darkened the doors of Mor- wick Farm. Mr. Meadowcroft and hia daughter con- sulted together, and determined to send in search of the missing man. One of the more intelligent of the labourers was dispatched to Narrabee to make inqui- ries. The man returned late in the evening, bringing startling news to the farm. He had visited all the inns, and all the places of business resort in Narrabee ; he had made endless inquiries in every direction, with this result — no one had set eyes on John Jago. Everybody declared that John Jago had not entered the town ! We all looked at each other, excepting the two brothers, who were seated together in a dark corner of the room. The conclusion appeared to be inevitable — John Jago was a lost man. ^ \ Chaptei\ yi. ' ^ THE LIME KILN. iR. MEADOWCROFT was the first to speak. " Somebody must find John," he said. " Without losing a moment," added his daughter. Ambrose suddenly stepped out of the dark corner of the room. " / will inquire," he said. Silas followed him. " I will go with you," he added. Mr. Meadowcroft interposed his authority. " One of you will be enough — for the present, at least. Go you, Ambrose. Your brother may be want- ed later. If any accident has happened (which Grod forbid ! ), we may have to inquire in more than one direction. Silas, you will stay at the farm." The brothers withdrew together — Ambrose to pre- pare for his journey ; Silas to saddle one of the horses for him. Naomi slipped out after them. Left in com- pany with Mr. Meadowcroft and his daughter — both !«> 54 THE DEAD ALIVE. «( 1 \ ' devoured by anxiety about the missing man, and both trying to conceal it under an assumption of devout re- signation to circumstances — I need hardly add that I too retired as soon as it was politely possible for me to leave the room. Ascending the stairs on my way to my own quarters, I discovered Naomi half hidden in the recess formed by an old-fashioned window-seat on the first landing. My bright little friend was in sore trouble ; her apron was over her face, and she was crying bitterly. Ambrose had not taken his leave as tenderly as usual. She was more firmly persuaded than ever that " Ambrose waFj hiding something from her." We all waited anxiously for the next day. The next day made the mystery deeper than ever. The horse which had taken Ambrose to Narrabee was ridden back to the farm by a groom from the hotel. He delivered a written message from Ambrose, which startled us. Further inquiries had positively proved that the missing man had never been near Narrabee. The only attainable tidings o;" his whereabouts were tidings derived from vague report. It was said that a man like John Jago had been seen the previous day, in a railwciy car, travelling on the line to New York. Acting on this imperfect information, Ambrose had decided on verifying the truth of the report by ex- tending his inquiries to New York. This extraordinary proceeding forced the suspicion THE LIME KILN. 55 on me that something had really gone wrong. I kept my doubts to myself, but I was prepared from that moment to seethe disappearance of John Jago follow- ed by very grave results. The same day, the results declared themselves. Time enough had now elapsed for report to spread through the district the news of what had happened at the farm. Already aware of the bad feeling exist- ing between the men, the neighbours had been now informed (no doubt by the labourers present) of the deplorable scene that had taken place under my bed- room window. Public opinion declares itself in Ameiica without the slightest reserve or the slightest care for consequences. Public opinion declared, on this occasion, that the lost man was the victim of foul play, and held one or both of the brothers M eadow- croft responsible for his disappearance. Later in the day, the reasonableness of this serious view of the case was confirmed in the popular mind by a startling discovery. It was announced that a Methodist preacher lately settled at Morwick, and greatly respected throughout the district, had dreamed of John Jago in the character of a murdered man, whose bones were hidden at Morwick Farm ! Before night, the cry was general for a verification of the preacher's dream. Not only in the immediate district, but in the town of Nar rabee itself, the public voice insisted on the necessity 56 THE DEAD ALIVE. I! ' m^ l\\ of a search for the mortal remains of John Jago at Morwick Farm. In the terrible turn which matters had now taken, Mr. Meadowcroft the elder displayed a spirit and energy for which I was not prepared. " My sons have their faults," he said, " serious faults ; and nobody knows it better than I do. My sons have behaved badly and ungratefully towards John Jago ; I don't deny that, either. But Ambrose and Silas are not murderers. Make your search ! I ask for it — no, I insist on it, after what has been said, injustice to my family and my name ! " The neighbours took him at his word. The Mor- wick section of the American nation organized itself on the spot. The sovereign people met in committee, made speeches, elected competent persons to represent the public interests, and began the search the next day The whole proceeding, ridiculously informal from a legal point of view, was carried on by these extraor- dinary people with as stern and strict a sense of duty as if it had been sanctioned by the highest tribunal in the land. Naomi met the calamity that had fallen on the house- hold as resolutely as her uncle himself. The girl's cou- rage rose with the call which was made on it. Her one anxiety was for Ambrose. " He ought to be here," she said to me. " The wretches in this neighbourhood are wicked enough 1 '• THE LIME KILN. 57 to say that his absence now is a confession of his guilt." She was rip^ht. In the present temper of the popu- lar mind, the absence of Ambrose was a suspicious cir- cumstance in itself. " We might telegraph to New York," I suggested, " if you only knew where a message would be likely to find him." " I know the hotel which the Meadowcrofts use at New York," she replied. "I was sent there, after my father's death, to wait till Miss Meadowcroft could take me to Morwick." We decided on teleg-raphing to the hotel. I was writing the message, and Naomi was looking over my shoulder, when we were startled by a strange voice speaking close behind us. '' Oh ! that's his address, is it ? " said the voice. " We wanted his address rather badly." The speaker was a stranger to me. Naomi recog- nized him as one of the neighbours. " What do you want his address for ? " she asked, sharply. " I guess we've found the mortal remains of John Jago, miss," the man replied. " We have got Silas already, and we want Ambrose, too, on suspicion of murder." "It's a lie!" cried Naomi, furiously: "a wicked lie!' The man turned to me. I i ■•^=* 58 THE DEAD ALIVE. 