~ 
 
 /I 
 
 a^ctJi
 
 A TANGLED WEB
 
 This story is issued in England under the title of 
 "No Soul Above Money"
 
 A Tangled Web 
 
 By 
 
 Walter Raymond 
 
 AUTHOR OF "TWO MEN O' MENDIP," "GENTLE- 
 MAN UPCOTT'S DAUGHTER," "LOVE 
 AND QUIET LIFE," " TRY- 
 PHENA IN LOVE," ETC. 
 
 New York 
 
 Doubleday & McClure Co. 
 1899
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY 
 DOUBLEDAY & McCLURE CO.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK I 
 
 :HAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. FAREWELL i 
 
 II. NEIGHBOURS 19 
 
 III. BRATTON REVEL 41 
 
 IV. HARVEST 79 
 
 V. WARNING 91 
 
 VI. HALLOWMAS EVE 116 
 
 VII. RECONCILIATION 142 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 I. " THEY Two, THEIRZELVES " 155 
 
 II. FOUR-PENNYWORTH OF FORTUNE 173 
 
 III. URSULA'S SCHEME 184 
 
 IV. THE HIGHWAY 201 
 
 V. THE WAYFARER 219 
 
 v 
 
 2227838
 
 vi Contents 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 VI. AN HIDING PLACE 225 
 
 VII. BACK TO URSIE 236 
 
 VIII. URSIE'S COUNSEL 242 
 
 IX. EASTER 254 
 
 X. THE FUN o' THE FAIR 268 
 
 XI. THE ORDEAL 299 
 
 BOOK III 
 
 RlZPAH 315
 
 A TANGLED WEB
 
 A TANGLED WEB 
 
 BOOK I 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 FAREWELL 
 
 Far away behind Penscelwood, the first 
 streak of summer dawn came breaking above 
 the level ridge of the hills one pale, straight 
 line of red, like a rent in the grey curtain of the 
 night. 
 
 The valley to the west lay in darkness still. 
 
 In the village of Bratton, on the opposite 
 side of the hollow, starlings had begun to twit- 
 ter by the chimneys, and sparrows under the 
 eaves; but it was but the tuning of the pipes 
 before the play, for as yet no people were astir. 
 
 Of the houses scattered along the steep road, 
 no eye could have distinguished the dormers 
 from the roofs, or the windows from the walls. 
 The small homestead standing away in a 
 field, properly called Winterhays, but common- 
 ly spoken of as "up to White's," was but a 
 
 darker spot under the brow of the coomb. The 
 1
 
 2 A Tangled Web 
 
 Whites had held it for two centuries, and lived 
 there still. But the other day well, on the 
 Sunday, then, as Candlemas fell on the Tues- 
 day William White, the elder, seized with 
 a sudden distemper, was taken in his prime, 
 and so the place dropped into hand. 
 
 Presently a faint light, glimmering from the 
 kitchen of this solitary farm, showed that some 
 one moved within. Then came a constant 
 flash, regular as the throbbing of a pulse, as 
 bellows drove a quickening fire of turf and 
 sticks into a blaze. Then a single candle shone 
 from one of the little square windows under the 
 eaves and running right up under the thatch. 
 
 The Whites were up and about early that 
 morning and no mistake. But Bratton still lay 
 in the gloom asleep, and took no note of that. 
 
 The rising flood of coming day flowed softly 
 over the distant hills and slowly filled the vale. 
 Things came into light and grew into form 
 and being. Tall trees, dark orchard and 
 copse, green fields and grounds of corn soon 
 turning yellow, all took colour and peered out 
 of the twilight and the mist. Red and white 
 cattle were standing by the hedge-row down in 
 Jacob Handsford's mead. Near to White's
 
 Farewell 3 
 
 was a rick new-made and not yet railed around. 
 East of the farmhouse lay a square barton with 
 styes and stalls, and at the front a garden shut 
 in with low walls. From a large stone porch, 
 bigger than many a small room, with a seat on 
 each side, a short, straight path, roughly paved, 
 led to a little wooden hatch, with a lilac just 
 gone past on one hand, and a laburnum, still 
 in golden flower, upon the other. 
 
 Behind the distant hill a shaft of fiercest light 
 shot up into the sky. 
 
 The under-edges of the cloud seemed to 
 catch fire and shone out all a-glow. Yet it 
 wanted somewhat of sunrise still, when the 
 oaken door, studded with nails, slowly opened, 
 and three persons came out and walked one be- 
 hind the other down the broken flag-stones to 
 the gate. There they loitered awhile the 
 widow White and her two sons, William and 
 Jack. There was a leave-taking and a good- 
 bye. Yet, after all, the widow changed her 
 mind, and walked across the field right up into 
 the road. 
 
 The widow White was staid. That is to say, 
 though the grace and gaiety of youth had fled, 
 she was still comely. Thirty years of married
 
 4 A Tangled Web 
 
 life at Winterhays, where they had never done 
 well the struggle with a long family, of which 
 William was the eldest and Jack the youngest 
 left alive and then the loss of her good-man, 
 whose life was the last on the land all these 
 troubles had not bowed her head, and she 
 moved more sprack and active now than many 
 a maid little more than out of her teens. 
 
 Her hair, once black, was turning grey. 
 There were arched wrinkles upon her forehead, 
 and deep upright lines between her eyes. But 
 these will come from rain and sun to folk who 
 go all weathers in the open air, and a yeoman's 
 wife in the time of "good Queen Anne" was no 
 fine lady to sit about indoors. Anyway, her 
 dark eyes were bright and her cheek fresh- 
 coloured as the morning. 
 
 She was dressed in a home-spun skirt, alto- 
 gether covered in front by a coarse white 
 apron both long and broad. Over her shoul- 
 ders and crossed before she wore a plain wool- 
 len shawl. Of the three, she alone was bare- 
 headed. She had but stepped out so far as the 
 road just to bring her son going and she kept 
 knitting, knitting all the way. The needles, 
 glistening bright as the morning dew, went of
 
 Farewell 5 
 
 themselves without her heed. But her busy 
 hands told their story of toil. They were hard 
 and brown, and there was a deep, dry crack on 
 one of the fore-fingers. 
 
 Her sons walked one upon each side. 
 
 William, the elder by several years, was a 
 short, stiff man with a determined face. Be- 
 low his high cheek-bone he bore a deep scar, 
 which showed the more because he was clean 
 shaven. He was dressed in part like a sailor, 
 and swayed somewhat in his gait. But Jack, 
 a mere stripling of nineteen, wore a smock 
 reaching nearly to the worsted hose below his 
 knees. In his left hand was a bundle. Each 
 of them carried a stout ground-ash stick. 
 
 By the time they reached the road, the dewy 
 grass lay in the night like a sheet of silver. 
 The two oaks out in ground, and the row of 
 shrouded elms in the hedgerow, cast long 
 shadows right across the field. 
 
 "It must be handy 'pon four," she said, with 
 a glance at the hills. "The sun is up. But 
 you'll get to Bristol hours afore dark-night. 
 An* you'll write, William, you'll be sure to 
 write or zend word, if ever you do get the 
 chance "
 
 6 A Tangled Web 
 
 "Ay, Mother, to be sure ; whenever chance do 
 fall. You may be certain-sure o' that," replied 
 the mariner, quickly. 
 
 "An' you'll carr' his bundle for him, Jack, 
 so far as you can go," she went on, though she 
 could not take her eyes off William when she 
 spoke to Jack. 
 
 "I will, Mother." 
 
 "And you'll zit yourself down somewhere in 
 the shade, do 'ee now, come mid-day, when the 
 sun's at his height. For 't 'ull be most terrible 
 hot, and the road like the floor of a oven. I 
 shall think o' 'ee, William, all manners o' 
 times. When I do hear the cry o' the storm 
 over Cattle hill, or the moanen o' the win' up in 
 the wood, I shall feel fit to drop, for God 
 A'mighty do only know whe'er or no I shall 
 ever zee 'ee back." 
 
 "I shall be back, Mother, no fear. And may- 
 hap bring home enough to make the place our 
 own again," he laughed cheerfully. 
 
 "Well, since 't have a-got to be, there's little 
 good in words," she said, with a deep sigh. 
 "And 'tis better to walk in the cool. So I 
 won't keep 'ee about." 
 
 She stopped knitting for the first time. She
 
 Farewell 7 
 
 threw one arm around her son and kissed him. 
 It was all very simple, and so natural and self- 
 contained that no one seeing this farewell could 
 have gauged the depth of feeling in her heart. 
 
 "Please God, keep 'ee safe," she muttered. 
 It was half prayer, half blessing, and then, the 
 prudent mother getting the better of her again, 
 she added in a louder tone, "But you had best 
 to be getting on." 
 
 "Good-bye, Mother." 
 
 "Good-bye, William." 
 
 She stood a moment waiting in the road 
 then quickly turned and hastened towards the 
 house. It was hard to take her eyes away, yet 
 well enough she knew it always brings bad luck 
 to watch the parting traveller out of sight. 
 
 The way went winding down a steep, and 
 for some distance, shoulder to shoulder, the 
 brothers traipsed along in silence. Thus they 
 passed the cottages, the broad pathway leading 
 up to the church upon the hill-top, and came 
 soon in sight of the last dwelling in Bratton- 
 town. 
 
 This was a farm-house of good size, stand- 
 ing end-ways towards the road, and William 
 White scanned it narrowly as they drew near.
 
 8 A Tangled Web 
 
 The door was shut. No smoke arose from the 
 little, red, brick chimney at the end of the ridge 
 of thatch, and not a blind had yet been drawn. 
 He stopped lingered a moment, looking up 
 in expectation then stepped aside, and 
 stooped to pick up a clod of dry crumbling 
 earth from the bank below the opposite hedge. 
 
 A white curtain, hanging by brass rings 
 from a cord, was hastily thrust aside, and the 
 head of a young woman glanced from the small 
 window in the pointing-end against the road. 
 She steathily pushed the casement open and 
 leaned out into the morning air. The sound of 
 passing footsteps had mingled with a dream 
 bred of her expectation, and, half-awake, she 
 had sprung out of bed in dread of being late. 
 Over her head she had thrown a white necker- 
 chief and tied it together under the chin. Yet 
 curling locks of her bright red hair, fallen 
 loose, hung over her forehead. She raised 
 both hands and threw it back out of her eyes. 
 
 "Lawk a massy ! William, I was afeard you 
 mid ha' passed," she whispered, with a sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 Reassured, she yawned and rubbed her eyes. 
 Then, with a toss of her head, she added, "But
 
 Farewell 9 
 
 you wouldn't ha' liked it so very well, I sup- 
 pose, if I had let 'ee go off like that." 
 
 "I was looking to have a last word, Ursie." 
 
 In his delight at seeing her, he raised his 
 voice and spoke more loudly than he meant, but 
 she quickly held up a warning finger, and he 
 drew in to the corner of the house close under 
 the window. 
 
 Young Jack had long ago gone slowly on his 
 way down the hill. 
 
 "Not but what it would be all one," she 
 laughed, but as a woman who has not got her 
 way and feels slighted. "By the time you be 
 ten mile out o' Bratton, you will ha' forgot all 
 about Ursie Handsford. Out o' sight, out o' 
 mind. That's the way wi' all the men, an' 
 most o' all wi' you sailors. Well, I've a-begged 
 'ee not to go sure enough." 
 
 Truly, for a maid whose lover was about to 
 undertake the perils of fighting and the sea, she 
 betrayed but little fear or feeling. She was 
 teasing him, bent on making him tell how much 
 he loved her. 
 
 She got her way at once. 
 
 "There's no other woman upon earth I'd 
 look at in the way of love, and that you do well 
 
 2
 
 io A Tangled Web 
 
 know, Ursula Handsford. No, not if she were 
 so pretty as an angel." 
 
 He was so terribly in earnest that it sounded 
 like taking a Bible oath, at least ; and that was 
 what she loved to hear. Her manner changed 
 at once. When he talked so, then she felt fond 
 of him. 
 
 "But how long do 'ee think to bide away?" 
 she asked, so eagerly that her voice quavered. 
 
 "Nobody can tell. 'Tis just as the luck mid 
 turn out. There'll be knocks enough to take 
 afore there's prize-money. But never fear; 
 what I. do get I'll hold fast to. I'll be back for 
 'ee wi' my pockets full, if you'll wait a bit, 
 Ursie." 
 
 "La' William, it mid be years, an' I shall 
 never bide at home ; I do know I sha'n't, there ! 
 I never can't," she said, with a sinking of the 
 heart. 
 
 "Long or short, there's nothing 'pon earth 
 shall keep me when I've a-won enough to make 
 a good home. But I'll never come back to be 
 nothing in Bratton, where the Whites have 
 a-lived so many years." 
 
 "I'll wait for 'ee, William, if 'tis till Dooms- 
 day, for I believe you'll do it an' come back an'
 
 Farewell 1 1 
 
 marry me as you do zay," she cried, with a 
 sudden outburst of passion, and she leaned fur- 
 ther out of the window towards him, and gazed 
 longfully into his face. Her great blue eyes 
 looked frank and truthful as the day. 
 
 "I know it, Ursie dear. I shall carry the 
 thought in my heart." 
 
 "Ay, I've a-promised 'ee afore, and now I do 
 again," she broke in, with growing warmth, 
 and then her voice fell sad. "But it will be all 
 in the dark, so to speak. However long 'tis, I 
 shall never hear a word." 
 
 "Ah, but that's what I wanted to tell 'ee,'* 
 he answered, quickly, for he had well nigh for- 
 got. "You must talk to Jack. We shall be in 
 the Channel, Ursie, an' put into port now an' 
 again. Yet if you could read it, Ursie, I 
 couldn't send 'ee a letter unbeknown. But 
 when we do put in, I shall send to Jack, and 
 he'll tell 'ee all about it, just as he will to 
 Mother, and read it out to 'ee, Ursie, if you 
 will, word by word. You can trust Jack for a 
 true friend. He's most wonderful fond o' me. 
 And so you'll hear all." 
 
 "But come back for a day or so, even if you 
 must go again," she coaxed.
 
 12 A Tangled Web 
 
 He shook his head, thoughtfully, as if it 
 were not to be done. 
 
 Then the whim for mischief caught hold of 
 her once more. "Or, like enough, Father may 
 frighten me out o' it; or I mid chance to catch 
 a mind to another man " 
 
 She stopped short. Even the thought stirred 
 such anger and jealousy in his heart that he set 
 his teeth and clenched his fists. 
 
 "If I had risked my life, and won enough, 
 and come home to find 'ee wi' another I'd, 
 I'd kill the fellow," he hissed. 
 
 He meant it, too, for he looked dangerous. 
 But she only laughed. Though it made her 
 half afraid, she loved to hear him talk like that. 
 
 "Hark!" 
 
 Suddenly becoming grave, she raised her 
 hand in alarm and turned her head to listen. 
 She placed her fingers on her lips and paused 
 again. Then, throwing him one hasty kiss, 
 without another word she stealthily drew to 
 the curtain and was gone. 
 
 He understood she had heard someone mov- 
 ing in the house. Mayhap her father had 
 caught a sound of their talking. Though for 
 that matter it was broad daylight now, and
 
 Farewell 1 3 
 
 frugal country folk, who burnt no candles of a 
 night, were loth to waste the hours of sum- 
 mer morning. She dared not come again to 
 the window. He was sure of that. For since 
 the Whites got pinched for money, neighbour 
 Handsf ord had hated the sight of him. Ursula 
 would catch it, sure enough, if all were known. 
 So, with one last look at the house, he crept 
 under cover of the hedge-row and went softly 
 on his way. 
 
 Around the second bend of the road, kicking 
 his heels against a gate, sat Jack awaiting him. 
 
 Again they trudged quickly forward, side by 
 side, but now the silence which had marked 
 their first departure was broken, and they 
 talked eagerly because their time was short. 
 All their circumstances', all the affairs of life 
 and the business of the land that little patch 
 of land called Winterhays passed in review 
 before their minds. 
 
 How things had been taken unawares-like, 
 through their father's sudden death, and what 
 a pity there was no other life upon the farm. 
 But the squire had treated them well, so he had, 
 to let their mother stay on as yearly tenant, to 
 see if they could take the place up again and
 
 14 A Tangled Web 
 
 keep in the old name. And how Jack must 
 hold things together and do his best. For the 
 money parted was no good at all. So it was 
 not his own he had to do with. He must mind 
 that. And if William only had luck, bye-and- 
 bye, in a year or two, when things were set a 
 bit straight, he would set Jack up in life, an' 
 make a man o' un, so he would. 
 
 "I do feel downright sorry for 'ee to go, Bill, 
 that I do," cried the youth, with real affection. 
 
 "Never mind, sonny, I don't care," laughed 
 the sailor. " "Tis a smart little ship, and as 
 good as a fortune to be aboard her." 
 
 "But I heard a funny sound last night. I 
 was in to Wincanton to 'The Bear' when the 
 coach came in. Folk said the Queen was going 
 to stop the war. Leastways, that was talked 
 about. There'd be an end to privateering, and 
 prize-money, too, if there should come a 
 peace." 
 
 The sailor shook his head. 
 
 "Oh well," he muttered, grimly, with a mind 
 made up for the worst. "Then here's off to the 
 .West Indies if that do come to pass." 
 
 "But you wouldn't turn pirate." 
 
 "That's a nasty word, boy. But as for set-
 
 Farewell 1 5 
 
 ting fire to a nest of Spanish papists, I'd as 
 soon do it as burn out wapses. What's the war 
 about but to keep out popery? No, Jack, a 
 papist is the enemy of England all the world 
 over." 
 
 He spoke with firm conviction, as if the 
 rightship of this to any English understanding 
 must be beyond doubt. For if the good folk 
 of Somerset loathed popery before the days of 
 the Duke, how much more did they hate it 
 since? And Jack, now looking at the matter 
 with a more serious eye and from a loftier 
 point of view, saw that William's words were 
 not only honesty, but sense. 
 