1 n\ It n; 1, ! m " Take her into the next room, Mister," he said, " and let her see for herself." We went together into the next room. In one corner, sitting by her father, and holding his hand, we saw^ stern and stony Miss Meadowcroft, weep- ing silently. Opposite to them, crouched on the win- dow-seat — his eyes wandering, his hands hanging helpless — we next discovered Silas Meadowcroft, plainly self-betrayed as a panic-stricken man. A few of the persons who had been engaged in the search were seated near, watching him. The mass of the strangers present stood congregated round a table in the middle of the room. They drew aside as I ap- proached with Naomi, and allowed us to have a clear view of certain objects placed on the table. The centre object of the collection w^as a little heap of charred bones. Eound this were ranged a knife, two metal buttons, and a stick partially burnt. The knife was recognized by the labourers as the wea- pon John J ago habitually carried about with him— the weapon with which he had wounded Silas Meadow- croft's hand. The buttons, Naomi herself declared to" have a particular pattern on them, which had formerly attracted her attention to John Jago's coat. As for the stick, burnt as it was, I had no difficulty in identifying the quaintly carved knob at the top. It was the heavy beechen stick which I had snatched out of Silas's hand, and which I had restored to Ambrose on THE LIME KILN. 59 said. his claiming it as his own. In reply to my inquiries, I was informed that the bones, the knife, the buttons, and the stick had all been found together in a lime kiln then in use on the farm. " Is it serious ? " Naomi whispered to me as wo drew back from the table. It would have been sheer cruelty to deceive her now. " Yes," I whispered back, " it is serious." The Search Committee conducted its proceedings with the strictest regularity. The proper applications were made forthwith to a justice of the peace, and the justice issued his warrant. That night Silas was com- mitted to prison, and an officer was dispatched to ar- rest Ambrose in New York. For my part, 1 did the little I could to make myself useful. With the silent sanction of Mr. Meadowcroft and his daughter, I went to Narrabee and secured the best legal assistance for the defence which the town could place at my disposal. This done, there was no choice but to wait for news of Ambrose, and for the examination before the magistrate which was to follow. I shall pass over the misery in the house during the interval of expectation : no useful purpose could be served by describing it now. Let me only say that Naomi's conduct strengthened me in the conviction that she possessed a noble nature. I was unconscious of the state of my own feelings at the time ; but I am • .1 60 THE DEAD ALIVE. f now disposed to think that this was the epoch at which I began to envy Ambrose the wife whom he had won. The telegraph brought us oar first news of Am- brose. He had been arrested at the hotel, and he was on his way to Morwick. The next day he arrived, and followed his brother to prison. The two were confined in separate cells, and were forbidden all com- munication with each other. Two days later the preliminary examination took place. Ambrose and Silas Meadowcroft were charged before the magistrate with the wilful murder of John Jago. I was cited to appear as one of the witnesses ; and at N aomi's own request, T took the poor girl into court and sat by her during the proceedings. My host also was present in his invalid chair, with his daughter by his side. tSuch was the result of my voyage across the ocean in search of rest and quiet ! And thus did Time and Chance filfil^my first hasty forebodings of the dull life I w^as to lead at Morwick Farm ! 1 t Chaptei\ yii. THE MATERIALS IN THE DEFENCE. N our ^vay to the chairs allotted to us in the magistrate's Court, we passed the plattbnn on which the prisoners were standing to- gether. Silas took no notice of us. Ambrose made a friendly sign of recognition, and then rest- ed his hand on the " bar " in front of him. As sh<"» passed beneath him, Naomi was just tall enough to reach his hand on tiptoe. She took it. " 1 know you are innocent !" she whispered — and gave him one look of loving encouragement as she followed me to her place. Ambrose never lost his self-control. I may have been wrong — but I thought this a bad sign. The case, as stated for the prosecution, told strongly against the suspected men. Ambrose and Silas Meadowcroft were charged with the murder of John Jaofo (b}^ means of the stick, or by the use of some other weapon), and with the de- liberate destruction of the body by throwing it into the quick-lime. In proof of this latter assertion, the ..-J I I r^ 62 THE DEAD ALIVE. knife (which the deceased habitually carried about him) and the metal buttons (which were known to belong to his coat) were produced. It was argued that these indestructible substances and some frag- ments of the larger bones had alone escajjedthe action of the burnh g lime. Having produced medical wit- nesses to support this theory, by declariiig the bones to !>e human — and having thvs circ'irastantially assert- ed • d 3co\ery of the remains in the kiln — the pro- secution next proceeded to prove that the miss- ing man had been murdered by the two brothers, and had been by them thrown into the quick-lime as a means of concealing their guilt. Witness after witness deposed to the inveterate en- mity against the deceast^d displayed by J\mbi'ose and Silas. The threatening language they habitually used towards him ; their violent quarrels with him, which had become a public scandal throughout the neigh- bourhood, and which had ended ^on one occasion at I'^ast) in a blow ; the disgraceful scene which had t?ken plac^ under my window ; and the restoration to Ambrose, on the morning of the fatal quarrel, of the very ^tick which had been found among the remains of the dead mai -these facts and events and a host of minor circumstances besides, sworn to by witnesses whose credit was unimpeachable, pomted with terri- ble directness to the conclusion at which the prcs^cu- tion had arrived. \ I J -^1 out [1 to ued tion wit- •nes Isert- pro- iiiss- aiid as a THE MATERIALS IN THE DEFENCE. 63 i I looked at the brothers as the weight of the evi- dence pressed more and more heavily against them. To outward view at least, Ambrose still maintained his self-possession. It was far otherwise with Sil »6. Abject terror showed itself in his ghastly face; in his great knotty hands clinging convulsively to the bar at which he stood ; in his staring eyes fixed in vacant horror on each witness who appeared. Public feel- ing judged him on the spot. There he stood self-be- trayed already in the popular opinion as a guilty man ! The one point gained in cross-examination by the defence related to the charred bones. Pressed on this point, a majority of the medical wit- nesses admitted that their examination had been a hurried one, and it was just possible that the bones might yet prove to be the remains of an animal and not of a man. The presiding magistrate decided upon this that a second examination should be made, ani that the number ot the medical experts should be in- creased. Here the preliminary proceedings ended. The pri ;oners were remanded for three days. The prostration of Silas, at the close of the inquiry, was so complete, that it was found necessary to have ^ NO men to support him on his leaving the Court. Ambrose leaned over the bar to speak to Naomi tefore he followv3d the gaoler out. " Wait," he whispered, confidently, " till they hear what I have to say !*' bit ' « I ^! 64 THE DEAD ALIFE. Naomi kissed her hand to him affectionately, and turned to me, with the bright tears in her eyes. *' Why don't they hear what he has to say, at once?' she asked. " Anybody can sec that Ambrose is innocent. It's a crying shame, sir, to send him back to prison. Don't you think so yourself?" If I had confessed what I really thought, I should have said that Ambrose had proved nothing, to my mind, except that he possessed rare powers of self- control. It was impossible to acknowledge this to my little friend. I diverted her mind from the question of her lover's innocence by proposing that we should get the necessary order, and visit him in his prison on the next day. Naomi dried her tears, and gave me a little, grateful squeeze of the hand. " Oh, my ! what a good fellow you are !" cried the out- spoken American girl. " When your time comes to be married, sir, I guess the woman won't repent saying ' Yes ' to you .'" Mr. Meadowcroft preserved unbroken silence as we walked back to the farm on either side of his invalid chair. His last reserves of resolution seemed to have given way under the overwhelming strain laid on them by the proceedings in Court. His daughter, in stern indulgence to Naomi, mercifully permitted her opinion to glimmer on us only through the medium of quotations from Scripture texts. If the texts meant anything, they meant that she had foreseen all that h t< t< n r t € C \ THE MATERIALS IN THE DEFENCE. 