 Thus they went on to the copse in the bot- 
 tom then to the end of the common then 
 just as far as the little stonen bridge. The 
 youth found it so hard to say good-bye and 
 turn back. After all, it was no more than a 
 step now to the four-cross-roads. But time 
 was passing on and Jack must get home to the 
 milking, so there they stopped at last, being of 
 one mind that they must part. 
 
 To have a word more, they sat down a min- 
 ute by the wayside, for Jack felt sorry at heart 
 to go home alone. Bill was a boy when he was
 
 1 6 A Tangled Web 
 
 a child, and then a man when he was a boy, 
 and had seen the world, and fought with the 
 French, too, and was most terrible good com- 
 pany if only his tongue were a bit piled. So 
 William was a great figure in the eyes of the 
 younger man. 
 
 "Do your best to make the most of every bit 
 and crumb, Jack," the sailor urged again. "If 
 any ill should befall to me, you'll have my 
 share, so, anyway, you and Mother ought not 
 to want for a good living." He hesitated. 
 Then his voice sank into a confidential whis- 
 per. "And keep in wi' Ursie Handsford what- 
 ever you do do. An' get Mother to have her 
 up to house. She's like the apple o' my eye to 
 me. And Jack, walk out as though by chance, 
 look-y-zee, to meet the maid. And say, in her 
 ear like, that I sent my dear love, and that was 
 my parting word." 
 
 "I will, for she's most times up and down the 
 road of an evening." 
 
 "And I said, if I ever should write, you'd 
 read it to her." 
 
 "And zo I will, Bill." 
 
 "Well. Good-bye, boy," cried the sailor, 
 springing to his feet with sudden determina-
 
 Farewell 1 7 
 
 tion to cut the matter short. " 'Tis no good to 
 bide about. Let's have the bundle. Good-bye, 
 Jack. An' do thy best. And now you hurry 
 on back." 
 
 "Good-bye, Bill." 
 
 "Good-bye." 
 
 So, with the best heart they could, the broth- 
 ers shook hands and parted and each went on 
 his way. 
 
 Before the traveller lay a short, straight 
 piece of road; and, at the end of it, William 
 White stopped a moment and turned to take 
 one last look at Bratton and the hills. He 
 could see the home at Winterhays. White- 
 washed and bright it shone from a setting of 
 dark orchard and green hill. The sun was 
 glistening upon the windows, and gleamed out 
 of each diamond pane with that piercing 
 brightness no gem on earth can rival. His 
 mother bustled out to post ope the barton gate 
 in readiness for Jack's return. 
 
 Into the mead below, but lying to the left, 
 came Ursula Handsford to fetch in her father's 
 beasts. He stood and watched her whilst 
 slowly, one by one, the cows were lost to view 
 behind the hedge-row. Ursula stopped a min-
 
 1 8 A Tangled Web 
 
 ute, stooped, picked up a clod and threw at the 
 last loiterer. Then she too was gone. 
 
 At last, in good earnest, William White 
 started on his journey and, turning a bend in 
 the road, at once passed out of sight.
 
 Neighbours j 9 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 NEIGHBOURS 
 
 Barely had William White withdrawn from 
 below the window of Ursula, when a small, 
 spare man crept secretly around the further 
 corner of the house and stopped to listen. Not 
 a sound could he hear. He came forward upon 
 tip-toe to the black yew-tree against the wall 
 and peered over into the road. Not a soul did 
 he see. Unsatisfied at this apparent absence 
 of all evil-doing, he drew closer under the dark 
 branches and lay in wait, like a terrier watch- 
 ing for a rabbit to bolt. 
 
 But nothing came of it. 
 
 "Ah ! the sly toads !" he sighed to himself in 
 a voice guttural with secret disappointment. 
 
 He had heard a board creak overhead, and 
 then voices yes he had, sure as his name was 
 Jacob Handsford. And he came downstairs 
 with his shoes in his hand so soon as ever he 
 could draw on his breeches and hose, so he did. 
 And yet that cunning, fox-headed thing of a 
 maid had outwitted him after all.
 
 20 ; A Tangled Web 
 
 Jacob muttered to himself that he hated any- 
 thing sly he always had. 
 
 Then he climbed carefully over the wall, 
 picked half a handful of sharp grit from the 
 gutter cut on the hill-side by winter rains, and 
 pitched it a bit at a time against Ursula's win- 
 dow-pane. 
 
 But Jacob reckoned without his host. Half- 
 a-dozen times had he rattled against the glass, 
 yet not so much as a corner of the blind quiv- 
 ered in response. Ursula Handsford was as 
 sharp as her father any day of the week. 
 
 So Jacob stood there and scratched his 
 grizzled crown in doubt. 
 
 There was no being upsides with that maid, 
 who, like enough, might be grinning at him 
 now out of some peep-hole or the other. The 
 mere thought of it made him more angry with 
 Ursula than if he had caught her in the act. 
 Then he would have had something to go 
 upon; but now he made but a poor figure in- 
 deed, with his shirt sleeves unbuttoned, his 
 breeches untied, with the strings hanging loose 
 about the knee. 
 
 A ferret-faced, irritable little man, standing 
 not more than five foot three in his shoes, he
 
 Neighbours 2 1 
 
 fairly stamped with rage. His grey, pointed 
 beard wagged and jerked up and down like the 
 tail of a wash-dish, as he muttered threats and 
 maledictions against this daughter whose con- 
 demnation was the deeper because she was not 
 found out. "A lazy slug-a-bed ought to have 
 been up and about afore this." He almost per- 
 suaded himself that his only errand into the 
 road had been to give her a call. 
 
 "Urs'la! Urs'la!" he shouted, for if he could 
 pass it off like that, he should not look such a 
 fool. 
 
 The maid might be dead in her bed for all 
 the sign she made. 
 
 That was always the way with her, a sulky 
 huzzy who would hold her tongue by the hour 
 if anything fell out so that she wasn't best 
 pleased. 
 
 "Urs'la!" 
 
 In the impatience of his rage, he stepped 
 back one pace and cast the pebbles still remain- 
 ing in his hand with all his might against the 
 window. Some of the little diamond panes, 
 shattered to pieces, fell tinkling to the ground. 
 
 Nobody answered even that. 
 
 Then a misgiving fell upon Jacob Hands-
 
 22 A Tangled Web 
 
 ford, and, for a moment, his anger gave way 
 to fear. What if Ursula, as she threatened 
 nearly every day of her life, had gone and left 
 him ? The thought filled him with alarm. He 
 could hear already the talk of all the neigh- 
 bours, and the gossip that he had begrudged 
 his own daughter every half-penny and driven 
 her away. And what could he do without her ? 
 There is no labour on earth so cheap as the 
 hands of your own kin who work for their 
 clothes and keep. Ha! to have a strange 
 woman about the house was like paying money 
 out of pocket to get robbed. He had always 
 hated to think that some day Ursula might 
 marry; and now, like enough, she had run off 
 with William White. 
 
 The dread of this disturbed him so much 
 that he turned quickly and hurried up the road 
 to go indoors. To a sharp eye, her empty room 
 would tell a tale, sure enough. But as he came 
 to the wall's end, and opened the gate between 
 the two yews trimmed into sugar cones with 
 peacocks at the top, there he met Ursula, full- 
 butt, as they say, coming away from the barn's 
 door. 
 
 He knew she had fooled him he could see
 
 Neighbours 2 3 
 
 it in her face. There was a bit of a twist by the 
 corner of her mouth in the shape of a jeer, and 
 a droop of the eyelid that only half concealed a 
 secret satisfaction. 
 
 She must have gone out before he came 
 downstairs. To meet that worthless fellow 
 going back to sea. He glanced again at the 
 barn, half expecting to see William White ap- 
 pear in the open doorway. Yet how could she 
 have gone out first? He had unlocked the 
 door for himself from the inside. Unless, 
 mayhap, she stood 'pon top o' the leads, and 
 climbed out of the milk house window, for fear 
 he should come down and find the bolt drawn. 
 
 It was in the nature of this miserly little 
 gnome to breed suspicions as a barren ground 
 grows weeds. He had the wit, too, to shape 
 them out of his own cunning ; and then he laid 
 them at the door of other folk. But he was not 
 going to let out what he thought. He would 
 cast his eye around the house and note whether 
 anything were left amiss. 
 
 The girl was coming straight towards him. 
 
 She was so tall and well-grown, so free in 
 gait and graceful in movement, that nobody 
 would have taken her to be the daughter of this
 
 24 A Tangled Web 
 
 pigmy fellow with the little three-cornered 
 face. Besides, she bore an open countenance. 
 Whatever of guile it displayed was but a 
 shadow from without, and not the malice of a 
 mean heart within. As God made her, she was 
 as frank and open as he was pinched. Yet 
 Jacob Handsford had done something to mar 
 the meaning of Nature in this maid. . 
 
 The morning shone upon her bright hair, 
 and glistened, ruddy-gold, through the loose 
 locks which fell in disorder over a forehead 
 that sloped and narrowed somewhat above her 
 broad cheek-bones. Her grey eyes were large 
 and bright, and so were her ripe, pleasure-lov- 
 ing lips. She, like the widow White, wore a 
 large, white apron from the waist, but above, 
 a laced bodice and a kerchief, leaving her neck 
 uncovered. Her round arms were bare below 
 the elbows, and in one hand she carried a mob- 
 cap with a broad brim to hang down behind, 
 not unlike the curtain of a sun-bonnet. 
 
 Yes, Ursula Handsford was a woman born 
 to live; just as her father was one to whom 
 neither good victuals and drink, nor any of the 
 higher joys of life could do any good. 
 
 ''You be about in good time," he sneered, in
 
 Neighbours 25 
 
 his thin, piping voice. " Tis wonderful to see 
 'ee down wi'out calling sure!" 
 
 "I heard a sound below," she answered, 
 sharply, "I looked for 'ee to be beating 'pon the 
 stair. I thought sure the end o' the world were 
 a-come to hear 'ee creep out so quiet as a snail." 
 
 She was more than a match for him when 
 it came to words, and she was not afraid. In 
 those days before bells, it was his way to arouse 
 his household by hammering on the hollow 
 staircase with a hazel stick kept handy for the 
 purpose. He was wont, like this, to make noise 
 enough, as the saying is, to lift the thatch. And 
 never in his life, until this moment, since she 
 was old enough to work, had he gone out of 
 doors until Ursula gave signs that she was 
 awake. 
 
 For a moment he was taken aback. 
 
 "Get on down then an' fetch in the beasts," 
 he growled, "since you be so sprack." 
 
 Without a word, the girl drew an ashen stick 
 from the faggot pile in the corner, and went as 
 she was bid. 
 
 She was early, and there was plenty of time ; 
 so she strolled leisurely across the home-field, 
 through the leaze, and into the mead, leaving a 
 
 3
 
 26 A Tangled Web 
 
 wet track in the long, dewy grass where her 
 feet had trod. 
 
 She thrust back the gate, made it fast with a 
 stone, and stood and called. 
 
 "Kobe hobe hobe hobe." 
 
 The morning was alive, and she was young 
 and fresh. Her voice rang musical across the 
 valley, at one with the lark above her head, and 
 the low whistle of the blackbird in the wild crab 
 tree. 
 
 The lazy cattle turned and stared. Some, 
 longing for the ease that milking gives to over- 
 flowing udders, began to draw slowly towards 
 her. Yet she must needs traipse across the 
 ground at last to hurry up the laggards. She 
 took her time about it. As for her father, let 
 him wait. If he had not that to grumble 
 about, there would be something else, sure 
 enough. She had given over paying much 
 heed to him. 
 
 So William White was gone to sea again, 
 mate in a privateer, and lucky, so he said, to 
 get the berth that thought filled her mind, 
 and shut out all the rest. It made her heart 
 quite sorrowful like. Yet with luck, and his 
 double share, who could tell? He might be
 
 Neighbours 27 
 
 home in no time, pockets full, and ready to 
 marry her out of hand. That hope was 
 stronger in her heart than any fears of danger 
 to him from shot or storm. Let him only get 
 luck, and take her out of these everlasting skin- 
 flint ways of "nag nag nag" from morn to 
 night. She would be a true wife to him all 
 his life. 
 
 But he was gone, and what to do was more 
 than she could tell. 
 
 For months she had been looking for him 
 all hours of the day, and went to meet him, if 
 only for a minute, just in the dimmet, every 
 night but now, she must go on as best she 
 could, with no man to walk out wi', nor any 
 soul to wag her tongue to, from week's end to 
 week's end. Ursula was not a maid just 
 sweetheart high with a head full of fancies, but 
 three and twenty and a woman grown. She 
 felt gloomy and sad. 
 
 Her father by this time was in his smock ; a 
 one-legged stool in his hand, he stood by the 
 open gate, ready-waiting, when she came. 
 
 The cattle clustered into the barton. The 
 slanting sunlight shone against their straight 
 red backs, making dark shadows in the hoi-
 
 28 A Tangled Web 
 
 lows behind their pin-bones. They stood stock- 
 still and chewed. Now and again, stung into 
 sudden energy, a tail struck off a fly and went 
 on swinging as if by its own weight. Ursula 
 fetched stool and pail, sat down to a sparked 
 cow, leaned her cheek against its white side, 
 and looked away at the grey hills beyond which 
 William White was gone. Not a sound dis- 
 turbed the stillness, only overhead a ceaseless 
 charm of birds, and below, an underlying lul- 
 laby of rushing milk beating against oaken 
 staves. No sweeter picture could there be of 
 restful plenty and contentment. 
 
 There were but three milkers, and these 
 made up the household, too Jacob, Ursula, 
 and the little, workhouse love-child, christened 
 Hannah Peach, bound apprentice to the said 
 Jacob Handsford until the said Hannah Peach 
 shall come to the age of one and twenty years. 
 
 Nobody took much count of this slip of a 
 maid of eleven with the anxious face, aged be- 
 yond her years. And since, in Hannah's ex- 
 perience, notice had always taken the form of 
 finding fault, this was her dearest wish, and the 
 keystone of all her wisdom: "Ah! let I go 
 'long quiet like, an' nobody won't take no count
 
 Neighbours 29 
 
 o' I." So she kept a still tongue in her head, 
 though her eyes were sharp as needles and her 
 mouth open for every breath, as ever the bell 
 of a poppydock for the humming of a bumble- 
 bee. 
 
 The presence of Hannah was nothing to tie 
 up the clapper of Jacob Handsford. 
 
 Suddenly he began like a little "ting-tang" 
 bell. 
 
 "So William White is off to sea again. Ha ! 
 I thought he wouldn' be here very long, for all 
 he were to bide at home for the rest of his days. 
 Ha ! Easy got, soon gone. Ho ! Ho ! Noth- 
 ing left to show but the cut across the cheek- 
 bone o' un. Ah ! and the rest o' 'em won't have 
 so much as that come this time twelve-month. 
 They'll never take up the land. Not they. 
 Somebody wi' more thought o' to-morrow'll 
 get hold o' that now." 
 
 He laughed a little double-meaning chuckle, 
 not loud, but with a lot in it. How it sneered 
 at the Whites, and gloried in Jacob Hands- 
 ford who had more thought for the morrow 
 than any other man he knew. 
 
 The girl flushed crimson, but firmly set her 
 lips and did not speak. She turned her head,
 
 30 A Tangled Web 
 
 buried her forehead in the hollow behind the 
 cow's ribs, and hid her face. There was none 
 of her to be seen but the nape of her broad neck 
 where it rounded into her shapely shoulders 
 beneath the curtain of her cap. 
 
 He went on again. 
 
 "Aye, there were neighbour William White 
 what's dead an' gone. Oh, he were such a 
 good sort sure; such a wonderful good sort. 
 'Twere 'Come in,' 'Zit down,' 'Have another 
 glass.' There, you zee, he had such a good 
 heart then. Oh, a terr'ble good heart. But 
 now he's under the sod, and nothing but a fool. 
 For that's all they that did drink wi' un zo 
 merry can zay o' un, to-day. Foolish man. 
 Let the money slip like water through the fin- 
 gers o' un. For 'twere every feast and revel 
 then. Up to Blackford, over to Carey, down 
 to Camel. So now 'tis all they can do to get 
 bread. Ha! They that do enjoy themselves 
 so well, goo where they will, an' have all they 
 do want they don't leave much work for 
 executors. He ! he ! he ! Not much work for 
 executors. No, no." 
 
 The girl could bear it no longer. His sav- 
 ing, penny-wise wisdom aroused her anger
 
 Neighbours 3 1 
 
 more than his jeers, for as he talked he lived, 
 and had never so much as a farthing to spare 
 for her to go abroad to junketting or fair. She 
 must slave for nothing from morn to night. 
 As to that, she was no better off than Han- 
 nah Peach, except that what he saved by good 
 right should come to her some day. 
 
 But the thing that made her maddest of all 
 was the little "Ha!" and the "He!" and the 
 "Ho!" thrown in to point his speech. These 
 came straight out of his heart. They stuck 
 into her like thorns. And he was worse, to- 
 day, because he had broken his own window, 
 and there was money gone to no good end. 
 
 She had just milked out her cow. There 
 was no need of it as yet, but, before sitting 
 down to another, she strode across and poured 
 the child's milk in with her own. She rested 
 the pail against her knee, lifted it to her head, 
 then, steadying it with her upraised arms, she 
 slowly rose to her full height and marched 
 away between the patient beasts out of sight 
 behind the buildings. 
 
 At the back of the house, on the north side, 
 where the thatch came down so low, was a 
 small court, walled in, and paved with great
 
 32 A Tangled Web 
 
 flag-stones. It drained from both sides into 
 the middle, where there was a gutter and a sink 
 with a grating of iron. 
 
 She crossed the yard, stooped to pass under 
 the door, and went into the low-roofed milk- 
 house. 
 