65 had happened, and that the one sad aspect of the case, to her mind, was the death of John .1 ago, unprepared to meet his end. I obtained the order of admission to the prison the next morning. We found Ambrose still confident of the favourable result, for his brother and for himself, of the inquiry before the magistrate. He seemed to be almost as eager to tell, as Naomi was to hear, the true story of what had happened at the lime kiln. The authorities of the prison — present, of course, at the interview — warned him to remember that what he said might be taken down in writing and produced against him in Court. •'Take it down, gentlemen, and welcome," Ambrose replied. " I have nothing to fear — I am only telling the truth." With that, he turned to Naomi, and began his nar rative, as nearly as I can remember, in these words : " I may as well make a clean breast of it at starting my girl. After Mr. Lefrank left us that morning, I asked Silas how he came by my stick. In telling me how, Silas also told me of the words that had passed between him and John Jago under Mr. Lefrank's window. I was angry and jealous — and, I own it freely, Naomi, I thought the worst that could be thought about you and John." Here Naomi stopped him without ceremony. -J* V i GO THE DEAD A LIFE. " Was that what made you speak to me as you spoke when we tbund you at the woodV" she asked. '' Yes;' " And was that what made you leave me (when you went away to Nanabee) without giving me a kiss at parting ?" " It was." "Beg my pardon for it — before you say a word more." " I beg your pardon." " Say you are ashamed of yourself." " I am ashamed of myself," Ambrose answered, peni- tently. '' Now you may go on," said Naomi. "Now I'm satis- Hed." Ambrose went on : " We were on our way to the clearing at the other side of the wood, while Silas was talking to me ; and, as ill-luck would have it, we took the path that led by the lime kiln. Turning the corner, we met John Jago on his way to Narrabee. I was too angry, I tell you, to let him pass quietly — I gave him a bit of my mind. His blood was up, too, I suppose ; and he spoke out, on his side, as freely as I did. I own I threatened him with the stick ; but I'll swear to it I meant him no harm. You know — after dressing Silas's hand — that John Jago is ready with his knife. He comes from out West, where they are always ready with one weapon or an- other handy in their pockets. It's likely enough he \ ok< THE MATERIALS IN THE DEFENCE. didn't mean to harm me, either ; but how could I be sure of that V When he stepped up to me and showed his weapon, I dropped the stick, and closed with him. With one hand I wrenchec' the knife away from him ; and with the other, I caught him by the collar of his rotten old coat, and gave him a shaking that made his bones rattle in his skin. A big piece of the cloth came away in my hand. I shied it into the quick-lime close by us, and 1 pitched the knife after the cloth ; and, if Silas hadn't stopped me, 1 think it's likely I might have shied John Jago himself into the lime next. As it was, Silas kept hold of me ; Silas shouted out to him, ' Be off with you ; and don't come back again, if you don't want to be burnt in the kiln !' He stood looking at us for a minute, fetching his breath, and holding his torn coat round him. Then he spoke with a deadly- quiet voice, and a deadly-quiet look. ' Many a true word, Mr. Silas ' (he says), ' is spoken in jest, / shall not come back again.'' He turned about, and left us. We stood staring at each other like a couple of fools. ' You don't think he means it ?' I says, ' Bosh !' says Silas. ' He's too sweet on Naomi not to come back.' What's the matter now, Naomi ?" I had noticed it too. She started and turned pale when Ambrose repeated to her what Silas had said to him. " Nothing is the nv^^^er," Naomi answered. " Your brother has no right to take liberties with my name. M K i' i lii' 68 THE DEAD ALIVE. Cro on Did Silas say any more while he was about it ?" "Yes. He looked into the kiln, and he says, ' What made yon throw awa)/ the knife, Ambrose ? ' — * How does a man know why he does anything' (I says), ' when he does it in a passion ?' — ' It's a ripping good knife ' (says Silas) ; ' in your place 1 should have kept • H.' 1 picked up the stick off the ground. 'Who says I've lost it yet ?' I answered him — and, with that I get vip on the side of the kiln, and began sounding for the knife, to bring it, you know, by nieans of the stick, within easy reach of a shovel or some such thing. ' Give us your hand ' (I says to Silas) ; ' let me stretch out a bit, and I'll have it in no time.' Instead of find- ing the knife, I came nigh to falling myself into the burning lime. The vapour overpowered me, I sup- pose. All I know is, I turned giddy, and dropped the stick in the kiln. I should have followed the stick to a dead certainty, but. for Silas pulling me back by the hand. ' Let it be ' (says Silas) ; ' if I hadn't had hold of you, John Jago's knife would have been the death of vou, after all !' He led me awav bv the arm, and we M^ent on together on the road to the wood. We stopped where you found us, and sat down on the felled tree. We had a little more talk about John Jago. It ended in our agreeing to wait and see what happened, and to keep our own counsel in the mean- time. You and Mr. Lefrank came upon us, Naomi, r i THE MATERIALS IN THE DEFENCE. 69 while we were still talking ; and you guessed right when you guessed that we had a secret from you. You know the secret now." There he stopped. I put a question to him — the tirst that I had asked yet. " Had you or your brother any fear, at that time, of the charge which has since been brought against you?" I said. " No such thought entered our heads, sir," Ambrose answered. " How could we foresee that the neigh- bours would search the kiln, and say what they have said of us? All we feared was that the old man might hear of the quarrel, and be bitterer against us than ever. I was the most anxious of the two to keep things secret, because I had Naomi to consider as well as the old man. Put yourself in my place, and you will own, sir, that the prospect at home was not a pleasant one for me, if John .Tago really kept away from the farm, and if it came out that it was all my doing." (This was certainly an explanation of his conduct, but it was not quite satisfactory to my mind.) " As you believe, then," I went on, " John Jago has carried out his threat of not returning to the farm. According to you, he is now alive and in hiding some- where ? " "^Certainly !" said Ambrose. '' Certainly ! '' repeated Naomi. I ! f 11 i I i ! ! ::: ' { f i 70 THE DEAD ALIVE. " Do you believe the report that he was seen travel- ling on the railway to New York ? " " I believe it firmly, sir. And, what is more, I be- lieve I was on his track. I was only too anxious to find him — and I say I could have found him if they would have let me stay in New York." I looked at Naomi. " I believe it too," she said. " John Jago is keeping away." " Do you suppose he is afraid of Ambrose and Silas ? " She hesitated. " He may be afraid of them," she replied, with a strong emphasis on the word " may," *' But vou don't think it likely ? " She hesitated again. I pressed her again. " Do you think there is any other motive for his absence ? " Her eyes dropped to the fioov. She answered ob- stinately, almost doggedly : " I can't say." I addressed myself to Ambrose. " Have you anything more to tell us V ' I asked. " No," he said, " I have told you all I know about it." I rose to speak to the lawyer whose services t had retained. He had helped us to get the order of admis- sion, and he had accompanied us to the prison. Seated apart, he had kept silence throughout attentively THE MATERIALS IN THE DEFENCE 71 watching the effect of Ambrose Meadowcroft's narra- tive on the officers of the prison and on me. " Is this the defence ? " I inquired, in a whisper. " This is the defence, Mr. Lefrank. What do you think — between ourselves ? " " Between ourselves, I think the magistrate will commit them for trial." " On the charge of murder ? " " Yes ; on the charge of murder." \!