 How cool and fresh it was there, on the 
 north side of the house where the sun never 
 shone ! All round were the flat leads, and, in 
 the middle, the great oaken cheese tub. Into 
 this she poured the sweet-smelling milk. 
 Lawk! 'twas but a drop, sure enough, and 
 scarce covered the bottom o' the tub. She 
 laughed herself to see it. She would have been 
 ashamed if anybody else could see. Then her 
 face flushed again; and then grew hard. Let 
 him say about three words more, and he should 
 milk the cows for himself. 
 
 With this muttered threat upon her lips, at 
 once she went back to the barton. 
 
 Hannah, awkward under the weight of pail 
 and stool, was waddling to another cow. 
 
 "Have 'ee milked her dry ? Eh? Milk her 
 dry. Be sure you do milk her dry. Ha ! what 
 you don't take, to-day, she'll never gie, to-mor- 
 row. Zo 'tes. If you don't catch when chance
 
 Neighbours 3 3 
 
 do fall, 'tes slipped drough your vingers for 
 ever. An' what you can catch kip. He ! he ! 
 Kip." 
 
 Still the everlasting cry, "Get, get. Keep, 
 keep!" Nothing but harping upon this one 
 thought from morn to night. She went to the 
 other end of the barton, as far away as she 
 could. 
 
 Her return led him back to the old story, and 
 he took up the broken thread. 
 
 "Ah ! an' that's not all, nother," he went on, 
 raising his voice for fear she should be out of 
 hearing. "Let alone money out o' pocket an' 
 time a-lost, where you do go you mus' ax 'em 
 back. If you don't, they'll come quick enough, 
 ha ! ha ! like the locusts o' scripture, an' eat 'ee 
 out o' house an' home. Now, up to hill, to- 
 morrow, Bratton revel, there'll be a score or 
 more, I'll warrant it, '11 drop in unlooked-for 
 like and she, poor foolish woman, make 'em 
 welcome, though, for the life o' her, she don't 
 know which way to turn. He, he ! But that's 
 the way of the world." 
 
 His words touched the girl upon a sore point. 
 His sneering at the Whites, and at William in 
 particular, she had schooled herself to bear in
 
 34 A Tangled Web 
 
 silence; but this stinginess in the house, both 
 to neighbours and kin alike, was a never-ceas- 
 ing disgrace. She was fit to hide her head 
 with shame at the mere thought of it. 
 
 "An' what's that to you?" she burst out, 
 beside herself with anger. "If all creation 
 should come to Bratton, there's none o' 'em do 
 come here. Why, there's never a Kirson soul 
 have a-crossed the drashel this year or last, 
 'ithout 'tis to dealy, an' then if you do han' 'em 
 a cup of cider, you do count every time they do 
 glutchy. Why, you be so stingy, you be, you 
 do begrudge the victuals to your own belly 
 you do." 
 
 The little workhouse maid looked all ways, 
 as the saying is. To her, Jacob Handsford 
 was "measter," and that anyone, even Miss 
 Urs'la, should answer him was beyond belief. 
 It was outside all the true nature of things. 
 She felt a misgiving at the heart, just as when 
 it thundered, or she met old Molly the witch 
 hobbling down the lane. 
 
 "Ha!" cried Jacob, louder still and more 
 shrill. " 'Tis plain to zee what company you 
 do kip, by the words you do let fall. But you 
 shall never ha' a varden o' my money not if
 
 Neighbours 3 5 
 
 you do marry wi'out consent. Not a brass 
 varden. For I'll lef it away by will. Ah ! zo 
 I will. Iss, I will." 
 
 He got up and walked towards her, pushing 
 his way between the cattle with the flat seat of 
 his little one-legged stool. 
 
 Stung to the quick by his talk about the will, 
 she sprang to her feet. The cow was but half 
 milked out. 
 
 "You can do the work yourself," she cried, 
 turning round full-face. She was taller and 
 broader and straighter than he. She had more 
 nerve, too, for his eyes glanced away when she 
 looked at him. "Or hire somebody else, if you 
 can find anybeddy fool enough to bide an' put 
 up wi' your ways. I tell 'ee what 'tis, Vather, 
 you can do what you like wi' your money. I 
 don't care. But gie me what's my own. Gie 
 me the two hunderd poun' that girt-uncle 
 Jeremy Handsfbrd, my own god-vather, lef 
 me by will. Gie me my own money that 
 you've a-put out to use, and the interest that 
 you've a-saved back these years an' I'll go. 
 Tis mine by law. I can have it by law. An' 
 I'll leave 'ee an' willing, ay, glad o' my heart 
 to do it from this day forth. Zo there!"
 
 36 A Tangled Web 
 
 This threat of going away quieted him as 
 nothing else on earth could do. The money 
 was hers, sure enough, and, with the Whites 
 at her back to edge her on, he might put off 
 from day to day, but, sooner or later, he must 
 come to an account. And all the gad-about, 
 money-spending neighbours would take Ur- 
 sula's part. He knew that for certain sure. 
 
 "Very well," he answered, but, though he 
 tried to be careless and hold his own, his voice 
 quavered. "Just as you be a-minded. But, 
 if you bent a-gwaine to milky, he, he ! 'tis to be 
 hoped your ladyship won't be too proud to carr' 
 in a pailful as you do goo." 
 
 At once she took him at his word. But her 
 hands were shaking with excitement, and, as 
 she poured in Hannah's milk, she spilt a little 
 over the brim of the pail. 
 
 The sight of waste, though it were but a tea- 
 spoonful, was to Jacob Handsford like a red 
 rag to a mad bull. He could not see it and 
 be still. 
 
 "Little odds, sim-zo whe'er you do bide or 
 goo. 'Tis more loss 'an gain wi' 'ee, look 
 so," he snarled. 
 
 Ursula gave neither word nor sign. She
 
 Neighbours 37 
 
 filled the pail full up this time, raised it upon 
 her head, and went away as before. But, in 
 the little paved courtyard, she stopped. For 
 a moment, she stood erect and motionless like 
 an image carven in wood or stone. All the 
 little meannesses for which she suffered shame, 
 the ever-pricking sense of injustice because her 
 money was withheld, the constant taunts and 
 sneers at William and the Whites, came crowd- 
 ing pell-mell into her memory and drove her 
 half out of her mind. And William was gone 
 to sea. She ground her teeth with rage. In 
 the first heat of a burning fury kindled by a 
 sense of wrong and ablaze with outraged pride, 
 she took three strides forward, and emptied the 
 pailful of fresh, sweet-smelling milk into the 
 sink. 
 
 "There, then," she said, and tossed her head. 
 
 She felt glad at what she had done glad at 
 heart. 
 
 It was a protest against skinflint, cheese-par- 
 ing miserliness, such as no words at her com- 
 mand could have given tongue to. It did not 
 matter in the least that her father would not 
 know. That made no difference to her. She 
 had got the better of him, and was making him
 
 3 8 A Tangled Web 
 
 pay for his ha's and his he's, unbeknown. She 
 laughed at the thought of how he would rave 
 if he knew. 
 
 "Ursie!" 
 
 Her name was spoken close behind her back. 
 She started, and, red as a peony, turned round. 
 
 The young Jack White was looking over the 
 wall. Only his head and just the open work 
 below the collar of his smock came above the 
 flat coping stones. He was staring, wonder- 
 struck dumb-foundered, as the country people 
 say. And yet, as open-mouthed he took in 
 both her anger and her confusion, a glimmer 
 of merriment twinkled in his eyes. 
 
 She saw it at once. 
 
 "Then all the parish'll know it, and grin," 
 she thought. And that brought her to herself 
 and steadied her. 
 
 Her cap had fallen upon the stones when she 
 took down the pail and still lay at her feet. 
 She stood there, a woman of striking charac- 
 ter and beauty in her bare-headed excitement. 
 Then the fierceness melted out of her eyes. 
 She blushed, and to cover her confusion gave a 
 short, uneasy laugh. To gain a moment, she 
 stooped down to pick up her cap.
 
 Neighbours 39 
 
 "Don't 'ee breathe a word to any soul, Jack," 
 she beseeched, in a low, coaxing voice. "I do 
 trust 'ee for that" 
 
 "Not I," he promised, as ready as a bee. 
 
 "I don't mind you, yourzelf, Jack, a bit," 
 she went on, kind still, for she saw in a twin- 
 kling that she could get round Jack. Yet, all 
 of a sudden, she blazed up again. "There, 'tis 
 more that I can do to bear myzelf. I wish the 
 little toad were dead an' in his grave, I do." 
 And then again she talked, quite honey-sweet. 
 "But I'll tell 'ee more about it, Jack, quiet, in 
 your own ear like, to-morrow." 
 
 "I do want a word wi' 'ee, Ursie. Where 
 will 'ee be ?" he asked, with some eagerness. 
 
 "I'll go to Bratton revel. I will if I do die 
 for it. I won't be penned up no longer and 
 I'll go come what may," she burst out, in a 
 fury of resentment, as she recalled her wrongs. 
 But then again, she bethought herself of Jack. 
 "An' you'll look out for to zee me there. An' 
 you'll come and have a talk wi' me, eh, Jack ?" 
 
 "To be sure I will an' tell 'ee about Wil- 
 liam, too," he promised, gladly. 
 
 "Then good-bye. Don't 'ee bide now, 
 there's a good chap, for fear he should hap to
 
 40 A Tangled Web 
 
 zee *ee." With her thumb she pointed over 
 her shoulder towards the barton. 
 
 "Then good-bye, Ursie." 
 
 "Good-bye, Jack." 
 
 Yet he lingered. "I say, Ursie, come 
 straight up to house to-morrow. Do 'ee, 
 now." 
 
 "An' zo I will, Jack," readily promised the 
 girl. 
 
 She picked up her pail and went back to the 
 milking. 
 
 Her father said no more. Her threats had 
 given him food for thought. He could not do 
 without her, that was the long and short of it ; 
 and it would be like losing his heart's blood to 
 give up her money. It was a relief to him to 
 see her come back. 
 
 She sat once more to her cow, in silence, too. 
 
 And all the while, above and around the 
 village of Bratton with its sadness of widow- 
 hood and parting, smiling alike upon meanness, 
 misfortune, bickering, and strife as though 
 to say that life might be an idyll if men could 
 only learn was growing over vale and hill and 
 dusty road, the sweetest summer day that ever 
 shone upon the earth.
 
 Bratton Revel 41 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 BRATTON REVEL 
 
 Now, though Jacob Handsford had not 
 enough goodness in the heart of him, as folk 
 were all agreed, to grease a gimlet, but screwed 
 his rasping way through life, setting the teeth 
 of everybody on edge, and driving all pleasure 
 and peace of mind out of the house there 
 were ale and cakes enough in Bratton for all 
 that. 
 
 Ursula thought so, as she looked at herself 
 in the three-cornered fragment of broken mir- 
 ror, set up between three stub-nails, at the 
 height handiest for seeing her face in, against 
 the whitewashed side of her window wall. 
 And, come what may, she was determined to 
 sip and to munch like the rest of the world. 
 For sure, if you don't get about and enjoy 
 yourself whilst you be young, 'tis too late to 
 think of it when you've a-got to hobble upon 
 crutches. Ah! the best played fiddle 'pon 
 earth can't spracken 'ee up to dance wi' one 
 
 foot in the grave. And as for being cooped up 
 
 4
 
 42 A Tangled Web 
 
 at home, Ursula would stand it no longer, let 
 the old man get so crabbed as he liked. Why, 
 what good to live like that? She daren't so 
 much as chirpy when she did sit to the cow. 
 
 Reflections such as these excited Ursula. 
 Her mind was made up and her eyes were 
 brighter than ever. 
 
 Not a word about the revel had she spoken 
 all the day. But she had promised young Jack 
 to be there, and go she meant to, whether her 
 father would or no. If she could but manage 
 to outwit him and get away without any words, 
 that was all she cared about. There was no 
 good in kicking up so much fuss. And he 
 might stamp and rave as much as he liked when 
 she came back. She would have been and en- 
 joyed herself, so that could make no difference 
 to her then. 
 
 She cast an eager glance out of the window. 
 
 The whole village lay in full view before 
 her. For, through the winding of the way, 
 the pointing end of Jacob Handsford's house, 
 though it lay against a highway, looked out 
 towards the hill. 
 
 On a crown of the steep, high above the 
 road, stood the little church and graveyard.
 
 Bratton Revel 43 
 
 Just below, from the doorway of the "Lamb 
 and Lark," a village ale-house long ago for- 
 gotten, ay, for up five-and-twenty yards or 
 more, the wayside was lined with standings, 
 for all the world like a fair. Such a sight of 
 people never, in all her born days, had Ursula 
 clapped eyes on. Such a crunching of ginger- 
 bread and such buying of ribbons and cracking 
 of nuts for certain never was. Ursula took it 
 all in quick enough, for though the crowd was 
 too thick for her to tell Dick from Harry or 
 Tom from Dick, and too far out of hearing for 
 anything but a mere hum to reach her through 
 the unmended window-panes, the maid was 
 already there in mind, busy talking and laugh- 
 ing with the best. In the field with the foot- 
 path to Winterhays, on the shady side of two 
 broad-spreading oaks, the folk were dancing. 
 Two rows of couples, jigging it finely, and the 
 crowder's fiddlestick working up and down 
 like mad. 
 
 Ursula loved dancing dearly. 
 
 She gave another look in the glass and ran 
 downstairs. 
 
 She had put on her white frock and bodice, 
 and tied up her hair with a knot of blue rib-.
 
 44 A Tangled Web 
 
 bons brought her last May by William from 
 Carey fair. Her neck and throat, and her arms 
 below the elbows were bare. 
 
 Little Hannah Peach, with a cullender in 
 the hand of her, stared in open-mouthed ad- 
 miration, sure enough, as she came out of the 
 dark passage into the kitchen on her way to 
 the door. 
 
 "La! Miss Urs'la!" gasped the child. 
 
 "Where's Vather?" asked Ursula, in a low, 
 quick whisper. 
 
 "I seed 'un by now, Miss, Urs'la, zo I did, 
 out along by dree-hounds waste." 
 
 The maid was sharp as a needle. She had 
 picked up the names of all the fields and places 
 already, though she had only been there a few 
 weeks. She understood, too; for she looked 
 quite knowing, and spoke with eager gladness 
 to think, for Miss Urs'la's sake, that the master 
 was out of the way. 
 
 At the answer, so readily given, the face of 
 Ursula Handsford grew hard, and a flush of 
 shame reddened her cheek. 
 
 She knew her father so well. She could 
 read the secret thought that prompted almost 
 every step he took. From very stinginess he
 
 Bratton Revel 45 
 
 had crept out, thinking that friends or visitors 
 might chance on feast-day to drop in, and then, 
 if only for the look of the thing, he must put 
 his best upon the board. Even the relief of 
 finding she might get away unbeknown and 
 without words could not overcome her indig- 
 nation at such meanness. 
 
 Out of the depths of her humiliation and 
 anger she was like to laugh aloud at so much 
 care so clearly uncalled for. Nobody wanted 
 to come there oh dear no! Nobody 'pon 
 earth was such a fool, no fear ! Why, the very 
 cider that they drank was too sour to sell. Not 
 once in a blue moon did any footstep out of 
 friendship cross the threshold. She could al- 
 most wish her father back that minute to see 
 her start. There would be a grim pleasure in 
 hearing him rave. She would go on her way 
 all the same, and never answer a word just 
 to make him the more spiteful. 
 
 Then her eye fell again upon Hannah Peach, 
 still gazing in wonder and amazement. 
 
 It was not much, this admiration of a pauper 
 child, dazzled for the first time by blue ribbons 
 and a white frock, but it was sincere. To see 
 it softened Ursula. There was something kind
 
 46 A Tangled Web 
 
 and good-natured always ready in the heart of 
 her, and dearly she loved to be admired and 
 liked, whether by man or maid. At once it 
 brought her thoughts back to the hill, the revel, 
 and the dance. 
 
 Then she smiled upon Hannah, who, after 
 all, put her to do what you would, was a won- 
 derful handy, good girl. Ursula's voice be- 
 came quite coaxing and sweet. 
 
 "You must put out the bread and cheese, 
 Hannah, just afore dark, the very same as if I 
 were here." 
 
 "Iss, Miss Urs'la." 
 
 "An' only draw the little brown cup o' cider, 
 an' not quite full. For the maister might not 
 drink it all, an' then he'd grumble at 'ee, Han- 
 nah, 'bout the waste." 
 
 "Iss, Miss Urs'la." 
 
 "An' bring it steady so as not to slop a drop 
 'pon the vloor, whatever you do do." 
 
 "No, Miss Urs'la." 
 
 "An* zay, when he do ax 'ee, that Miss 
 Urs'la is gone up to the widow White's." 
 
 "Iss, Miss Urs'la." 
 
 Ursula paused a moment to turn over in her 
 mind whether there might be anything more.
 
 Bratton Revel 47 
 
 "Very well, then, Hannah," sfre said, at last, 
 in a tone of great encouragement. "Mind 
 what you be about ; an' do your very best ; an' 
 zee the geese be home; an' watch the turkeys 
 go up to roost ; an' be sure to turn the kay 'pon 
 milk-house door when you do go out, or the 
 cats 'ull be in. An' if you do all well, as I 
 verily do believe you will, Hannah, I shall 
 bring 'ee home something. Something for 
 your very own zelf. Something you'll like." 
 
 Then, with a mysterious nod which left a 
 vague assurance of untold munificence, Ursula 
 hastened out of the door. 
 
 Intoxicated with a promise leaving so much 
 to the imagination, Hannah followed so far as 
 the porch and watched her mistress up the hill. 
 Never in her life had she possessed anything 
 of her own. Even the milking-pinney, put on 
 with such pride the day she left the workhouse 
 to go out to work, was only hers to wear. It 
 belonged to Jacob Handsford, as he let her 
 know pretty sharp that day she strent it with 
 a nail, right down through, running out to 
 drive back the pigs. Hannah could not take 
 her wondering eyes from the retreating figure 
 of Ursula, as the white bodice and hair of
 
 48 A Tangled Web 
 
 golden red gleamed in the sunlight above the 
 hedge-row bush. It was a vision of everything 
 on earth that Hannah longed for everything 
 she had not got. She loved and worshipped 
 with all her heart this young mistress who, of 
 all the world, alone was kind. She stood like 
 one entranced, until the goddess, reaching the 
 outskirts of the revel, mingled and was lost 
 amongst the crowd. 
 
 Ursula walked quickly, for one desire above 
 all others was uppermost in her mind to fall 
 in with young Jack White and have a talk as 
 they had agreed. 
 
 She had been forced to wait until after milk- 
 ing before she could go up to put on her frock. 
 She was late. Like enough, he would be out 
 about by now. A tumbler, glittering in span- 
 gles, had spread a cloth upon the road and was 
 tying himself into knots. A group of giggling 
 maidens standing by, shouted to Ursie Hands- 
 ford to come and see. One and another called 
 her by name, and asked, in joke, whether she 
 had lost anything and where she was running 
 so fast. But, nodding and laughing all round, 
 Ursula pushed her way through the throng, 
 scarcely stopping, as some folk said, to so much
 
 Bratton Revel 49 
 
 as turn the head o' her. And so, by the foot- 
 path across the field, she came to Winterhays. 
 
 The front door, studded with great nails, 
 stood hospitably open. A hubbub of laughter 
 and voices, high in merriment and talking all 
 together, came from within. For the sake of 
 good manners, she lifted the iron latch-ring 
 and rapped upon the door. But la ! if she had 
 knocked till doomsday, nobody would have 
 given heed ; and so she walked straight in with- 
 out waiting for anyone to come. She was 
 sure of a welcome. Not merely because the 
 Whites were hearty people and neighbourly, to 
 whom you could never come amiss, but she had 
 walked with William now for more than a 
 twelvemonth and was almost like one of the 
 household. 
 
 The kitchen was a crowd of company. It 
 was open house, sure enough. Folk came in 
 and went out, just as it pleased their fancies. 
 Visitors had become so plentiful that all the 
 chairs, upstairs and down, could not provide a 
 perch for everybody at once. So the young 
 must stand, to be sure, and let women-folk and 
 the aged quat down to rest their huckles. 
 Why, the maidens were even sitting in one
 
 50 A Tangled Web 
 
 another's laps. And as for a seat at the board 
 to get a bit and a sup, they must watch to catch 
 places as one after another did get up. 
 
 All this Ursula gathered at a glance, as soon 
 as she got inside the door. 
 
 In those days, the village revel was the feast 
 of all the year, and relatives flocked to it from 
 far and near. To-day, the widow White, 
 bustling about in her best Sunday weeds, be- 
 neath a face of smiles carried a world of care. 
 But her quick eye noted with satisfaction that 
 nobody of consequence was missing. All the 
 Puckeridges, the Moggs, and the Tutchinses 
 of any account were there to say nothing of 
 Malachi Webb, who always pushed himself 
 and his knock-knees everywhere, though only 
 a second cousin by marriage and nothing by 
 blood. Aunt Rebecca Eliza Mogg had come 
 with all her five. And her sister, Ann, bent on 
 a holiday, had brought the baby in arms. 
 
 This was as it should be, for Rizpah White, 
 that year, had done her best. 
 
 The floor of beaten clay was strewed with 
 rushes and sweet-smelling herbs. The hearth 
 was hidden with fresh green boughs and yel- 
 low flags brought up from the valley. But the
 
 Bratton Revel 51 
 
 dresser shelves were bare. For every wooden 
 trencher and every bit of ware were on the long 
 oaken bench, with a rump of beef, a spare-rib 
 of pork, a famous ham that had hung twelve 
 months to dry in the chimney to say nothing 
 of custards, and, in the middle, a great bowl of 
 furmity, half as big as a house. The relatives 
 were ranged upon each side on long stools and 
 ate oh, how they ate! And, with every 
 mouthful, the widow, bustling around, popped 
 in a word. 
 
 "Come, Uncle John Puckeridge, you don't 
 get on. Now you ha'n't a-got what you like. 
 I do know you ha'n't. There, Simon Mogg, 
 now do gie your uncle John Puckeridge a bit 
 more fat to his lean. Cousin Malachi Webb, 
 if you can't help yourself, you'll be like to go 
 short, zo don't 'ee bide an' gapey, whatever you 
 do do. What, Girt-uncle Tutchins, you ha'n't 
 never a-done! Why, you've a-eat nothing. 
 There, I be sorry 'tis no better, sure " 
 
 So she went on, her voice rising in confi- 
 dence above the clatter of the feast, and then 
 sinking into solicitous anxiety lest more might 
 have been thought of or expected. 
 
 To understand aright both the height and
 
 52 A Tangled Web 
 
 the humility of this good woman's pride, you 
 must know that Rizpah White was a Pucker- 
 idge born, and brimful of the self-esteem of 
 that ancient, respectable race. 
 
 Before she wedded with William White, she 
 had learned for certain, on the indisputable 
 authority of all her kin, that no variety of hu- 
 mankind that ever trod shoe-leather, or ever 
 shall, could be better than a Puckeridge. You 
 see, all the Puckeridges had such sense. If any 
 man, not being a Puckeridge, thought differ- 
 ent to any Puckeridge, that man was wrong. 
 Later years, alas! had brought a somewhat 
 broader view of life. Being pinched for money 
 had something to do with it and the growing 
 up of sons. For now that William and John 
 were men, she saw quite clearly that the Whites 
 were just as good. 
 
 And the Whites were not out o' Winterhays 
 not yet. 
 
 Of all her doubts and cares, this was the 
 head and chief: to hide her poverty from her 
 own folk, and wear a good face over her 
 troubles. Rizpah could not a-bear that people 
 should go away and talk. And relatives well, 
 say what you will, relatives do come a-purpose
 
 Bratton Revel 53 
 
 to eye out and gape in wonder over the very 
 leastest little thing. And, of course, everybody 
 'pon earth that is to say, everybody within 
 five miles o' Bratton had heard hundreds of 
 times that poor William White had not done 
 so wonderful sprightly, nor left his wife and 
 sons anything too well off. Still, for all that, 
 the Puckeridges, the Moggses, and the Tutch- 
 inses, when they trooped in to the funeral, 
 were all proper a-sucked in. There was a 
 plenty o' victuals, thank God ! but no will to be 
 read. And so there was, to-day. Had it been 
 the last bit and sup in the cupboard, the widow 
 would have put it out. Better to pinch for 
 weeks than to look poor. And this sort of 
 pride, if it left a bare shelf for to-morrow, kept 
 her from grumbling, too. 
 
 She chanced to glance that way just as 
 Ursula came through the doorway. 
 
 "Hullo then, Ursie. An' how's Ursie 
 Handsford ?" she cried, with the welcome ever 
 ready for any who crossed her threshold. 
 
 Every head turned at once. Great-uncle 
 Tutchins, at that moment rising from the table, 
 stopped dusting crumbs from the creases of his 
 waistcoat, and burst into a loud guffaw.
 
 54 A Tangled Web 
 
 "Haw ! haw ! Why 'tis never Ursie Hands- 
 ford, then," he roared. 
 
 He toddled into the middle of the kitchen 
 floor and looked the maid up and down with his 
 wicked little slit of a red eye, as if to make quite 
 sure. 
 
 "An' eet 'tis," he went on, turning to the 
 company with an air of conviction. "Now do 
 'ee know what I thought? Bailed if I didn't 
 think 'twere a sunbeam a-coming in so soft 
 then. I did, sure." 
 
 A merry little round man of three score 
 years and ten, great-uncle Tutchins, when there 
 were maidens about, was even now a sad wag. 
 
 Now, though Jacob Handsford, with his un- 
 neighbourly ways, made no friends, he and his 
 were objects of interest to all the country 
 round. The knowledge that he must be saving 
 every day of his life, though it begot dislike, 
 filled every mind with awe. Fireside gossip 
 never wearied of measuring his hoard. There 
 was the farm, the scattered bits of land of his 
 own, and the money in odd corners out to use, 
 nobody knew where except one or two pres- 
 ent who had secretly borrowed a few pounds of 
 which they did not tell. And money, never
 
 Bratton Revel 55 
 
 touched, will breed as fast as rabbits left alone. 
 Why, Jacob Handsford, please God to spare 
 him long life, must die worth thousands. And 
 he had no call to leave so much as a penny- 
 piece away from Ursula. Yet, for all that, he 
 might. For he hated William White like 
 poison everybody knew that. 
 
 So every mother's son around Bratton was 
 aware of a complication growing up in their 
 midst, and went in wonder how things would 
 turn out. Some had offered to bet a guinea 
 that Ursula would marry her fancy, money or 
 none. But some laughed that William White 
 might surely wear the willow if he stayed away 
 too long at sea. 
 
 Thus the arrival of the girl aroused such in- 
 terest that mastication was for the moment sus- 
 pended, and all the company stared and grinned 
 at great-uncle Tutchins's foolery. As to Ur- 
 sula, she looked as pleased as the rest. 
 
 Then uncle Puckeridge chimed in in the 
 same strain. 
 
 "Now, I were uneasy like," he began, slowly 
 raising his left hand with a two-pronged, 
 buck-handled fork clutched in his fingers and 
 thoughtfully feeling with outstretched thumb
 
 56 A Tangled Web 
 
 for the roughness of a growing beard on his 
 shaven jowl. "I really couldn't enjoy my 
 victuals for a thought o' something a-wanting. 
 I zaid to myself, 'What is it now?' Anji I 
 zaid, ' 'Pon my life, then, I can't tell, but for 
 certain 'tis a something/ But there, now 'tis 
 all complete." 
 
 He waved both knife and fork to the peril 
 of his neighbours, as he leaned back, as red as a 
 turkey-cock, and chuckled, and choked, to the 
 peril of himself. 
 
 Then cousin Simon Mogg had a word to say. 
 
 Nobody on earth ever had relative wiser than 
 cousin Simon Mogg. He knew both sides of a 
 penny, for all he looked so daft. The man 
 must get up early who would get round the 
 blind side of cousin Simon Mogg. For sure, 
 he was not such a fool as he looked, and that, 
 in Bratton, was the loftiest wisdom to which 
 the human mind could ever rise. 
 
 A fair man of five-and-forty, with freckles 
 all over his face, and a weak, soft beard like 
 wool, he had a squeaky little voice and looked 
 staid beyond his years. "Now I'll warr'nt," 
 he began, screwing his mouth on one side and 
 speaking only with his lips, "I'll warr'nt I do
 
 Bratton Revel 57 
 
 know what Ursie have a-got in mind, then." 
 He gazed all round with an air of having made 
 a great discovery which, upon a little persua- 
 sion, he would be quite ready to impart. 
 
 "Got in mind ?" roared great-uncle Tutchins, 
 pointing a fat finger at Ursula. "What should 
 a fine, handsome young ooman have in mind, 
 then, but to go a-dancing an' hop round to the 
 tune o' thik viddle ? Eh ? Upzides !" Great- 
 uncle Tutchins certainly was a wonder for his 
 years, for with the word he leapt like a hop- 
 frog "In an' out" To and fro he danced be- 
 fore Ursula, first on one toe, then on the other, 
 as light as a feather "Down the middle." He 
 caught her by the hand and, holding it above 
 his head, they jigged across the rush-covered 
 floor and plump up against the blue back of 
 Malachi Webb. 
 
 "Ay, Ursie have a-got no lead 'pon the heels 
 o' her, I'll go bail," cried uncle Puckeridge. 
 
 "Not she. She's so sprack as a kitten," 
 panted great-uncle Tutchins, wiping his brow. 
 
 "Ay, or a young lambkin when the zun do 
 smile down warm upon the back o' un." 
 
 "But, Ursie, you be late. You be late, I 
 tell 'ee." 
 
 5
 
 5 8 A Tangled Web 
 
 Whether he admonished or played the fool, 
 everybody laughed at great-uncle Tutchins. 
 He had such a way, with never so much as a 
 smile upon the face of him, that folk were 
 bound to laugh when there was really nothing 
 to laugh at. And, at Bratton revel, they were all 
 so jolly, with their little differences forgotten 
 or made up, and every morsel-bit of envy and 
 ill-will thrown to the winds. So that, what 
 with the shower of compliments that pattered 
 down as brisk as April rain, Ursula was quite 
 pleased and flattered. She showed it, too. For 
 she was all smiles and her eyes as bright as 
 morning. It was such a change after the 
 grinding life at home where good-humor was 
 as scarce as if it cost ready money. 
 
 Then cousin Malachi Webb must needs put 
 in his spoke. 
 
 "Ah ! but Ursie were fo'ced to milkey. She 
 were proud as punch, I'll go bail, when she 
 carr'ed in thik last pail. 'Tis to be hoped, sure 
 enough, she didden toss her head too high an' 
 drow down pail an' all there right 'pon the 
 stones by the milk-house door." 
 
 The picture of such mishap was clear to all. 
 The mirth, since everybody was so happy, be-
 
 Bratton Revel 59 
 
 came boisterous out of all reason with the 
 cause, as it were. 
 
 A suspicion flashed across the girl's mind 
 that the young Jack White might have whis- 
 pered a word of what he saw. Her counte- 
 nance fell. The smiles faded from her cheek. 
 Her only reply was a glance of sudden anger 
 fit to curdle the blood of cousin Malachi Webb. 
 
 "Heart alive! Now you've affronted the 
 maid. I wouldn't be in your shoes, Malachi 
 Webb, not if you should ax her to dance. Gie 
 tin a piece o' your mind, my dear. Such 
 nothern talk as that." 
 
 Great-uncle Tutchins twinkled with fun and 
 shook all over himself with delight. Bear- 
 baiting, cudgel-playing, cock-fighting were the 
 joys of his life ; and to set folk a-sparring was 
 better to him than meat and drink. 
 
 But the girl recovered her temper so far as 
 it was shown in her face. 
 
 "La! I don't care a pin about Malachi 
 Webb," she laughed, with a toss of her head. 
 
 "Then run out, there's a dear, and enjoy 
 yourself." 
 
 " 'Tis better out o' doors than in, any day o' 
 the week," cried she, turning towards the door.
 
 60 A Tangled Web 
 
 Then, without waiting for more words, she 
 acted upon the old man's advice and went out. 
 
 The home-field was by this time thronged 
 with people, for folk had left the standings in 
 the road to come in and join in the dancing or 
 watch the sports. There was to be cudgel- 
 playing on a stage, and wrestling, racing in 
 sacks, and grinning through a horse-collar for 
 a prize. But Ursula was ill at ease. She went 
 wandering from one delight to another, but 
 took no joy in any of them. She was certain 
 Jack White had told. She knew well enough 
 how easily things leak out. Just a whisper in 
 the ear, with a promise to let it go no further, 
 and then, by next day, it had run like wildfire. 
 Above everything, Ursula hated to be talked 
 about. Her father's ways had made her very 
 sore, and already she pictured the neighbours 
 smiling behind her back whenever she might 
 chance to pass down street. But where was 
 Jack White? Not a sign of him anywhere 
 could she see. That made her madder still. 
 It was he who said, "Come up to house !" She 
 never offered it. 
 
 She made her way out of the thickest of the 
 crowd and along the path into the road.
 
 Bratton Revel 61 
 
 Now, when everything was quiet with the 
 pedlars and at the tradesmen's stalls, was the 
 time to look around and choose the promised 
 fairing to carry home to Hannah. Ursula was 
 kind at heart. She would pick out something 
 downright pretty now to please her. Poor 
 little maid ! 
 
 Just above the village ale-house was a nar- 
 row strip of garden running alongside the 
 road, with a bower at one end, furnished with 
 a bench and stools. Scarcely had Ursula 
 passed this summer-house when, suddenly, a 
 sound of voices, high in dispute and talking all 
 together, fell upon her ears. 
 
 " Tis a lie," cried one. "I tell 'ee 'tis a lie." 
 
 And with the same, young Jack stepped out 
 into the open, full in view above the hedgerow. 
 
 He had thrown aside his smock for the holi- 
 day and was in his best a broad-tailed coat 
 that had been his father's, of dark brown West 
 of England cloth, with cuffs six inches wide. 
 For Jack was a bit of a buck in his way, as 
 many of the Whites had been before. But his 
 face was flushed. His teeth clenched. In his 
 fist he still held four cards. With an oath he 
 dashed them down upon the ground.
 
 6a A Tangled Web 
 
 Ho! ho! So Master Johnny had been a- 
 gaming, then and lost. A smile just flickered 
 around Ursula's red lips. She had him, tit for 
 tat. If this were known and should chance to 
 come to the ear of the constable, Master Jacky 
 wouldn't like that. 
 
 Their eyes met. She gave him a mischiev- 
 ous nod and was quick to mark his annoyance 
 at being found out. But he put on the best 
 front he could, stepped back into the bower for 
 his hat, gave a whistle, and, a minute later, was 
 by her side in the road. Close at his heels, but 
 hidden until now by the garden hedge, followed 
 a brindled bull-dog, very heavy in the body and 
 short in the leg. 
 
 "Don't 'ee ever zay a word, Ursie," he 
 begged of her at once. "But there, I do know 
 you won't." 
 
 "Then why have you a-let out about me?" 
 
 "I ha'n't." 
 
 She held up a finger. "You told Malachi 
 Webb." 
 
 "Never a sound, Ursie," he declared, "to any 
 kirsten soul." 
 
 "Sure?" 
 
 "So true as the light."
 
 Bratton Revel 63 
 
 "Sure an' sure an' double-door ?" 
 
 She looked straight at him. She was so 
 deep in earnest that the meaningless words took 
 on the solemn nature of an oath. 
 
 " Ton my life," he swore. 
 
 She could see that he was speaking the truth. 
 Her misgivings set at rest, she was now all 
 eagerness to get back to the field. But she was 
 older that he, and so, as they went, she talked 
 to him, as it were, for his good. 
 
 "What do you want to go a-carding for then, 
 Jack? You've a-got no loose money to lose. 
 An' poor William forced to go to sea. "Pis too 
 bad, Jack. So 'tis." 
 