\ 51 Chaptef\ yhi. THE CONFESSION. [Y replies to the lawyer accurately expressed the conviction in my mind. The narra- tive related by Ambrose had all the ap- pearance, in my eyes, of a fabricated story — got up, and clumsily got up, to pervert the plain meaning of the circum- stantial evidence produced by the prosecution. I reached this conclusion reluctantly an^ regretfully, for Naomi's sake. I said all I could say to shake the absolute confidence which she felt in the discharge of the prisoners at the next examination. The day of the adjourned inquiry arrived. Naomi and I again attended the Court together. Mr. Meadowcroft was unable on this occasion to leave the house. His daughter was present, walking to the Court by herself, and occupying a seat by herself. On his second appearance at the " bar," Silas was more composed, and more like his brother. No new witnesses were called by the prosecution. We began the battle ov^er the medical evidence relating to the THE CONFESSION. 73 oharred bones, and to some extent we won the vic- tory. In other words, w^e forced the doctors to ac- knowledge that they differed widely in their opinions. Three confessed that they were not certain. Two went still further, and declared that the bones were the bones of an animal, not of a man. We made the most of this ; and then we entered upon the defence, founded on Ambrose Meadowcroft's story. Necessarily, no witnesses could be called on our side. Whether this circumstance discouraged him, or whether he privately shared my opinion of his client's statement, I cannot say. It is only certain that the lawyer spoke mechanically — doing his best, no doubt, but doing it without genuine conviction or earnestness on his own part. Naomi cast an anxious glance at me as he sat down. The girl's hand, as I took it, turned cold in mine. She saw plain signs of the failure of the defence in the look and manner of the counsel for the prosecution ; but she waited resolutely until the pre- siding magistrate announced his decision. I had only too clearlv foreseen what he would feel it to be his duty to do. Naomi's head dropped on my shoulder as he said the terrible words which committed Ambrose and Silas Meadowcroft to take their trial on the charge of Murder. I led her out of Court into the air. As I passed the bar," I saw^ Ambrose, deadly pale, looking after us as we left him ; the magistrate's decision had evidently (( Pi i, i . ! 'J V ,; I ^ 74 Ti/i,' i>i.'^/> y^Z/FA'. daunted him. His brother Silas had dropped in abject terror on the gaoler's chair : the miserable wretch shook and shuddered dumbly, like a cowed dog. Miss Meadowcrott returned with us to the farm, preserving unbroken silence on the way back. I could detect nothing in her bearing which suggested any compassionate feeling for the prisoners in m r stern and secret nature. On Naomi's withdrawal to her own room, we were left together for a few minutes — and then, to my astonishment, the outwardl)'^ merciless woman showed me that she too was one of Eve's daughters, and could feel and suffer (in her own hard way) like the rest of us. She suddenly stepped close up to me, and laid her hand on my arm. " You are a lawyer, ain't you ? '* she asked. " Yes." " Have you had any experience in your profes- sionf "Ten years' experience." '' Do you think — " She stopped abruptly ; her hard face softened ; her eyes dropped to the ground. " Never mind ! " she said confusedly. " I'm upset by all this misery — though I may not look like it. Don't notice me. J) She turned away. I waited in the firm persuasion that the unspoken question in her mind would sooner or later force its way to utterance by her lips. I was ri"*ht. She came back to me unwillingly — ^like a ' t: i. THE CONFESSION. 75 woman acting under some influence which the utmost exertion of her will was powerless to resist. " Do you believe John Jago is still a living man V " She put the question vehemently, desperately — as if the words rushed out of her mouth in spite of her. " I do not believe it," I answered. " Remember what John Jago has suffered at the hands of my brothers," she persisted. " Is it not in your experience that he should take a sudden resolu- tion to leave the farm V " I replied as plainly as before — " It is not in my experience." She stood looking at me for a moment with a face of blank despair — then bowed her grey head in silence, and left me. As she crossed the room to the door, 1 saw her look ui>ward, and I heard her say to herself, softly, between her teeth, " Vengeance is mine : I will repay, saith the Lord." It was the requiem of John Jago, pronounced by the woman who loved him. When I next saw her, her mask was on once more. Miss Meadowcroft was herself again ; Miss Meadow- croft could sit by, impenetrably calm, while the law- yers discussed the terrible position of her brothers with the scaffold in view as one of the possibilities of the "case." Left by myself, I began to feel uneasy about ^aomi. 1 went up-stairs, and, knocking softly at her door 70 THE DEAD ALIVE. made my inquiries from outside. The clear young- voice answered me sadly, " I am trying to bear it ; I won't distress you when we meet again." I descended the stairs, feeling my first suspicion of the true nature of my interest in the American girV W^\ ladher answer brought the tears into lay eyes ? I went out walking alone, to think undisturbedly. Why r"id the tones of her voice dwell on my ear all the way V Why did my hand still feel the last cold, faint. press are of her fingers when I led her out of court ? I took a sudden resolution to go back to England. When I returned to the farm it was evening. The lamp was not yet lit in the hall. Pausing to accustom my eyes to the obscurity indoors, I heard the voice of the lawyer whom we had employed for the defence, speaking to some one very earnestly. " I'm not to blame," said the voice " She snatched the paper out of my hand before I was aware of her." " Do you want it back ? " asked the voice of Miss Meadowcroft. "No; it's only a copy. If keeping it will help to quiet her, let her keep it by all means, G-ood even- ing." Saying those last words, the lawyer approached me on his way out of the house. I stopped him without ceremony ; I felt an ungovernable curiosity to know more. THE CONFESS fON. 77 of "Who snatcJ )d the paper out of your hand ?" I asked bluntly. The lawyer tartcd. I had taken him by surprise. The Irstirct of professional ^■3ticence made him pause before he answered me. In the brief interval of silence, Miss Meadowcroft replied to my question from the other end of the hall. " Naomi Colebrook snatched the paper out of his hand." " What paper ? " A door opened softly behind me. NaoKrii herself ap- peared on the threshold. Naomi her se'f answered my question. " I will tell you," she whispered. "Come in here." One candle only was burning in the room. I looked at her by the dim light. My resolution to return to England instantly became one of the lost ideas of my life. " Grood God!" I exclaimed, "what has hapi^ened now ? " She handed me the paper which she had taken from the lawyer's hand. The " copy " to which he had referred was a copy of the written Confession ol Silas Meadowcrolt on his return to prison. He accused his brother Ambrose oi' the murder of John Jago ! He declared on his or ^h that he had seen his brother Ambrose commit the crime ! In tlie popular phras«\ 1 could " hardly believe my II 1 ! :?