 He looked quite crestfallen, and had not a 
 word to say. 
 
 She found delight in scolding since he took 
 it so well, and, under the circumstances, there 
 was so much sense in it, too. 
 
 "An' then you mus' needs be running about 
 wherever there's a bull or a bear to be baited. 
 I can't think how you can like to do it. I be 
 ashamed o' 'ee, Jack I be. An' spend you 
 must, for certain, wherever you do go. La! 
 Jack. How can you keep such an ugly thing 
 of a dog for no purpose but to ?"
 
 64 A Tangled Web 
 
 This was too much for young Jack. 
 
 "I tell 'ee what 'tis, Ursie," he cut her off 
 short. "He's the handsomest thing in all 
 Somerset, but one so there. Come on an' 
 zee un. He'll go straight, an' never let go so 
 long as teeth can hold, an' never make a sound 
 'ood 'ee, Holdvast?" He stooped to stroke 
 the beast. "No, not if you did tear un limb 
 from limb. Come on. 'Tis a'most time, 
 now." 
 
 "I do hate to watch it," cried the girl. But, 
 for all that, she quickened her pace and they 
 went along together as merry as crickets. 
 
 The people, by this time, had already begun 
 to make their way to a small coombe in the hill- 
 side, and to take places, some sitting, some 
 standing around. In the middle was a patch 
 of level grass, towards which cousin Simon 
 Mogg and Malachi Webb, in white shirts, were 
 leading a large, red bull that pulled and 
 dragged and snorted as he went. But, willy- 
 nilly, they got him along and, before Jack and 
 Ursula were there, had made him fast to a ring 
 in an oaken stake set deep and firm in the 
 ground. 
 
 It was a sight to terrify a faint heart this
 
 Bratton Revel 65 
 
 huge beast, as he snorted and bellowed with 
 rage at seeing so many folk, and well knowing 
 what was to come. Sometimes he made a rush, 
 may be six or eight yards, hfe tether's length, 
 and stamped and then with lowered head tried 
 to tear up the turf and toss it in the air. But 
 the tips of his horns had been cut off lest he 
 should gore the dogs. Then all the faces 
 round the coombe grew eager with excitement 
 longing for the sport to begin. 
 
 As they drew quite near, Ursula dropped a 
 step behind. But, ashamed to show fear there 
 in the face of the crowd, she kept on, although 
 Jack pushed forward to the very front, as he 
 needs must to set his dog. So the girl was 
 standing very close indeed. 
 
 It was true she hated it. The noise and 
 fierceness of the bull, although she knew he was 
 tied up, made her tremble in spite of herself. 
 The thud of his hoof upon the ground brought 
 her heart into her mouth. For Ursula had 
 imagination to raise dangers before her mind 
 more than her eyes could see. Besides, she 
 was all for gaiety and would rather have been 
 dancing of course she would. Yet, being 
 there, although she was wont to turn sick at
 
 66 A Tangled Web 
 
 sight of blood, there was such a fascination in 
 the sport that she could not help looking. 
 
 The first to be let go was a bitch belonging to 
 Malachi Webb, and she leapt at the bull fair 
 and square, but broke her hold and fell under 
 his breast. Then he, smarting from the 
 scratch of her teeth, and in the first frenzy of 
 his rage, trampled upon her with all his might. 
 It made Ursula hold her breath to see how he 
 turned the white of his wicked eye. The 
 bitch, mangled, and dragging a broken leg, 
 crept out behind, and with a yelp or two 
 crawled out of reach. Then everybody of 
 Bratton, always ready to laugh at Malachi, set 
 up a jeer at his cur. 
 
 Next came the turn of Jack White. 
 
 The dog sprang a good six feet or more and 
 seized the bull by the nose. Truly the boasts 
 of his owner were not vain. Holdfast was 
 as good as his name. Neither shaking, nor 
 lifting, nor crushing against the ground could 
 make him let go. For he was cunning, too, 
 and writhed out of the way when the bull bored 
 down with his head. The people clapped ; then 
 they cheered ; and, at last, there was an uproar 
 that might have been heard at Staverdale,
 
 B ration Revel 67 
 
 Then a thing happened that was the talk of 
 Bratton for many a year. 
 
 Out of breath and out of heart, the bull stood 
 still. Except for the heaving chest and quiver- 
 ing flank, it was like a carven, painted image 
 set up for show. And so they stood, until, 
 after a minute or two, out of very quietness, the 
 dog grew tired and dropped off. 
 
 In an instant, the bull had got him on his 
 horns and tossed him ay, the height of a 
 good-sized hay-rick, and right to the other side 
 of the level grass. 
 
 The dog was high in the air, head down- 
 wards, with his legs outstretched against the 
 sky, and like enough to break his back with 
 such a fall. 
 
 Then, quick as thought, young Jack rushed 
 in past the bull across the green and just 
 in time to catch the falling "Holdvast" in his 
 arms. And need he had to be quick indeed; 
 for the bull, charging from one end to the other, 
 twice his tether's length, followed close at his 
 heels. 
 
 There was a sound very like the crack of a 
 whip, but loud as a gun. 
 
 With the weight of his rush, the collar that
 
 68 A Tangled Web 
 
 held the bull had snapped away from the rope, 
 and the mad beast was free. 
 
 To Ursula, all this was but a glance; and 
 then, the folk were running all ways at once 
 women screaming crying to their children 
 and men, as they got far away and out of dan- 
 ger, shouting to those who were near to "Stop 
 him," as if that were easy to be done. 
 
 Ursula ran and screamed like the rest, only, 
 being so close, she kept turning her head to 
 look over her shoulder in fear of what was to 
 happen. Thus she saw it all. 
 
 The bull, checked as he came upon the rope 
 when it broke, fell forward upon his knees. 
 
 Up in an instant, horns down to the ground, 
 tail stiff as a pump-handle, with all his might he 
 galloped at Jack White. And would have had 
 him, too, in a trice. But, just in the nick of 
 time, Jack dodged aside. The bull, with his 
 eyes shut, went blundering by. Then turned 
 off short and ran after great-uncle Tutchins 
 whom elderly nimbleness could never have 
 saved from a better world if it had not been 
 for a bit of real cleverness. 
 
 Young Jack caught the bull by the tail, and 
 the life of great-uncle Tutchins was spared.
 
 Bratton Revel 69 
 
 Round and round they spun as if they were 
 dancing a reel, whilst Malachi Webb's cur came 
 and barked like a sheep-dog. And Holdfast 
 ran in without a sound, but fell off at once. 
 Then the bull, fairly distraught to find himself 
 tackled in so strange a way, set out straight as 
 a line right down the hill. Hard as he could 
 go, he went (young Jack hanging back as much 
 as he might, but holding fast with both hands), 
 and fell blindly into the gully that parted Jacob 
 Handsford's wheat from the bottom of the 
 home-field. 
 
 So there was an end to the danger, and all 
 the rest was talk. For every tongue began to 
 wag about what might have happened, and 
 young Jack was a hero to be sure. And great- 
 uncle Tutchins felt truly grateful with all his 
 heart, although over-exertion after a heavy 
 meal had brought on a hacking cough, and he 
 was "terrible much afeard," as he owned, him- 
 self, "that he had run so vast thik night that he 
 mus' goo broken-winded the rest of his days." 
 
 The fiddle had struck up again, and many a 
 young couple was footing it briskly in the long 
 shadow to the east of the oak trees by the time 
 Jack White came back to the side of Ursula.
 
 70 A Tangled Web 
 
 He was warm with exertion, and blushing 
 all over his face, as they say, to find himself so 
 much bepraised. 
 
 "Come on, Ursie!" he cried, by way of 
 asking her to dance. 
 
 "Come on," she answered, springing to her 
 feet at once. 
 
 So they stood up for a reel. On and on, up 
 and down went the fiddlestick under the chin 
 of the crowder as if it would never stop. For 
 when a Somerset fiddler's elbow is well oiled 
 with cider, there is no more end to the music 
 than to the noise of a running brook. And the 
 good folk of Bratton, on revel days, never 
 grew leg-weary or wanted to sit down, but 
 hopped and frisked, in and out, and found and 
 back, and then twined with such good heart 
 that, verily and truly, in all likelihood they 
 would have been hopping and frisking now if, 
 by a merciful Providence, a string hadn' a- 
 snapped, and brought things to a sudden stand- 
 still. 
 
 Yet even then the fiddler did not lose his 
 head. Quick as a bird, he made the fiddle 
 squeak, squeak, squeak, for all the world like a 
 little pig pinched by the tail.
 
 Bratton Revel 71 
 
 Then every girl cried "Oh!" as if she 
 thought she was going to be hurt. For, at the 
 sign, every man turned round and kissed his 
 maid as he had good right to do. And if 
 young Jack kissed Ursula, why, she would 
 have thought him a fool if he hadn't and 
 sure, he was almost a brother-law, so there 
 could be no great harm in that. 
 
 They strolled around under the trees to cool. 
 It was most terrible hot, and Jack took off his 
 coat just as if he had been going to work, and 
 hung it out of the way on one of the lower 
 limbs of the oak. Ursula fanned herself with 
 her "handkercher." But they were ready 
 enough, be sure, before the crowder could get 
 in a new string and screw his fiddle well up in 
 tune. 
 
 "Come on," said he. 
 
 "Come on, then," she echoed. 
 
 Ursula never enjoyed a dance so much in 
 her life. 
 
 But the day was passing by. A gentle twi- 
 light came creeping over hill and wood and 
 dale. The golden sunlight faded from the 
 grass, and the last gleam from the western side 
 of the square, red-brick chimneys jutting above
 
 72 A Tangled Web 
 
 the village thatch. Yet it did not become dark. 
 The great full moon had risen behind the 
 homestead of Winterhays straight in the face 
 of the setting sun. So, before they had quite 
 drifted into the dumps o' night, everything 
 was shining silver clear in the bright moon- 
 light. 
 
 Then, many of the quieter folk began to bid 
 "good-bye," and think of turning homewards. 
 But Ursula, carried away with the delight of 
 movement and the freedom of unfettered 
 mirth, went on dancing long after the dew lay 
 wet upon the turf. It was such a change from 
 the narrowness and everlasting fault-finding, 
 morning, noon, and night, of her niggard life. 
 Just for once, this evening, she had been light 
 and happy as heart could wish. So the min- 
 utes passed uncounted, whilst time sped on and 
 it grew late. 
 
 At last, most of the people had gone, and 
 many of those that stayed so late began to 
 grow quarrelsome in drink. For where there 
 are sports, there is certain to be some bother 
 or the other. All the world over, it is just the 
 same the few that win will swagger over 
 their fellows, and they that lose can never sit
 
 Bratton Revel 73 
 
 down satisfied. So the dancers had dwindled 
 down to very few ; and on every side were high 
 words and a lot of noise toward the end of 
 Bratton revel. 
 
 Then Ursula suddenly recollected the late- 
 ness of the hour. 
 
 "I must get on," she whispered in Jack's ear. 
 "I ought to ha' went long agone. I can tell 
 'ee, the old man'll be fine an' angry as 'tis. 
 Walk on down so fur wi' me, Jack. Do 'ee 
 now. There be so many about an' all so 
 rough." 
 
 They went together by a path across the 
 fields, away from so much trumpery hub-bub 
 in the village street. The night was quiet and 
 sweet with all the fragrance of the dew-fed 
 flowers. They talked of everything, with 
 minds as frank and free from guile as the open 
 air upon the hills is free from harm. 
 
 Of how William would have luck for certain 
 and come home soon. And Ursula would get 
 her own money into her own hands, if she died 
 for it, so she would and then marry at once. 
 For what good is it to wait to be rich till all the 
 best o' life is gone? Not a bit. For the soul 
 
 of her, Ursula could not see why folk could 
 6
 
 74 A Tangled Web 
 
 not go on all happy-like, one with another, 
 without so much worry and scraping, just to 
 think you've a-got more than the rest, and then 
 to put it out to use or lock it away out of sight 
 until you be dead. Fags ! There was no sense 
 in that. Not but what Jack must save his ha'- 
 pence that was another thing, but 
 
 So she talked on, with all the deep, uncon- 
 scious wisdom that sounds like nothing when 
 it falls from simple lips. And young Jack saw 
 the rightship, too, of all she said. 
 
 At a stile, hard by the barn, they stopped. 
 Her father hated the Whites, and it would be 
 just as well, if he were waiting, that he should 
 not see young Jack. They stood a minute; 
 then shook hands and parted, with a 
 
 "Good night, Ursie." 
 
 "Good night, Jack." 
 
 She hurried across the barton, with the 
 empty cow-stalls dark upon one side, and 
 through the little garden to the porch. The 
 moonlight fell across the arch and lighted up 
 the stone seat upon the right as bright as day. 
 She lifted the latch and pushed, but the door 
 was firm and would not give an inch. By the 
 rattle she could hear that it was barred.
 
 Bratton Revel 75 
 
 So he had locked her out. 
 
 That he was like to be fine and mad and to 
 use loud words, she knew, but she had never 
 thought of this. Day by day, from early morn- 
 ing to dark night, she worked for him like a 
 slave; and now, because for once in her life 
 she had done as others do and taken her hour 
 of pleasure with the rest, he must turn the key 
 upon her. It was only a threat, to be sure as 
 idle as the jeers with which he was so free. 
 But the insult stung her to the quick. To shut 
 her out from house was like saying she had 
 gone to the bad, and there, for all he cared, 
 she might stay. Again she wished to God he 
 were dead and in his grave. She said it be- 
 tween her set teeth, and meant it, too. She 
 hated him, so there! and had done for years. 
 He thought, no doubt, to hear her knock and 
 knock, and at last come down as a favor and 
 grumble and let her in. She would never 
 knock; not if she stood there all night upon 
 the stones. 
 
 But, just at the height of this resolve, her 
 heart failed. A woman's courage is like a 
 wave which rises sharply into a sudden menace 
 and just as quickly falls away and sinks. A
 
 j6 A Tangled Web 
 
 sound of drunken revellers, singing in snatches 
 as they staggered down the road, made her 
 afraid. 
 
 She knocked and stood waiting, but no one 
 answered. 
 
 Knuckles were no good against the heavy 
 oaken door. By the path lay a pebble that had 
 fallen out of the edging of the flower-knot. 
 She picked it up and knocked again, loudly, on 
 the head of one of the great, square nails. 
 
 Then she laid her ear against the key-hole 
 and listened. But all was silent. There was 
 not so much as a foot- fall in the house. 
 
 She threw down the stone. She would go 
 straight away to the Whites, afore they were 
 a-bed, and tell how she was treated. 
 
 Yet there might be people staying for the 
 night. Great-uncle Tutchins, with his jokes, 
 or that fool, Malachi Webb, gaping and star- 
 ing to swallow down everything said or done. 
 Better take the barn-door key from its hiding 
 place in the chink below the thatch, and go in 
 and lie down upon the cess, the heap of un- 
 thrashed corn upon one side of the threshing- 
 floor, with a sheaf to make as sweet and clean 
 a pillow as head could wish to lie upon.
 
 Bratton Revel 77 
 
 Only there were rats 
 
 Why, even as she was in the porch of a 
 hot mid-summer night 
 
 But with so many tramps about, tumblers 
 and showmen and that bad fellows who were 
 used to creep in anywhere of a night out of the 
 way. 
 
 She shuddered at the thought. 
 
 She was more helpless to shift for herself 
 than a child. At home she would have to stay 
 until William came back to marry her when- 
 ever that might chance to be. There was noth- 
 ing for it but to wait until morning and then 
 drudge on again. 
 
 A bitter feeling that, only half suspected, 
 lay at the bottom of her heart, burst out. 
 
 Why did not William marry her before he 
 went, if he loved her so much as he said ? He 
 had walked with her for more than a twelve- 
 month. Why did he not take her to church, 
 and home to Winterhays, out of the way of 
 so much bother, half of it for his sake? She 
 could have earned her living like the rest. No 
 fear! And would have stood a true wife till 
 he came back, even if it had been for years ; ay, 
 and worked her fingers to the bone there,
 
 78 A Tangled Web 
 
 where her lot was to be cast. But no, he must 
 go off and get money first, and leave her here 
 to bear the brunt of it alone. 
 
 She threw herself into the innermost corner 
 on the darkest side of the porch and gave way 
 to a tempest of angry sobs and tears.
 
 Harvest 79 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 HARVEST 
 
 It was harvest. But, in all Bratton, Jacob 
 Hands ford only had not yet begun to reap. 
 
 All around the hillside, above the orchards 
 bright with apples turning red, below the leafy 
 woods, and wedged between the meadows 
 green with aftergrass, were grounds of golden, 
 waving wheat. The cloudless sky had never 
 looked so blue as just behind the standing bar- 
 ley on the ridge, and not a storm that year had 
 come to beat it down. Only a gentle, rippling 
 breeze to help it ripen in the sun. 
 
 First into one piece then another the reap- 
 ers went, and close behind them stooped the 
 women binding sheaves. From early morning 
 until dark, throughout the happy, sunny days, 
 they worked without a drop of rain. So Brat- 
 ton was in the best of humours. 
 
 Now here, now there, sometimes two to- 
 gether, burst out the shouts and whooping of 
 the reapers as farm after farm cut its last sheaf 
 and decked it out with flowers.
 
 8o A Tangled Web 
 
 " Well cut ! Well bound ! 
 Well shocked! Well zavedfrom ground! " 
 
 Sometimes a waggon rattled up or down the 
 village street past Jacob Handsford's house. 
 Upon the top o' the load was a figure made of 
 the best of the corn, trimmed with ribbons of 
 all colours, and crowned with poppies, great 
 horse-daisies, and hollyhocks. This was the 
 harvest-queen. With it went everybody, sing- 
 ing fit to burst his throat the song of harvest- 
 home: 
 
 " We have ploughed, we have zowed, 
 
 We have reaped, we have mowed, 
 
 We have brought home every load. 
 
 Hip! Hip! Hurrah!" 
 
 Jacob Handsford watched and listened with 
 a bitterness of envy in his heart. The neigh- 
 bours were all doing so well whilst day by day 
 his own was going to waste. It seemed to him 
 that, only to madden him, they crawled as 
 slow as snails up the hill, and cheered the loud- 
 er over-right his door. Ha! he said to him- 
 self, he knew what they meant and the 
 thought made him grind his teeth. For that 
 year they had sent him the "mare!" But, 
 though the fools little guessed it, he could tell 
 where it came from, and who was to pay for
 
 Harvest 8 1 
 
 it, too, in the end. He had overheard every 
 word that was said. 
 
 It came from up to Whites', and this was 
 how it happened. 
 
 In those days, neighbours agreed together 
 to help each other, and do the work first fit. 
 They made a king of the reapers, whose word 
 was law ; and from farm to farm they went in 
 turn, where they were wanted most, and every 
 homestead found a feast. But Jacob, for his 
 stinginess, and because in old times he was 
 never satisfied with what was done, but always 
 fancied himself hurt when men had worked 
 their best, was left out of it to-year, or forced, 
 however great his need, to wait till last. All 
 the world over, where you will, folk will help 
 them first whom they love most; and never a 
 soul could he get to come to him until every- 
 body else had done. So there was good reason 
 why Jacob could not join in the general jollity. 
 He was paying for his meanness a deal more 
 than if he had put money out of pocket to win 
 goodwill. 
 
 Beside himself to know what to do, for the 
 twentieth time he walked up to the ground 
 against the gully to look at his wheat. The
 
 82 A Tangled Web 
 
 sparrows that harboured by the thousand in 
 the tall, thick hedgerows were playing most 
 terrible work with it, to be sure. Blue pigeons 
 spread their wings and sailed down upon it 
 from the oak trees in the wood. And more 
 than that, the berries were dead ripe and dry, 
 fit to drop at the first breath of wind. It was 
 enough to break a man's heart to see the ears 
 so beaten out and thinner day by day. And 
 there, across to Winterhays, they were cutting 
 the last piece, too. 
 
 He heard the fools singing and looked 
 round. 
 
 He saw Ursula standing on one side, laugh- 
 ing and joking with the rest enjoying her- 
 self just as if there were no such thing as waste 
 of money in this world. A trumpery giglet 
 of a maid, that any minute of the day must 
 needs run off; and yet, for the life of him, he 
 dared not say too much, for fear she might go 
 and leave him altogether. 
 
 He blamed that to the Whites, too. They 
 set her against him, and held with her in her 
 defiance. Ever since she stayed up to Winter- 
 hays so late, the night he locked her out of 
 house, she was changed, and cared no more
 
 Harvest 8 3 
 
 for him than if his words were water. And 
 although nothing came of it at the time, and 
 nothing had been said since, unspoken thoughts 
 kept working in the heart of each like hidden 
 seeds swelling underground and only waiting 
 the right moment to spring forth. 
 
 What happened then Jacob knew no more 
 than the dead. 
 
 To bolt the door and go to bed at dark was 
 his habit, for he never could a-bear to light a 
 candle in summer-time. It pleased him to 
 know that he was doing only as he was wont, 
 and Ursula must take the inevitable conse- 
 quence. And then, twice he heard her knock. 
 Ha ! let her knock again. And let it be a lesson 
 to her. She had never consulted him about 
 going out, so what need to consider her about 
 coming in? Jacob sat up in bed and listened. 
 
 But when Ursula did not knock he became 
 restless. 
 
 What was she doing? Had she gone back 
 to Whites' for the night ? Every soul in Brat- 
 ton would know it, to-morrow, and not one but 
 would take the girl's part. Or had she gone 
 for good, as she, yesterday, threatened? The 
 thought made him more uneasy still.
 
 84 A Tangled Web 
 
 At last he could bear the silence and uncer- 
 tainty no longer. He got up, slipped on his 
 small-clothes, and went down-stairs to open the 
 door. 
 
 But Ursula was not there. The porch was 
 empty, and he walked out into the barton in 
 the bright moonlight and stood beside the 
 stalls. Perhaps she might have crept in some- 
 where out of the way into some corner to 
 wait for morning. He called her name. But 
 everything was still. If she were hiding, she 
 did not care to answer. He called again, 
 louder than before. He was afraid that some- 
 body might be about and hear, and he stole 
 back into the house and barred the door once 
 more, with a feeling that things had not turned 
 out well, and he had made a fool of himself. 
 
 If Ursula were to go from home, and the 
 cows now all come into full pail, who would 
 make the cheese, to-morrow? 
 
 That thought worried him as much as what 
 folk would say. He could not get a wink of 
 sleep all night for turning it over in his mind, 
 and, at daybreak, he got up and went out 
 again. Like enough she had found a place 
 somewhere out of the way. Perhaps he might
 
 Harvest 85 
 
 find her now, and sneer at her crumpled "fal- 
 lals," for Ursula would have on all her finery 
 no fear. But nothing fell out to his wish. 
 In barn or loft or stall, not a latch had been 
 lifted. And at the hour for fetching in the 
 cows, Ursula came down as usual, fresh as a 
 daisy, after a good night's sleep. The toad of 
 a maid went singing on her way to the leaze. 
 
 Jacob Handsford was perplexed, but he 
 wisely kept a still tongue. She must have crept 
 in unbeknown before he went to bed. 
 
 And Ursula never said a word, but, for that 
 reason, harboured anger all the more. 
 
 So it was like wormwood to him to see her 
 in the Whites' harvest-field. She was joking 
 with young Jack, for the reaping drew to an 
 end and he stood upright, hook in hand. The 
 last few blades came to cutting. The men 
 stopped work, but left a handful of standing 
 corn. Then the king o' the reapers, great-uncle 
 Tutchins as it happened, trimmed up with 
 flowers, "like a great Tom-fool," as Jacob mut- 
 tered to himself, toddled up to this last bit of 
 wheat, and, just below the ruddy ears, with a 
 pride that made Jacob sick, he tied the straw 
 together in a knot.
 
 86 A Tangled Web 
 
 Whooping like a pack o' boys, the reapers 
 all stood back in a half-circle and threw their 
 reap-hooks at this mark. But nobody could hit 
 it ; and the longer they went on, the louder they 
 shouted and the wilder was their aim. 
 
 "Ha! They'd grumble loud enough if 
 'twere work an' they had to do it," growled 
 Jacob. 
 
 At that moment, a hook sped true and the 
 last blades were cut. 
 
 Then he who had chanced to hit, rushed 
 forward and held the bunch of corn above his 
 head. 
 
 "I ha' her. I ha' her. I ha' her," he yelled, 
 in triumph. 
 
 Then all the others answered back. 
 
 "What ha' 'ee? .What ha' 'ee? What ha* 
 'ee?" 
 
 "A mare ! A mare ! A mare !" 
 
 "Whose is her? Whose is her? Whose is 
 her?" 
 
 Malachi Webb was the lucky man at 
 Whites'. Red in the face with joy, he shouted 
 out his own name to claim possession. 
 
 "Malachi Webbses! Malachi Webbses! 
 Malachi Webbses!"
 
 Harvest 87 
 
 "Who will 'ee zend her to? Who will 'ee 
 zend her to ? Who will 'ee zend her to ?" 
 
 "To little Jakey Handsford. To little Ja- 
 key " 
 
 The remainder of the words, always relig- 
 iously repeated three times, were drowned in 
 the outburst of cheering and derision that fol- 
 lowed. Ursula, standing by, laughed like the 
 rest. Why not? It was only a joke to them, 
 and if they chose to send this trumpery little 
 sheaf, which for no reason in life they called 
 a "mare," down to her father, what was that 
 to her? It had been done before to others. 
 Why not to him? It was a common thing to 
 send it to the neighbour who was last with his 
 harvest, and why should he be different to the 
 rest ? She did not care. Even from a distance 
 he could see that. 
 
 Jacob, standing amidst his spoiling crop, 
 grew pale with rage. 
 
 His ears had drunk in every syllable ; and he, 
 whose talk in the main was jeering at other 
 folk, could not bear so much as a smile against 
 himself. He crept out of the corn and hurried 
 home unseen. He would give a greeting to 
 their messenger if any should appear. He felt
 
 88 A Tangled Web 
 
 mad enough, except for a thought of law which 
 costs money, win or lose alike, to lay in wait 
 and knock the fellow down with a pick. He 
 stayed at home on purpose to give him a word 
 of a sort with the rough side of his tongue. 
 
 Nobody came. 
 
 Malachi Webb was too wise, ha! and they 
 all knew better than to show their noses there. 
 Their talk was nothing but words, after all 
 empty words and foolery, of which the world 
 was full. 
 
 He reassured himself. He even sneered in- 
 wardly at such trumpery folk too faint-hearted 
 to carry out what they had in mind. 
 
 It so happened that the milking now was no 
 longer done in the barton, but in the field in 
 the shade of the tall elm trees by the back of 
 the house. As they sat to the cows in the cool 
 of that afternoon, he kept twitting Ursula as 
 usual. 
 
 "Ha ! Zo they ha'n't a-zend down the mare 
 to little Jakey Handsf ord. Eh ? They thought 
 better o' it, zimly. He! he! There is one or 
 two of 'em might want a poun' or two o' un, 
 one o' these fine days. Zo better not to affront 
 lin. Eh? Oh no; better not to affront un."
 
 Harvest 89 
 
 But, when Jacob came to go into house, there 
 was the silly little sheaf, straight under the 
 nose of him. Somebody had come by stealth, 
 when the place was empty, and stuck it through 
 the ring of the front door latch. 
 
 With an oath, he dragged it out, and cursed 
 and swore; threw it under foot and stamped 
 the ears abroad upon the smooth, stone floor. 
 But all his fury was against the Whites. Mal- 
 achi Webb, who had shouted his name, was 
 such a born fool that for the moment he was 
 of no account. It came from the Whites. It 
 was they who had sent it sent it out o' spite 
 because they couldn't get on themselves, and 
 couldn't a-bear to see others do well. That 
 was the phrase Jacob used for getting and sav- 
 ing, and nothing else. 
 
 He cursed them one and all at the top of his 
 voice, with every evil that wish could put into 
 words. 
 
 That the widow might want bread. That 
 the house might catch fire and burn over her 
 head. That their beasts should go dry, ay, 
 and drop and die like flies in a frost, and lie 
 and rot. That the young Jack might be 
 brought home on a hurdle from his cudgel- 
 
 7
 
 90 A Tangled Web 
 
 play or his bull-baiting ha! Sprack as he 
 mid be. And that William might sink at sea 
 and drown in sight of shore. 
 
 At the height of his frenzy, he stopped short. 
 He had spent all his curses, or come suddenly 
 to a sense that they were waste of breath. 
 
 He kicked the bundle of bruised straw out of 
 doors and turned into the kitchen. 
 
 His voice sank very low. It was little more 
 now than a muttering to himself as he went. 
 
 "But they shall pay for it. Ha! Their little 
 jokes shall stand in a big price. It shall cost 
 'em dear, then, little as they mid think it now, 
 whilst they do laugh. He! he! poun's an' 
 poun's they shall lose by it afore all is a-done. 
 An' Malachi, too. Mayhap, Malachi may grin 
 the t'other side of the ugly face o' un when he 
 do next get word from little Jakey Handsford. 
 So there."
 
 Warning 9 1 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 WARNING 
 
 Three days had passed since the reaping, 
 and the Whites were to have their feast of 
 harvest-home that night. 
 
 It was early afternoon, with all the glowing 
 heat of mid-day in the still, soft air, on the 
 crumbling ground, and in the crackling stub- 
 ble underfoot. Ursula, free until evening, 
 strolled up into the wheat-field under the wood- 
 side to pick herself a pocketful of nuts. The 
 ruddy, golden sheaves set up in stitch ten to 
 the stitch, ready for the pa' son to take his tithe 
 reached, in long rows, both up and down, 
 all athirt the ground. Ursula, in her laced 
 bodice and sun-bonnet, passed loitering be- 
 tween, and, as she went, here and there she 
 plucked an ear, rubbed out the berries between 
 her hands, and stopped to winnow away the 
 chaff with her breath. More than once she 
 glanced around to see if anybody were about. 
 But the harvesters were carrying overhedge, 
 shut out of sight by a thick screen of hazel
 
 92 A Tangled Web 
 
 leaves. They would not be there for an hour 
 or two until the sun came over the tall trees in 
 the wood. She could hear their voices, and 
 now and again the rattle of the plough, as in 
 those days they used to call the waggon and 
 team. 
 
 Ursula was to be at the feast, of course. 
 
 She did not care a button what her father 
 might say or do, since he had locked her out, 
 three months ago. He might lock her out 
 again if he liked. She meant to act as she 
 would. Long before then, a constant fretting 
 had worn thin every thread and link that binds 
 together father and child, often as much from 
 pride and interest as love; and, on that night, 
 the last was broken. The affection that should 
 spring in infancy got blighted and never blos- 
 somed into respect. She was ashamed, and 
 cared not a straw for him and his grumbling. 
 She could even talk outright of his meanness, 
 to Jack or the widow, or to any of the neigh- 
 bours, rather than it should seem that she held 
 with his ways. She laughed to think that he 
 had never suspected how she got in. 
 
 For, as Ursula sat sobbing that night, with- 
 out sound of footstep within and with scarcely
 
 Warning 93 
 
 a rattle of the latch, very stealthily the door 
 opened, so slowly that the hinges scarcely 
 creaked. Out of the gloomy darkness of the 
 passage, white as a ghost and quite silent, came 
 little Hannah Peach. Her feet were bare. She 
 had on only the little short smock, just down to 
 her knees, she wore at night. As she crept out 
 into the porch and looked at Ursula in the 
 moonlight, her face grew keen and eager with 
 expectation. 
 
 The child was excited. "The maister, he 
 zend me on," she said, speaking with the quick 
 delight of one who looks for praise. "But I 
 run an' stood to winder in the empty room 
 above to watch for 'ee, Miss Urs'la. There, I 
 couldn't shut my eyes nor bide abed for looking 
 for 'ee to come. Zo I heard un bolt 'ee out. Zo 
 I run down, Miss Urs'la " 
 
 She glanced from right to left to note 
 whether Ursula carried anything in hand. 
 Then she looked up again with wistful eyes. 
 
 "That's a good girl, Hannah. I shall re- 
 member 'ee. Run on up to bed at once afore 
 your feet do get chilled 'pon the stones. Run 
 on, my maid. I'll do 'ee a good turn one o' 
 these days."
 
 94 A Tangled Web 
 
 The child drew back a little into the door- 
 way, but waited. 
 
 "Did 'ee did 'ee bring ?" 
 
 Then Ursula bethought herself. 
 
 "There!" she suddenly cried, "if I ha'n't a- 
 forgot what I promised 'ee, Hannah. Good 
 now! Well, I did think o' it, too, an' then it 
 slipped out o' mind. You shall have it. Don't 
 you fear, my maid. You shall " 
 
 But with a sigh, Hannah, turning to the un- 
 lighted staircase, had faded out of sight. 
 
 Yet, on the morrow, Ursula was as good as 
 her word. She gave to Hannah Peach a lucky 
 fourpenny bit with a hole in it, which she 
 warned her never to part with, for then she 
 could never be out o' money, come what may. 
 
 This dazzling gift of riches, beyond her 
 wildest dream, the little workhouse orphan 
 wrapped in paper, but night and morn took 
 out to feast her eyes upon. All the week, for 
 fear it might get lost, she kept it hidden in the 
 toe of her Sunday shoe. But when she went 
 to church, she carried it in her pocket, and, 
 whilst she said her prayers, clutched it tight. 
 
 Oh, no! Jacob, with his cunning, had not 
 given a thought to Hannah Peach.
 
 Warning 95 
 
 And Ursula had never felt so happy and 
 light-hearted as during the last three months. 
 
 Half her time she spent up to Whites'. And 
 nothing but right, too, since she was to wed 
 with William, and the widow made her wel- 
 come as ever flowers in May. The life at Win- 
 terhays was free. There was room in that 
 home for the heart to grow. For the first time 
 she breathed, after the tongue-tied, hide-bound 
 poverty in wealth of her father's house. These 
 Whites took such pride and put such trust in 
 each other. It sounded good to hear Jack 
 make a god of William, and the widow sing the 
 praises of Jack. 
 
 The widow was full of motherly cares. As 
 she hurried about the household chores, all her 
 talk was of the boys. For certain, her mind 
 dwelt most on William who was away at sea, 
 but it was clear to see that Jack was the Ben- 
 jamin and nearest to her heart. She spread 
 out his virtues to cover up the short-comings 
 of youth. For Jack was wonderful for work. 
 Nobody better 'pon earth. Only she must say 
 it, if 'twere the last words she had to speak, 
 Jack would get about wi' gay company that 
 were no good to him for all the world like his
 
 96 A Tangled Web 
 
 poor father, so easy led and never could say no. 
 Now, William was a Puckeridge all over. No- 
 body could ever lead him or frighten. Oh no, 
 stubborn as a bull, and never to be turned when 
 his mind was once a-made up. And quick and 
 hot as fire if you did but thwart him with a look 
 ah! bless you! fit to kill a man, when his 
 blood was up. Though that might come of 
 his roving life, for he softened most wonderful 
 the last twelvemonth he lived at home. But 
 then, William had a mole on his left foot, a sure 
 sign that of a fierce, determined nature that 
 nobody could cow. A'most all the Puck- 
 eridges had moles. A-put by a merciful God 
 for some wise purpose, an' a warning, without 
 doubt. Now, Jack had never spot nor blemish 
 from head to heel. But Jack favoured the 
 Whites, and a White was always smooth as a 
 woman. 
 
 So she would go on by the hour; for the 
 presence of Ursula about the place cheered her 
 way, loosened the strings of her tongue, and 
 lightened the burden of life. And la, there! 
 Ursula was as sprack as a kitten and always 
 ready to lend a hand. A capital good wife she 
 would make one o' these days and no mistake.
 