-'* i 78 77/ A' /)/';///> ^/./r/s\ own eyes." I read the last sentences of the Confession for the second time. " * * * I heard their voices at the lime kiln. They were having words about cousin Naomi. I ran to the place to part them. I was not in time. I saw Ambrose strike the deceased a terrible blow on the head with his (Ambrose's) heavy stick. The deceased dropped without a cry. I put my hand on his heart. He was dead. I was horribly frightened. Ambrose threatened to kill me next, if I said a word to any living soul. He took up the body, and cast it into the quick-lime, and threw the stick in after it. We went on together to the wood. We sat down on a felled tree outside the wood. Ambrose made up the story that we were to tell, if what he had done was found out. He made me repeat it after him like a lesson. We were still at it when cousin Naomi and Mr. Le- frank came up to us. They know the rest. This, on my oath, is a true confession. I make it of my own free will ; repentmg me sincerely that I did not make it before. (Signed) "Silas Meadowcroft.' I laid down the paper, and looked at Naomi once more. She spoke to me with a strange composure. Im- movable determination was in her eye ; immovable determination was in her voice. " Silas has lied away his brother's life to save him- 1 \ THE CONFESSION. 79 self," sb^ said. " I see cowardly falsehood and cowardly- cruelty in every line on that paper. Ambrose is inno- cent—and the time has come to prove it." *' You forget," I said, " that we have just failed to prove it." " John Jago is aiive — in hiding from us and from all who know him," she went on. " Help me, friend Le- frank, to advertise for him in the newspapers." I drew l>ack from her in speechless distress. I own I believed that the new misery which had fallen on her had affected her brain. " You don't believe it," she said. " Shut the door." I obeyed her. She seated herself, and pointed to a chair near her. " Sit down," she proceeded. " I am going to do a wrong thing, but there is no help for it. I am going to break a sacred promise. You remember that moon- light night when I met him on the garden walk ?" " John Jago ? " " Yes. Now listen. I am going to tell you what passed between John Jago and me." '-<■ . il CHAPTEf^ IX. THE ADVERTISEMENT. ^ WAITED in silence for the disclosure that was now to come. Naomi began by asking- me a question. "You remember when we went to see Ambrose in the prison ?" she said. " Perfectly." " Ambrose told us of something which his villain of a brother said of John Jago and me. Do you remem- ber w^hat it was ?" I remembered perfectly. Silas had said, ''John Jago is too sweet on Naomi not to come back." '' That's so," Naomi remarked when I had repeated the words. " I couldn't help starting when I heard what Silas had said — and I thought you noticed me." " I did notice you." " Did you wonder what it meant ?" " Yes." " I'll tell you. It meant this. What Silas Meadow- croft said to bis brother of John Jago, was what I my- self was thinking of John Jago at that very moment. *! f THE A I) VKH TISEMKN T. 81 It startled me to lind my own thought in a man's mind, spoken lor me by a man. I am the person, sir, who has driven John Jago away I'rom Morwick Farm. And I am the person who can (and will) bring him back again." There was something in her manner, more than in her words, which let the light in suddenly on my mind. " You have told me the secret," I said. " John Jago is in love with you." " Mad about me," she rejoined, , dropping her voice to a whisper. " Stark, staring mad — that's the only- word for him ! Alter we had taken a lew turns on the gravel walk, he suddenly broke out like a man beside himself. He fell down on his knees, he kissed my gow^n, he kissed my feet, he sobbed and cried for love of me. I'm not badly off for courage, sir, consi- dering I'm a woman ; no man that I can call to mind ever really scared me before. But I own, John Jago frightened me — oh, my ! he did frighten me I My heart was in my mouth, and my knees shook under me. I begged and prayed of him to get up and go away. No ! there he knelt and held by the skirt of my gown. The words poured out from hi/n like — well, like nothing I can think of but water from a pump. His happiness and his life, and his hopes m earth and heaven, and Lord only knows what besides, all depended fhe said) on a word from me. I plucked up spirit enough at that, to remnid him that 1 was promised to Ambrose M* THE DEAD ALIVE. ' I think you ought to bo ashamed of yourself,' I said, ' to own that you're wicked enough to love me when you know I am promised to another man.' When I spoke so to him, he took a new turn ; he began abusing Ambrose-. That straightened me up. T snatched my gown out of his hand, and I gave him my whole mind. ' I hate you,' I said. ' Even if I wasn't promised to Ambrose, I wouldn't marry you, no ! not if there w^asn't another man leit in the world to ask me. I hate you, Mr. Jago ! I hate you !' He saw I was in earnest at last. He got up from my feet, and he settled down quiet again, all on a sudden. ' You have said enough' (that was how he answered me) ; ' you have broken my life. I have no hopes and no prospects now. I had a pride in the farm. Miss, and a pride in my work — I bore with your brutish cousins' hatred of me — I was faithful to Mr. Meadowcroft's interests — all for your sake, Naomi Colebrook, all for your sake ! I have done with it now ; I have done with my Ufe at the iarm. You will never be troubled with me again. I am going away, as the dumb creatures go when they are sick, to hide myself in a corner and die. Do me one last favour ! Don't make me the laughing-stock of the whole neighbourhood. I can't bear that — it mad- dens me only to think of it. Grive me your promise never to tell any living soul what I have said to you to-night — your sacred promise to the man whose life you have broken !' I did as he bade me ; I gave him I \ ' m I THE ADVERTISEMENT. 