 Warning 97 
 
 The mother in Rizpah warmed towards the 
 maiden who was William's sweetheart ; for the 
 heart of a true woman never grows so staid as 
 to lose sense of the romance in marriage yet to 
 be. This wholesome frankness of the farm 
 where folk was natural and nothing was hid- 
 den, because there was nothing to hide in 
 spite of anxious hours, made the days pass by 
 as sweet as summer. 
 
 Yet, in the bosom of Ursula, that afternoon, 
 was a growing restlessness that kept her all the 
 time on edge, in spite of herself. She made a 
 cup of her two hands, raised it to her mouth, 
 and blew away the chaff over her fingers. 
 After all this trouble taken, she threw the wheat 
 upon the ground. Then, suddenly, she quick- 
 ened her pace and strode up into the corner 
 where the hedgerow meets the wood. 
 
 Never, by word of mouth, had they agreed 
 to meet ; but, sure as the day came round, some- 
 where or the other, quiet in the fields, she was 
 certain to fall in with young Jack. If she did 
 but pass along the hedge a-nutting, he must 
 chance to come that way to pull the boughs 
 down ready to her hand. But that afternoon 
 he had not walked across.
 
 98 A Tangled Web 
 
 Not that she wanted him not she. So she 
 said to herself, with a toss of the head, as she 
 hastened with quick steps upon the glistening 
 stubble. He had his own mind to use, to come 
 or stay away for all she cared. He was noth- 
 ing to her, and never could be more than a 
 friend of course. Yet she cast another glance 
 over her shoulder and gave one more look 
 towards the gate. For though there were no 
 more in it than warm blood and the joy of 
 youth, Ursula felt neglected. She felt angry 
 with herself, too, to be so vexed and disap- 
 pointed because he was not there. 
 
 Oh well! Some fine day before long, he 
 would want her counsel, as he had many a time 
 of late. He was always in some bother or the 
 other, with no more headpiece over his shoul- 
 ders than a great, overgrown boy. She could 
 tell by his face when something went amiss; 
 and the very next time she could be too busy to 
 listen to one word of it so there. 
 
 What a fool she was! Though, for that 
 matter, a body can't help her thoughts; and 
 other folk don't know what you don't tell, 
 thank goodness. 
 
 Close above her head the nuts hung thick.
 
 Warning 99 
 
 She stepped down into the ditch and climbed 
 the bank, reaching up her bare arm to get at a 
 cluster of six. 
 
 From the wood behind her came a rustling 
 of leaves and the snapping sound of bushes 
 thrust aside. Her face brightened. Quick 
 as thought she understood. To be out of sight 
 of the harvesters, he had gone round and 
 pushed his way through the copse. 
 
 So he could not stay away then, even when 
 folk were about, and he afraid that they would 
 laugh. She climbed closer into the hedge. 
 There was no need to take note of him until 
 he spoke. 
 
 "Ursie." 
 
 She turned suddenly round and greeted him 
 in surprise, as if his being there were the thing 
 farthest from her thoughts. 
 
 "Hullo, Jack, then ! What, is that you?" 
 
 Then Jack, smiling, drawled his usual an- 
 swer, never changing so much as a word. 
 
 "I eyed 'ee out here, Ursie. Zo I thought I 
 mid so well come up." 
 
 They looked straight into each other's eyes 
 and laughed. As to the little bit o' flim-flam 
 that took nobody in. Each knew the other
 
 ioo A Tangled Web 
 
 had their meeting full in mind. So the pre- 
 tence only turned to mirth and put them at 
 their ease, as it were. 
 
 "Let's go an' zit down a bit, Ursie, an' talk," 
 he begged of her, in a coaxing tone, and 
 pointed to a stitch of corn hard by. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "Tidden very likely. Not I," she said, mak- 
 ing much of what, after all, was but a very 
 small matter. 
 
 "But I've a-got something to tell 'ee." 
 
 An anxious look upon his face, altogether 
 out of keeping with his happy-go-lucky nature, 
 made her pause. 
 
 "What is it? What foolery have 'ee a-bin 
 up to, now ?" she asked, sharply. 
 
 " 'Tis nothing o' that. 'Tis something I do 
 want 'ee to know, Ursie, most partic'lar." 
 
 Her curiosity was awakened. In the next 
 breath she gave consent. "Oh, well there! 
 since 'tis but jus' for a minute, I don't so very 
 much mind if I do." 
 
 The sun was some time past the south, but 
 as yet the shadows were not long. Jack was 
 in shirt-sleeves, rolled up to the elbows, fresh 
 from his work. They walked across and sat
 
 Warning I o i 
 
 down side by side upon the yellow stubble, 
 against a cone of leaning sheaves that rose 
 above their heads and sheltered them like a hut. 
 They were so hidden that a person might have 
 come within ten yards and gone again no whit 
 the wiser that anyone was there. 
 
 He took off his hat and threw it down upon 
 the ground. 
 
 "Ursie," he began, in a whisper, leaning to- 
 wards her, still with a troubled look in his eyes, 
 "do 'ee know your vather is at everything he 
 can to get away Winterhays ? He've a-bin to 
 'em an' bid good money, so 'tis a-told me. So 
 much an' more 'an 'tis worth, so as to get us 
 out." 
 
 The girl flushed crimson and her lips set 
 firm. It was just such a bit of underhand 
 craftiness as the mind of Jacob Handsford 
 would secretly invent. Oh yes. To give these 
 poorer neighbours, whom he hated like poison, 
 the last push into the ditch would bring him the 
 greatest joy in life. Her heart went with the 
 Whites. 
 
 "But how do 'ee know?" she presently asked, 
 in the quick, short manner that betrays a doubt. 
 After all, it was scarcely to be believed that her
 
 IO2 A Tangled Web 
 
 father could bring himself to give more for 
 anything than it was worth. 
 
 "I had it in to 'The Bear' of a clerk in to 
 lawyer Winsford's office, that Jacob Hands- 
 ford, he went in o' Monday, an' offered more 
 'an 'tis allowed at to us. For, he zaid, he could 
 zee the widow 'ud never be able to take it up 
 never in this world. Zo he thought no harm 
 to speak in time, looking to what was sure to 
 turn out. I do know 'tis true, Ursie. I've 
 a-played skittles wi' the man, manies o' times; 
 zo he wouldn't tell me a lie. But he dropped 
 me a whisper never to fall behind wi' the rent, 
 or maybe they mid be glad o' the chance to run 
 word an' take away the place to once." 
 
 The girl's eyes flashed in a fury of indigna- 
 tion. She could see it all. She could hear the 
 very tone of her father's voice, saying that the 
 Whites could never do at Winterhays. 
 
 " 'Tis all like un to be zo undercreeping and 
 sly," she cried, and the words became pictures 
 upon her lips from the feeling with which she 
 uttered them. "He do covet the fields because 
 they do lie zo handy to his own. An' he do 
 hate 'ee all, too, like the very old Scratch his- 
 zelf . He do love money zo dearly that he can't
 
 Warning 103 
 
 abear anybody wi' none to part wi' or that 
 do spend a shilling when he don't. I wish 
 somebody 'ud do un out o' it. I do. It 'ud 
 do the heart o' me good to zee un lost every 
 penny-piece that he've a-got in the world." 
 
 From very stress of wrath she stopped. 
 Then, because her anger must find something 
 to fix upon something that could feel it, as it 
 were she turned sharply upon young Jack. 
 
 "An' why must you be wasting your money 
 at 'The Bear,' then; an' at skittles an' foolery, 
 when it'll take every farthing you can beg or 
 borrow to hold your own? I know what it'll 
 be. Vather 'ull gain his ends, no fear! He'll 
 follow an' follow like a stoat 'pon the track of 
 a rabbit. Why, you'll be out o' house an' 
 home, as you do go on, afore William have 
 a-got time to be back." 
 
 The youth's countenance fell. He looked 
 down upon the ground and pulled up by the 
 roots the stubble that lay close to his hand. His 
 confusion showed quite clearly how much he 
 felt her taunts and how great the power she 
 held over him. He was so crestfallen that he 
 could not find a word of sense to answer. 
 
 "I'll I'll never do it no more, Ursie," he
 
 104 A Tangled Web 
 
 stammered, humbly, not daring to look her in 
 the face. 
 
 It was the first unkind word she had ever 
 spoken him. All their talk had hitherto been 
 pleasant and her manner almost caressing. 
 For, if she had an eye to his follies, well, he 
 knew about the wasted milk ; and so they took 
 things lightly and laughed and were friends. 
 They got along together as thick as thieves. 
 He was straight, and strong, and fresh with 
 the ruddiness of early youth. Ever since they 
 danced at the revel, his fondness for her grew 
 and grew beyond all hiding. It showed 
 through everything he said or did. But what 
 could that matter ? Her two or three years to 
 the good made her a woman, whilst he, al- 
 though a man full-grown, was but a boy in 
 mind. She had the wit to treat him like a 
 youth and hold her place. And as for this 
 "calf-love" his unspoken but clearly discov- 
 ered folly for one older than himself and out 
 of all reach well, he knew as well as the rest 
 of the world that she was only waiting to wed 
 with the man of her choice. 
 
 It softened her to see him so put down. 
 
 "Well then, zee that you do do as I do tell
 
 Warning 1 05 
 
 *ee." She laughed with an air of having taken 
 him under her wing. 
 
 "I will, Ursie," he burst out warmly, in glad- 
 ness at this return of her good humour. "For 
 there's nobeddy 'pon earth I do think o' the 
 zame as I do you." 
 
 "All very well, Jackie," she said, very slowly, 
 and shaking her head. 
 
 " 'Tis true !" he cried, raising his voice and 
 looking her straight in the face. 
 
 "Ah! But I ben't zo foolish as to take in 
 all I do hear," she told him, and made a little 
 grimace with her red lips. But although there 
 was mockery in the words, in her heart she took 
 delight to feel the power of her womanhood, 
 and to know that it held him hand and foot as 
 it were, and always at her beck and call. 
 
 He grew more than ever in earnest. 
 
 "Why, I'd walk barefoot a hundred mile to 
 please 'ee, Ursie. I would. I'd go through 
 vire and water to " 
 
 She cut him short. 
 
 "We don't hear a sound o' William," she 
 said, with a shy enjoyment in it too, and a 
 glance at him to see how he would take the 
 blow.
 
 106 A Tangled Web 
 
 His talk of what he would do for her was 
 brought to a sudden close. All the eagerness 
 and gladness fled from his eyes. Again he 
 was dumfoundered, and looked down upon the 
 ground. He twisted the long stubble round 
 his fingers and crumbled the dry earth away 
 from the roots. 
 
 "No; not a word," he presently answered, 
 gloomily. 
 
 "But you thought to, didn' 'ee, Jack?" she 
 asked, fondling him again with her voice, for 
 she could not leave him alone, do what she 
 would. "There, I can zee you did. You do 
 show it by the look o' 'ee." 
 
 " Tis like this," he said, grimly. He cast 
 away the clod and struck the soil from his 
 hands as he spoke ; yet he did not dare to look 
 up. "If they had a-met wi' luck, they must ha' 
 come into port wi' the prize. But I reckon the 
 French ships be scarce, and hard to fall in wi'. 
 There's a-many have a-bin tookt, an' many be 
 afeard to zail, though I've a-got no doubt my- 
 self but what he's right enough." 
 
 "But the other ship mid beat his." 
 
 "Not very likely. She's zo well found for 
 her size as a real Queen's man-o'-war."
 
 Warning 1 07 
 
 "Yet, for all that, mid turn out zo. An' 
 what then, Jack?" 
 
 He glanced up at her quickly when she spoke 
 his name. There was something in her man- 
 ner of speaking deeper than the mere words. 
 Something that raised a thought a hope that 
 died away at once and left him ashamed. 
 
 "He'd lie in a French prison to the end o' the 
 war," he said, in a low voice. "That is, if he 
 should have the luck to live. For they do die 
 of fever by the dozen, zo 'tis zaid." 
 
 Ursula drew a deep breath, and her face 
 grew very grave. She might have to live at 
 home for ever (and that was worse than any 
 gaol) if things turned out like that. 
 
 "That mid be a longful while," she sighed. 
 "Next-never-come-day, mayhap." 
 
 What with the matter of the land and doubts 
 about the money and, more than all, a secret 
 feeling, unspoken but understood, growing up 
 in the mind of each a gloom and a foreboding 
 had fallen over their talk. For both at heart 
 were honest. Yet, as the eyes of Jack fell upon 
 the face of Ursula, when she spoke about the 
 dangers of war, that thought, at variance to 
 his love for .William, had flashed like lightning
 
 io8 A Tangled Web 
 
 across his brain. Of late, he had gone in dread 
 of William's return. Even though his brother 
 should come to-morrow with enough to get 
 back all the farm, the moment of rejoicing, of 
 meeting at the cross-roads where they parted 
 to tramp together up Bratton Street, must fall 
 upon him like a blow. Ursula would take no 
 heed after that In a month, or allowing just 
 time enough to ask out the banns, she would be 
 married. Again there came into his heart a 
 wish that William might not come back. 
 Clear and unmistakable, it lasted only for a 
 moment and was gone. 
 
 They had been talking longer than they 
 knew. A soft shadow from the wood fell 
 along the slope of the hill right down to the 
 sheaves against which they sat. The shouts 
 of the harvesters came close up to the hedge- 
 row, and the great voice of Malachi Webb, 
 from the top of the load, kept asking, "Well, 
 where's young Jack a-got to, then ? Where's 
 young Jack?" 
 
 "He's only gone to courty Ursie Handsford 
 for his brother William, you mid depend," 
 drawled great-uncle Tutchins, and the sugges- 
 tion was received with a roar of laughter ; for.
 
 Warning 109 
 
 all the relatives were again at Winterhays that 
 afternoon for the widow's harvest-home. 
 
 " Tis too much to put upon a young feller 
 like Jack, then, I do call," roared Malachi. 
 
 "Not but what he do do his best by all 
 accounts,'' jerked out great-uncle Tutchins, out 
 of breath, as he raised sheaf after sheaf on his 
 pick. Then they could hear his fat, double- 
 cunning chuckle as the heavy load creaked on. 
 
 "I had better be getting back to the work, 
 Ursie. They've most a-done there. There's 
 only this to carr', now, an' they'll be here in a 
 jiffy," he said, in her ear. 
 
 But the open talk of the harvesters had made 
 Ursula cautious and afraid. She quickly laid 
 one hand upon his arm to hold him from get- 
 ting up until the waggon had passed over fur- 
 ther from the hedge. 
 
 "Hearky!" all at once she whispered, and 
 held her finger upraised. Then they both sat 
 silent to listen. 
 
 Sure enough, close behind them could be 
 heard a quick step rattling upon the stubble. 
 It loitered; sometimes stopping and then 
 again passing on from stitch to stitch. 
 
 They remained quite still. So far, they
 
 no A Tangled Web 
 
 were out of sight. Like as not, whoever it 
 might be would come and go and never dream 
 that anyone was nigh. 
 
 Then from behind them strode the widow. 
 She stood, tall and gaunt-looking for worry 
 and summer work when days are long had 
 made her thinner than formerly beside the 
 sheaves next-by. Her face was stern and 
 angry. She, too, had overheard. That folk 
 calling themselves kin should talk like that 
 made her blood boil. She could scarcely keep 
 from going there right and calling great-uncle 
 Tutchins a fool to his face. Only then he 
 would go home, now when the work was done, 
 and that looked as if she saved a supper. But 
 although the widow would find meat and drink 
 of the best for anyone who came to her house, 
 there must be no joking at her expense. She 
 would give it to great-uncle Tutchins even 
 now. Ah! wait until by-and-bye-night, when 
 he got up to go and held out his hand to bid 
 good bye. Then she would hold herself up 
 }to her full height and say, "No, Girt-uncle 
 Tutchins, I've a-made 'ee welcome all alike, 
 but I do only care to shake hands wi' my true 
 friends." Or, better still, perhaps, to shake
 
 Warning 1 1 1 
 
 hands and let him tell how wonderful well he 
 had enjoyed himself, and then say, "An' glad 
 I be to hear it, Girt-uncle Tutchins, sure, but 
 I should ha' bin better pleased wi' your com- 
 pany if I could ha' felt better pleased wi' your- 
 zelf." 
 
 An' then he would look up all in wonder- 
 like, and ask, "What's that then?" and she 
 could up and tell him straight out, how, being 
 her own uncle by name and blood, she did take 
 it to heart that he should hollar ill of his own 
 kin to the four winds for all the world to hear 
 though as to Malachi Webb, she would say, 
 turning round to Malachi with the same, he, 
 of course, being only second cousin first re- 
 moved by his mother's side, and well known to 
 have more tongue than sense, and to talk more 
 than he could stan' to well, his words being 
 the chakle of a born fool, good or bad, weighed 
 of no consequence. 
 
 Let them see how they liked that, and what 
 their feelings must be, there before everybody, 
 after they had sat down to so fine a green goose 
 as ever was fork stuck into. 
 
 Yet, though this excitement was fermenting 
 in the widow's brain, all her mind seemed bent
 
 ii2 A Tangled Web 
 
 upon the wheat. She stooped to pull a hand- 
 ful of green stuff, thistles and poppies, from 
 amongst the reed, for it is always the weeds 
 that heat and spoil the good crop. She twisted 
 it together tight to find if it were full dry ; and 
 looked at it with all the doubtsome care for 
 prudent husbandry that falls upon a woman 
 lone and husbandless. "Please God, we ben't 
 a day too quick," she muttered to herself 
 then turned her head and saw young Jack and 
 Ursula only a few yards away. 
 
 Then folk had reason for their talk! 
 
 Her passion for respectability, for a life up- 
 right as the wheaten straw and clean as the 
 yellow apples on her orchard trees, so that no 
 finger could be raised in scorn or laughter at 
 herself or any of her belongings, was deeper 
 even than the love of Jacob Handsford for his 
 money. 
 