83 r my sacred promise — with the tears in my eyes ! Yes ! that is so. After telling him I hated him (and I did hate him), I cried over his misery — I did! Mercy! what fools w^omen are ! What is the horrid perversity, sir, w^hich makes us always ready to pity the men ? He held out his hand to me and he said 'Goodbye ibr ever,' and I pitied him. I said, ' I'll shake hands with you, if you will give me your promise in exchange for mine. I beg of you not to leave the farm. What will my uncle do if you go aW' ay ? Stay here, and be friends w4th me — and forget and forgive, Mr. John.' He gave me his promise (he can refuse me nothing) ; and he gaAe it again w^hen I saw^ hi ^ain the next morning. Yes ! I'll do him justice— ii^ough I do hate him ! I believe he honestly meant to keep his w^ord as long as my eye w^as on him. It w^as only when he was leit to himself that the devi.. tempted him to break his promise, and leave the farm. I was brought up to believe in the devil, Mr. Lefrank, and I find ii explains many things. It explains John ,lago. Only let me find out w^here he has gone, and I'll engage he shall come back and clear Ambrose of tin' suspicion which his vile brother has cast on him. Here is the pen all ready for you ! Advertise for him, friend Lefrank, and do it right away, for my sake !" I let her run on — without attempting to disturb her conclusions — until she could say no more. When she put the pen into my hand. I began the composition 84 THE DEAD ALIVE. of the advertisement as obediently as if I too believed that John Jago was a living man. In the case of any one else, I should have openly acknowledged that my own convictions remained un- shaken. If no quarrel had taken place at the lime kiln, I should have been quite ready (as I viewed the case) to believe that John Jago's disappearance was refer- able to the terrible disappointment which Naomi had inflicted on him. The same morbid dread of ridicule which had led him to assert that he cared nothing for Naomi, when he and Silas had quarrelled under my bed-room window, might also have impelled him to withdraw himself secretly and suddenly from the scene of his discomtiture. But to ask me to believe, alter what happened at the lime kihi, that he was still living, was to ask me to take Ambrose Meadow croft's statement for granted as a trvie statement of facts. I had refused to do this from the first, and I still persisted in taking that course. If I had been called upon to decide the balance oF probability between the narrative related by Ambrose in his defence, and the narrative related by Silas in his confession, I must have owned, no matter how unwillingly, that the confession was, to my mind, the least incredible story of the tw^o. ('ould r .say this to Naomi ? I would have written fifty advertirsements inquiring for John Jago, rather than say it. And you woidd have done the same, if you had been as fond of her as I was. V THE ADVERTISEMENT. 85 . i; 1 I drew out the advertisement (for insertion in the Morwick Merr.nrn) in these terms : " MURDER. — Printers of newspapers throughout the United States .are desired to publish that Ambrose Meadowcroft and Sihia Meadowcroft, of Morwick Farm, Morwick County, are committed for trial on the charge of murdering John Jago, now missing from the farm and fiom the neighbourhood. Any person wIkj .,i ;ive information of the existence of said Jago may save the lives oi two wrongly accused men by making immediate communication. Jago is about live feet four inches high. He is spare and wiry ; his com- plexion is extremely pale ; his eyes are dark, and very bright and restless. The lower part of his face is concealed l)y a thick black beard and moustache. The whole appearance of the man is wild and flighty. " I added the date and the address. That eA^ening a servant was sent on horseback to Narrabee to procure the insertion of the advertisement in the next issue of the newspaper. When we parted that night, Naomi looked almost like her brighter and happier self. Now that the ad- vertisement was on its way to the printing office, she was more than sanguine — she was certain of the result. "You don't know how you have comforted me,'" she said in her frank, w^arm-hearted way, when we parted for the night. " All the newspapers will copy it; and v.^e shall hear of John Jago before the week is out.'' She turned to go, and came back again to me. "I will never forgive Silas for writing that confession!" she ^ 80 THE DEAD ALIVE. whispered in my ear. " If he ever lives und3r the same roof with Ambrose again, J — well, I believe I wouldn't marry Ambrose if he did. There !" fcJhe left me. Through the wakeful hours of the night my mind dwelt on her last words. That she should contemplate under any circumstances even the bare possibility of not marrying Ambrose, was, I am ashamed to say, a direct encouragement to certain hopes which I had already begun to form in secret. The next day's mail brought me a letter on business. My clerk wrote to inquire if there was any chance of my returning to England in time to appear in court at the opening of next law term. I answered, with- out hesitation, " It is still impossible for me to fix the date of my return." Naomi was in the room while I was writing. TIow would she have answered, I won- der, if I had told her the truth, and said — " You are responsible for this letter ! " pHAPTEI^ X. THE SHERIFF AND THE GOVERNOR. HE question of time w as now a serious ques- tion at Morwick Farm, In six weeks the Court for the trial of criminal cases was to be opened at Narrabee. During this interval no new event of any importance occurred. Many idle letters reached us, relatnig' to the adver- tisement for John Jago ; but no positive informatioii was received. Not the slightest trace of the lost man turned up ; not the shadow of a doubt was cast on the assertion of the prosecution that his body had been destroyed in the kiln. Silas Meadowcroft held firmly to the horrible confession that he had made. His brother Ambrose, with equal resolution, asserttd his innocence, and reiterated the statement which he had already advanced. At regular periods 1 accompanied Naomi to visit him in the prison. As the day ap" pointed for the opening of the Court approached, he seemed to falter a little in his resolution ; his manner became restless, and he grew irritably suspicious about 88 THE DEAD ALIVE. '?{ the merest trifles. This change did not necessarily imply the consciousness ot'o'uilt: it mioht merely have indicated natural nervous agitation as the time for the trial drew near. Naomi noticed the alteration in her lover. It greatly increased her anxiety, though it never shook her confidence in Ambrose. Except it t meal times, I was left (during the period of which 1 am nowwriting) almost constantly alone with the charming American girl. Miss Meadowcroft searched the newspapers for tidings of the living John Jago, in the privacy of her own room. Mr. Meadowcroft would see nobody but his daughter and his doctor, and occasionally one or two old friends. I have since had reason to believe that Naomi, in these days of our intimate association, discovered the true nature of the feeling with which she had inspired me. But she kept her secret ; her manner towards me steadily remained the manner of a sister ; she never overstepped by a hair's breadth the safe limits of the character that she had assumed. The sittings of the Court began. After hearing the evidence, and examining the confession of Silas Meadowcroft, the G-rand Jury found a true bill against both the prisoners. The day appointed for their trial was the first day in the new week. I had carefully prepared Naomi's mind for the de- cision of the G-rand Jury. She bore the new blow bravely. " If you are not tired of it," she said, " come with THE SHERIFF AND THE GOVERNOR. 89 '" \ me to the prison to-morrow. Ambrose will need a little comfort by that time." She paused and looked at the day's letters lying on the table. " Still not a word about John Jago," she said. " And all the papers have copied the advertisement. I felt so sure we should hear of him, long before this !" " Do you still feel sure that he is living?" I ven- tured to ask. " I am as certain of it as ever," she replied firmly. " He is somewhere in hiding — perhaps he is in disguise. Suppose we know no more of him than we know now, when the trial begins V Suppose the jury " she stop- ped, shuddering. Death — shameful death on the scaf- fold — might be the terrible result of the consultation of the jury. " We have waited for news to come to us long enough," Naomi resumed. '• We must find the tracks of John Jago for ourselves. There is a week yet before the trial begins. Who will help me to make inquiries ? Will you be the man, friend Lefrank ? " It is needless to add (though I knew nothing would come of it) that I consented to be the man. We arranged to apply that day for the order of ad- mission to the prison ; and having seen Ambrose, to devote ourselves immediately to the contemplated search. How that search was to be conducted was more than I could tell, and more than Naomi could tell. We were to begin by applying to the police to help us to find John Jago, and we were then to be G I 00 THE DEAD ALIVE. "uidcd })v circumstaiicps. Was there ever a more hopeless programme than this ? " Circumstances " declared themselves against us at starting. I applied, as usual, for the order of admission to the prison — and the order was, for the Krst time, re- iused, no reason being assigned by the persons in auth '^ ^> '/ J^^ "^J^ ^ V o 7 /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 4r^' 'v- ^ ►She put my hand to her lips before I was aware of her, and kissed it, and ran back into her room. I sat down on the place which she had occupied. She had looked at me for one moment, when she kissed my hand. I forgot Ambrose and his confession ; I for- got the coming trial ; I forgot my professional duties and my English friends. There I sat, m a fool's ely- sium of my own making, with absolutely nothing in my mind but the picture of Naomi's face at the moment when she had last looked at me ! I have already mentioned that I was in love with her. I merely add this to satisfy you that I tell the truth. V, Chaptef^ XI. / THE PEBBLE AND THK WINDOW. JSS MEADOWCROFT and I were the only representatives of the iamily at the larni who attended the trial. We went separ- ately to Narrabee. Excepting the ordi- nary greetings at morning and night, Miss Meadowcroft had not said one word to me since the time when I had told her that I did not beheve John Jago to be a living man. I have purposely abstained from encnmbering my narrative with legal details. I now propose to state the nature of the defence in the briefest outline only. We insisted on making both the prisoners plead Not Guilty. This done, we took an objection to the legality of the proceedings at starting. We appealed to the old English law that there should be no conviction for murder until the body of the murdered person was found, or proof of its destruction obtained beyond a doubt. We denied that sufficient proof had been ob- tained in the case now before the Court, 9(; THE DEAD ALIVE. I The judges consulted, and decided that the trial should go on. Wo took our next objection when the confessions were produced in evidence. We declared that they had been extorted by terror, or by undue influence ; and we pointed out certain minor particulars in which the two confessions failed to corroborate each other. Forthe rest,our defence on thisoccasionwas, as to essen- tials, what our defence had been at the inquiry before the magistrate. Once more the judges consulted, and once more they overruled our objection. The con- fessions were admitted in evidence. On their side, the prosecution produced one new witness in support of their case. It is needless to waste time in recapitulating his evidence. He contra- dicted himself gravely on cross-examination. We showed plainly, and alter investigation proved, that he was not to be believed on his oath. The Chief Justice summed up. He charged, in relation to the confessions, that no w^eight should be attached to a confession incited by hope or fear ; and he left it to the jury to determine whether the confessions in this case had been so in- fluenced. In the course of the trial, it had been shown lor the defence that the sheriff and the governor of the prison had told Ambrose (with his father's know- ledge and sanction) that the case was clearly against him — that the only chance of sparing his family the y:. THE IE BULK AND THE WIN 1)011 97 trial disoraco ol" his death by public execution lay in mak- ing a confession, and that they would do their best, if he did confess, to have his sentence commuted to transportation for life. As for Silas, he was proved to have been beside himself with terror w^hen he made his abominable charge against his brother. We had vainly trusted to the evidence on these two points to induce the Court to reject the confessions ; and we were destined to be once more disappointed in anticipating that the same evidence would in- fluence the verdict of the jury on the side of mercy. After an absence of an hour, they returned into Court with a verdict of Guilty against both the prisoners. Being asked in due form if the}^ had anything to say in mitigation of their sentence, Ambrose and Silas solemnly declared their innocence, and publicly ac- knowledged that their respective confessions had been wrung Irom them by the hope of escaping the hang- man's hands. This statement was not noticed by the Bench. The prisoners were both sentenced to death. On my return to the farm I did not see Naomi. Miss Meadowcroftinformedherofthe result of the trial. Half an hour later, one of the women servants handed to me an envelope bearing my name on it in Naomi's handwriting. The envelope enclosed a letter, and with it a slip of paper on which Naomi had hurriedly written these > !| 98 THE DEAD A LIFE. ■V I .. i words: " For God's sake, read the letter 1 send to you, and do something about it immediately." i looked at the letter. It assumed to be written by a gentleman in New York. Only the day before, he had, by the merest accident, seen the adv^er- tifsemeiit lor John Jago cut out of a newspaper and pasted into a book of "curiosities" kept by a friend. Upon this he wrote to Morwick Farm to say that he had seen a man. exactly answering to the description of John Jago, but bearing another name, working as a clerk in a merchant's office in Jersey City. Having time to spare before the mail went out, he had re- turned to the office to take another look at the man belore he posted his letter. To his surprise, he was informed that the clerk had not appeared at his desk that day. His employer had sent to his lodgings, and had been informed that he had suddenly packed up his hand-bag (after reading the newspaper at break- fast) ; had paid his rent honestly ; and had gone away, nobody knew where ! It was late in the evening when I read these lines. I had time tor reflection before it would be neces- sary for me to act. Assuming the letter to be genuine, and adopting Naomi's explanation of the motive which had led John Jago to absent himself secretly from the farm, I reached the conclusion that the search for him might be usefully limited to Narrabee and to the surround- ing; neighbourhood. and THE PEHBLE AND THE WINDOJ^. f any ry-day " I am here to fetch vou," she answered, in her frank and fearless way. " Come up-stairs with me." Her room was on the first floor of the house, and was the only bed-room which looked out on the back yard. On our way up the stairs, she told me what had happened. •' I was in bed," she said, '• but not asleep, when I heard a pebble strike against the window-pane. I waited, wondering what it meant. Another pebble was thrown against the glass, i^o far, I was surprised, but not frightened. I got up, and ran to the window to look out. There was John Jago looking up at me in the moonlight ! " " Did he see you V " " Yes. He said, ' Come down and speak to me. I have something serious to say to you.' " " Did you answer him ? " " As soon as I could fetch my breath, I said, ' Wait a little'— and ran down-stairs to you. What shall I do?" " Let me see him, and I will tell you." We entered her room. Keeping cautiously behind the window curtain, I looked out. There he was ! His beard and moustache were shaved off; his hair was close cut. But there was no disguis- ing his wild, brown eyes, or the peculiar movement of his spare, wary figure, as he walked slowly to and fro in the moonlight, waiting for Naomi. For the moment, I h ! ■7 ' lo-J 77/ A' DH/II) A LIFE. i' my own ap^itation almost overpowered mo ; I had so firmly disbelieved that John Jas-o was a living man ! " What shall I do?" Naomi repeated. " Is the door of the dairy open ? " I asked. " No ; but the door of the to.*l-honse, round the cor- ner, is not locked." " Very good. Show yourself at the window, and say to him, ' I am coming directly.' " The brave girl obeyed me without a moment's hesi- tation. There had been no doubt about his eyes and his gait. There was no doubt now about his voice, as he answer- ed softly from below : " All right." ' Keep him talking to you where he is now," T said to Naomi, " until I have time to get round by the other way to the tool-house. Then pretend lO be fearful of discovery at the dairy, and bring him round the corner, so that I can hear him behind the door." We left the house together, and separated silently. Naomi followed my instructions, with a v/oman's quick intelligence where stratagems are concerned. I had hardly been a minute in the tool-house before I heard him speaking to Naomi on the other side of the door. The first words which I caught distinctly related to his motive for secretly leaving the farm. Mortified pride — doubly mortified by Naomi's contemptuous re- fusal, and by the persojial indignity offered to him by V -.4 had so ' TlfK VKIillLE ANh TJIE inXDoir. UK\ lan le cor- nd say s hesi- is gait, tiswer- T said 5 other tIuI of jorner, lently. ; quick I had heard loor. ited to >rtified 3US re- lim by Ambrose — was at the bottom of his conduct in absonf- injif himself from Morwick. He owned that ho had seen the advertisement, and thnt it had actually «'n- courajred him to keep in hiding ! "After being laughed at, and insulted, and d<'nied, I was glad," said the miserable wretch, "to see that some of you had serious reason to wish me back ayain. It rests with you. Miss Naomi, to keep me here, and to persviade me to save Ambrose by showing' myself and owning to my name." " What do you mean ^" I heard Naomi ask sternly. He lowered his voice — but 1 could still hear him. " Promise you will marry me," he said, " and 1 will go before the magistrate to-morrow, and show him that I am a living man." " Suppose I refuse ? " " In that case you will lose me again — and none of you will iind me, till Ambrose is hanged." " Are you villain enough, John Jago, to mean what you say ?" asked tfie girl, raising her voice. " If you attempt to give the alarm," he answered, " as true as God's above us, vou will feel mv hand on your throat. It's my turn now. Miss, and I am not to be trifled with. Will you have me for your husband — Yes or No ? " "No!" slie answered, loudly and firmly. J burst open the door, and seized him, as he lilted his hand on her. He had not suffered I'rom the nervous I KM THE DEyll) ALIVE. deranffement which had weakened me, and he vvnM the stronger man of the two. Naomi saved my lil«'. She struck up his pistol as he pulled it out of his pocket with his free hand, and presented it at my head. The bullet was lired into the air. I tripped up his heels at the same moment. The report of the pistol had alarmed the house. We two together kept him on the ground until help arrived. d hi* vvns d my lil«'. out of his t my head. r»d up his the pistol 'pt him on P HAPTEP, XI', THE KM) or IT. '^^ OHN JAGO was broui»lit Im'Toic i1i(» imiiiis- trate, and John Jtmo was idciitiliiHl, the ih'xI day. The lives ol' Aiuhrose and Sihis were, ol course, no longer in peril, so lar as human justice was concerned. But tlu'Ve were lei»al delays to be encountered, and lei»ai Ibrnialities to be observed, belore the brothers could be released IVont prison in the characters ol* innocent men. During the interval which thus elapsed, certain events happened which may ])e brieily mentioned here, before I close my narrative. Mr. Mei.'lowcrolt the elder, broken by the sullevino which he had gone through, died suddenly of a rheu- matic affection of the heart. A codicil attached to his will abundantly justified what Naomi had told me of Miss Meadow^croft's influence over her fathei', and of isingit. A life income ilt's sons. The free- ^lew in exe r. Meadow only was left to IVl hold of the farm was bequeathed to his daughter, with H 106 THE DEAD JLirE. I M^^^^K' ' 1 mm \$ ^^n^' Hp ■': i 1^ the testator's recommendation added that she should marry his " best and dearest friend, Mr. John Jago." Armed with the power of the will, the heiress of Morwick sent an insolent message to Naomi, request- ing her no longer to consider herself one of the inmates at the farm. Miss Meadow^croft, it should be here .idded, positively refused to believe that John Jago had ever asked Naomi to be his wife, or had ever threat- ened her (as I had heard him threaten her) if she re- fused. She accused me, as she accused Naomi, of try- ing meanly to injure John Jago in her estimation, out of hatred towards " that much-injured man " — and she sent to me, as she had sent to Naomi, a formal notice to leave the house. We two banished ones met the same day, in the hall, with our travelling bags in our hands. " We are turned out together, friend Lefrank," said Naomi, with*her quaintly comical smile. "You will go back to England, I guess ; and I must make my own living in my own country. Women can get employ- ment in the States if they have a friend to speak for them. Where shall I find somebody who can give me a place ? " I saw my w^ay to saying the right word at the right moment. " I have got a place to offer you," 1 replied. She suspected nothing, so far. ^1 THE END OF IT. 107 le should .Tago." leiress of , request- y inmates be here .Tago had ir threat- if she re- li, of try- itioii, out —and she al notice the hall, ak," said a will go my own employ- peak for can give ;he right " That's lucky, sir," was all she said. *' Is it in a telegraph office or in a dry goods store ? " I astonished my little American friend by taking her then and there in my arms, and giving her my first kiss. " The office is by my fireside," I said. *' The salary is anything in reason you like to ask me for. And the place, Naomi (if you have no objection to it), is the place of my wife." I have no more to say — except that years have passed since J spoke those words, r.iid that I am as fond of Naomi as ever. 8ome months after our marriage, Mrs. Lefrank wrote to a friend at Narrabee for news of what was going on at the farm. The answer informed us that Am- brose and Silas had emigrated to Nbw Zealand, and that Miss Meadowcroft was alone at Morwick Farm. John Jago had refused to marry her. John Jago had disappeared again — nobody knew where. NOTE IN CONCLUSION. The first idea of this little story was suggested to the author by H printed account of a Trial which actually took place, early in the present century, in the United States. The published narrative of this strange case is entitled " The Trial, Confessions, and Convic- tion of Jesse and Stephen Boorn, for the Murder of Russell Colvin, 108 THE DEAD ALIVE. I %: and the Return of tlie Man supposed to have been Murdered. By Hon. Leonard Sargeant, Ex-Lieut. Governor of Vermont (Man- chester, Vermont, Journal Book and Job Office, 1873)." It may not be amiss to add (for the benefit of incredulous readeis) that all the " improbable events " in the story are matters of fact, taken from the printed narrative. Anything which '* looks like truth,'' is, in nine cases out of ten, the invention of the autlior. W. C. \u V, eied. Bj- ant (Man- " It may ideis) that Fact, taken kc truth,'' .1 w. c.