 They were sitting on the ground close to- 
 gether, leaning with their backs against the 
 sheaves, their faces turned towards each other 
 the better to talk. 
 
 Rizpah White was furious. The sight of 
 them at that moment, the gossip of the har- 
 vesters still ringing in her ears, was more than
 
 Warning 113 
 
 she could bear. The waggons had passed out 
 of hearing and they were alone. There was 
 nothing to hinder or to put a check upon her 
 tongue. The pent-up anxiety of months of 
 widowhood, the wrath already burning in her 
 heart, and now her anger and shame at be- 
 haviour giving good cause for talk, all found a 
 voice, as with half a dozen hasty strides she 
 stood full in front of Ursula, taking no heed 
 of Jack. 
 
 "Zo this is the false-hearted, double-faced 
 huzzy that you be," she cried, stamping her 
 foot, "to come up to house, day by day, wi' a 
 face all smiles an' words so soft as butter, an' 
 all the while to be toling the boy from his work 
 till the whole parish do bide a-grinning to zee 
 how you do go on. An' pretty going-ons, too, 
 there must be for folk to talk as they do. Why, 
 Girt-tmcle Tutchins an' the rest o' 'em do know 
 no more than the dead how you've a-crope 
 away this day to hidey under the sheaves out 
 o' sight. Yet they've a-zeed enough other 
 times and places, zim-zo, to make the name o' 
 Ursie Handsford a bye-word all the country 
 round. But a maid wi' her name in every- 
 body's mouth is no better than a fool, if she do
 
 114 A Tangled Web 
 
 think to wed an honest man. Why, William, 
 if his pride is but half so hot as his temper, 'ull 
 throw 'ee off like a wold shoe, when he do but 
 catch a sound o' what's a-said. An' right, too. 
 I do uphold un in it. For, if the Whites be 
 poor, sooner 'an he should marry wi' a thing 
 of a flirtigig " 
 
 Ursula, crimson as a poppy, sprang to her 
 feet. The word hit hard. Harmless as it 
 sounds, it meant more than a mere flirtation 
 and carried a reproach. It was a name to 
 wound and leave a sting. 
 
 "An' he's welcome to do as he will," cried 
 the girl, choking with tears that were too proud 
 to flow. "An' when he do come back, you can 
 tell un zo if he ever do and let un listen to 
 your lies so long as he do like. For, whether 
 you be Whites or Blacks more likely I'll 
 never come anighst any o' 'ee again nor set 
 voot across your door nor sit down by your 
 vire not if he's away ten year. An' mayhap, 
 't'ull be you he'll turn upon when he do hear 
 the rights o' it, and then " 
 
 But, just then, the last load, leaning from 
 the hill as if it were like to fall, came slowly 
 jolting along the deep ruts through the gate;
 
 Warning 115 
 
 with it came all the harvesters, whoaing and 
 shouting, as a wheel struck against the post. 
 Thus, the dispute, so far as talking was con- 
 cerned, must needs be brought to a sudden end. 
 
 Smarting and quivering under the insult, 
 Ursula turned away and hurried home. She 
 would never look at one of them again. In her 
 anger, she hoped with all her heart that her 
 father would fiddle away the land. And serve 
 the widow right, too. For what had Ursula 
 ever done, more than pass a harmless word to 
 have a laugh unless 'twere to talk to young 
 Jack for his own good? 
 
 As to the feast and all the rest of it, that had 
 made life, of late, worth living, at that moment 
 she gave not a thought to such things. She 
 was carried away with rage to think they 
 should tattle when she had done no harm. She 
 was all the more angry because of a secret 
 knowledge that though she would never 
 bring herself to break with William her 
 wandering fancy had alighted upon young 
 Jack.
 
 n6 A Tangled Web 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 HALLOWMAS EVE 
 
 It was near the end of fall. There had been 
 frosts, and the elms were bare. The leaves 
 upon the oaks at Winterhays turned parched 
 and brown, and strips of orchard all along the 
 hill looked black, with, here and there, a heap 
 of shining, yellow apples gleaming out of the 
 gloom between the rows of mossy, leaning 
 trunks. 
 
 From every little house and homestead down 
 the road came the creaking of the cider-press, 
 the sour smell of fruit, crushed between layers 
 of straw, and dripping its juice down into the 
 vat. The cider-making went on all day long; 
 and, after dark by candle-light, Jacob Hands- 
 ford stayed out in the pound-house, paring 
 down the sides, and giving another screw to 
 his apple-cheese. 
 
 His habit now was to come in late, eat his 
 bit o' bread and cheese and drink his cup of 
 cider by the hearth, and then to bed. When he 
 went, the rest must go. So the time for talk-
 
 Hallowmas Eve 117 
 
 ing was short, and he and Ursula had little or 
 nothing to say to each other. He knew she 
 no longer went to the Whites', but had never 
 asked her why. Ah ! like enough the maid was 
 affronted when they sent the little gimcrack 
 sheaf to her father. For 'tis one thing to laugh 
 at a joke out in field, but quite another to see 
 it a-brought home to your own door, like. In 
 his double-cunning way, Jacob knew human 
 nature well the little weaknesses and the 
 worst side of it, that is so he only chuckled 
 to himself and was shrewd enough to hold his 
 tongue. To twit Ursula was to drive a maid 
 of her spirit back into their arms. Ho ! ho ! wait 
 a month or two ; maybe Ladyday, or the Mile- 
 mas after that, and Bratton would see the 
 backs o' 'em every one. No more Whites, 
 Jacks nor Williams, up to hill after that. 
 
 The girl noted his silence; but that was his 
 secret way, now he was plotting in his head 
 all the while how to get hold of the land. 
 
 She had never spoken to Jack since they sat 
 together beside the sheaves. The talk over- 
 heard in the harvest field was a warning to her ; 
 for Ursula was straightforward and right- 
 minded as a girl need be, except that, for the
 
 u8 A Tangled Web 
 
 peace of her life, she was driven to fool her 
 father when she could. But this was only his 
 own craftiness turning back upon himself. It 
 no more proved the maid dishonest than hot 
 words spoken in anger can be taken as a sure 
 sign of a bad heart. 
 
 So, for the most part in pride, but something 
 in fear also for her good name, she kept out of 
 the way. Jack was out to plough one morn- 
 ing as she passed along the footpath through 
 the stubble ground. Rooks were flying close 
 above his head to pitch upon the upturned soil 
 behind. Midway down the furrow, he pulled 
 up his team and called to her. The field was 
 on a slant, and open from below to all the 
 world; so on she went, with only a nod and 
 just his name to pass the time of day. And, 
 yesterday, he was apple-picking in the orchard 
 against the road. He left the tall, ashen pole, 
 with which he knocked the red and yellow 
 apples down, leaning amongst the boughs, and 
 ran across to hedge, to wait to have a word as 
 she came by. But Ursula caught sight of him 
 and turned back. 
 
 Yet, all day long, young Jack was in her 
 mind. Do as she would, she could think of
 
 Hallowmas Eve 119 
 
 nothing else. She pictured him running in to 
 catch the dog right under the bull's horns, and 
 she held her breath. She remembered how he 
 had kissed her after the revel dance. Then she 
 dwelt on quiet summer evenings up to farm, 
 and how they had sat together on a stile, whilst 
 more than once he read out of a chap-book, 
 bought from fair, how to call up in dreams 
 your own true love by rubbing lemons on the 
 four post bed, or how to see the man you were 
 to wed, over your shoulder in the looking- 
 glass. To tell truth, she had played with 
 edged tools to the wounding of her own heart. 
 Whilst she trifled with the boy, she hurt her- 
 self. She had caught such an inkling after 
 him she dared not go and talk that was the 
 long and short of it. For she went in dread 
 of William, too. He was so hot and jealous, 
 with such a way and a look about him when 
 his blood was up, that made her tremble only 
 at the thought. And sometimes, for a minute 
 or two, her heart came home. There had been 
 wild gales of late, and though their house stood 
 under shelter of the hill, in the great open 
 chimney every night she could hear the moan- 
 ing and the mingled threats and wailing of the
 
 120 A Tangled Web 
 
 wind. The sound made her think of the sailor 
 far away at sea. 
 
 The storm grew and rose into a tempest 
 then sank with a sudden lull. 
 
 It shook Ursula to the very soul, and seemed 
 to tell of a ship lost, and that William would 
 not be lucky in his voyage. Then she would 
 shudder and shrink back into the corner. He 
 loved her true, and she softened in awe of the 
 dangers he must undergo. 
 
 Yet, if William should chance never to come 
 back then 
 
 At once Ursula shook herself free from 
 what, for the second, was like to grow into a 
 wish. 
 
 It was the last of October, and Ursula was 
 in the kitchen alone. Quietly she went out to 
 the door and looked around the barton and the 
 stalls. The sky was clear and frosty. Millions 
 of stars shone overhead, for it was quite night 
 although the last pale glow of day lingered 
 fading behind the western hill. Her father 
 was still at work. The light of his lantern 
 shone through the cider-house window and fetf 
 dimly upon the top of the black faggot-pile in 
 the corner.
 
 Hallowmas Eve 121 
 
 Ursula tripped quietly across. With a 
 glance at the open pound-house door, she 
 noiselessly piled up an armful of sticks and 
 logs as much as she could hold and carry, 
 hands, arms, apron and all and made haste 
 back into the house. She threw them down 
 beside the hearth. Then she chose the biggest 
 and the best, and hid them all about the place. 
 A heap behind the settle; a handful in the 
 dresser cupboard; and a stick or two, the size 
 of her handwrist and long and straight, she 
 stood upright inside the kitchen clock. She 
 had scarcely finished and swept the floor tidy 
 of tell-tale bits of bark and scraps of dried 
 moss, when her father came in. 
 
 The fire was burning brightly and he sat 
 down to warm himself, holding out his palms 
 to catch the heat. For the last week or two 
 he had been quite jocular for him. Ursula 
 had seen him like it, at times, before, but only 
 when he had made a bargain or sold for more 
 than he thought to do at fair. To-day, he had 
 not been from home. She quickly put out his 
 supper; and, whilst he munched his bread and 
 cheese, for once in his life, Jacob Handsford 
 
 talked really talked. Yet, even to-night, in 
 9
 
 122 A Tangled Web 
 
 the main being in a merry mood his conver- 
 sation turned on other folks' mishaps. 
 
 "There's Malachi Webb," he told her, look- 
 ing round with his eyes half closed and speak- 
 ing mysteriously, as if in fear of being over- 
 heard, "have a-lost two beastes. He can't tell 
 how. An' last week his ho'se fell into ditch, 
 an' got so scammed he ha'n't a-bin able to work 
 un since. He's a'most to his wits' end to know 
 what to do. He do talk loud that somebody 
 have a-witched un, he! he! an' do come an' 
 ride a ho'seback 'pon the chest of un, every 
 night of his life, so as he can't sleep a wink. 
 Ha! ha! He've a-bin to the wise-man up to 
 Blackford to have it a-tookt off. For the wise- 
 man have a-promised to put on such a spell as 
 shall lay he that do trouble un in the Red Sea. 
 I tell 'ee what 'tis, Ursie, Malachi'll come to 
 want. Fust, he'll borrow an' find it hard to 
 pay, an' then he'll sink down an' struggle on till 
 he do drop out. Times out o' number I've a- 
 zeed the same." 
 
 Jacob turned back towards the fire and 
 grimly shook his head. To the girl, witchcraft 
 was so real a danger, that even to hear the word 
 brought a shudder that crept to her finger-tips.
 
 Hallowmas Eve 123 
 
 "Ah!" cried her father, again glancing 
 sharply up, "There's more talk 'an truth in 
 what they do tell us about that. Malachi's 
 ho'se ud a-bin pulled out if he had a-bin about. 
 'Tis they that do go away a-pleasuring that do 
 find these things. Misfortune do drop in upon 
 'em when they be out, ha ! an' bide till they be 
 back. Ay, an' live wi' 'em all their lives, like 
 as not. Then they do blame it to witching. I 
 wur never witched, myzelf. But, Lord alive! 
 Ursie," he stopped, and then his voice fell 
 lower and more secret still ; "there's they about 
 do love un zo well that, if they could witch 
 Jacob Handsford, they 'ud never leave un wi' 
 a thread to his back." 
 
 Then he sat chuckling to think that, what- 
 ever might happen to a fool like Malachi Webb, 
 it could never fall to the power of any man to 
 work Jacob Handsford any harm. 
 
 The thought pleased him so much that it sent 
 a crumb the wrong way, so that he well-nigh 
 choked and fell a-coughing to save his life. 
 
 He was a spare eater, being so small, per- 
 haps, and he laid aside his plate. He would 
 have no more; and he stood up, the better to 
 catch his breath again, inside the chimney.
 
 124 A Tangled Web 
 
 "But hearky, Ursie, the witch don't live that 
 can do un any hurt. Not in mind nor limb 
 nor pocket. Zo there! Nor nobody can't 
 touch what he've a-got. An' look here, maid, 
 if you should chance to marry a careful man, 
 one o' my own sort, looky-zee, he mid come 
 here to live, an' we'd keep one house an' get 
 hold o' more land. Ay, an' do our work our- 
 zelves wi' little help an' cost out o' pocket. 
 Then, one day, you should ha' so much as any 
 two round here. As any dree. You should, 
 'pon my life." 
 
 It was Ursula's breaking off with the Whites 
 and her woebegone look that had opened this 
 tempting prospect before his eyes. 
 
 Against the wall, opposite the window, stood 
 an oaken bureau, with drawers and a slanting 
 cover, turning back upon rests drawn out each 
 side, thus making a place to write. In it he 
 kept the book in which he cast his figures, and 
 there also he put away and hoarded any letter 
 that might chance to come. To-night he did 
 not go to bed at once according to his custom. 
 He took a rushlight and went over to his desk. 
 The lock was old and broken ; but no one in the 
 house could read, and, such papers being no
 
 Hallowmas Eve 125 
 
 good to steal, Jacob had never put out money 
 to buy a new. That night he stayed up full an 
 hour poring over his book. 
 
 Ursula sat upon the settle and watched him. 
 
 What web was he spinning in his brain, now, 
 that made him so busy all at once ? And what 
 was the meaning of all this talk? He bent his 
 head close over the paper; for the rushlight 
 gave but a spark, though, in the gloom of that 
 part of the kitchen, enough to light his face 
 and show his sharp nose and shaggy eyebrow 
 against the darkness of the wood. His lips he 
 held apart in eager expectation, as he set down 
 monies with a crow-quill, very small and aslant 
 in the margin at the topmost corner of the page, 
 and added up the sum. The girl never liked 
 him less than as she looked at him that night. 
 So he would be willing for her to marry if the 
 man had money and could work. What did 
 he care so long as she was made to serve his 
 ends ? The want of hands to till and reap the 
 farm had put this into the head of him, and, 
 likely enough, in his eye he had got her future 
 husband, too. She pictured the house and the 
 other careful man like himself. One of his 
 own sort! It sounded like a grim joke. As
 
 126 A Tangled Web 
 
 true as heaven, there were no two such in the 
 wide world. She could have laughed outright 
 if he had not been so near. 
 
 Then both his behaviour and words became 
 linked in her mind with his scheming to get the 
 farm of Winterhays. Putting these with what 
 young Jack had told her before, she now felt 
 sure of it, beyond doubt. The two holdings 
 could be worked from one house that was the 
 true meaning of what he said. He felt so cer- 
 tain of carrying out his scheme that he was 
 planning beforehand and counting up the cost. 
 
 Ursula wished with all her heart that she 
 could read. The desire was nothing fresh or 
 new. Often before, with the thought of her 
 own money that money which she could not 
 get came a hankering to pry into his books 
 and papers and worm out where it was put and 
 what had gone with it. To her simple, coun- 
 try mind this was not a mere sum with so much 
 interest added. It was that particular money, 
 left her by will, by great-uncle Jeremy Hands- 
 ford, had on such a day, and thereupon put out 
 to use. To-night, also, there came upon her a 
 craving to know what he was about whether 
 he had got anything settled for Winterhays.
 
 Hallowmas Eve 127 
 
 If she were only a scholar to find out! But 
 then, to be sure, he would keep it under key, 
 and 
 
 Abruptly he got up, blew out the rushlight, 
 and shut up the desk. 
 
 "Come on, come on." 
 
 He snapped the words out with the fretful 
 haste of one who has hindered time himself and 
 now comes to hurry other folk. 
 
 Ursula rose and stepped out upon the floor. 
 
 He went himself and lifted the logs, one at 
 a time, from off the fire and stood them upright 
 in the chimney corners to go out. Every little 
 stick no bigger than his finger he put back to 
 save. Then he stooped, bending nearly two- 
 double over the hearth, and spuddled and raked 
 the ashes all abroad with a little pair of brass 
 tongs. Ursula stood like a post, but did not 
 offer to lend a hand. She had watched him at 
 the like performance hundreds of times before, 
 and hated him the more for it every night of 
 her life. 
 
 "Come on, come on." 
 
 He glanced around to see that everything 
 was safe, and, sheltering his rushlight with his 
 hand, went shuffling out of the door.
 
 128 A Tangled Web 
 
 Scarcely had he turned his head when trie 
 girl stepped behind him hastily, with her foot, 
 scraped a few of the glowing coals together in 
 a heap, and followed close at his heels. 
 
 An hour passed. The last flickering green 
 flame had long gone out. Even the click of the 
 cooling logs had ceased when Ursula came feel- 
 ing her way back to the hearth. The shuttered 
 kitchen was darker than the night. Though 
 she could have walked the house blindfold, and 
 put her hand on cup or plate or tinderbox as 
 she did, without fear, every winter morning 
 before light she was afraid. She stopped to 
 listen by the door. Then shut it fast without 
 a sound, took up her store of sticks behind the 
 settle, and went across and knelt upon the 
 stones. 
 
 The embers of a wood fire will keep alive for 
 hours. A faint glow still peered through the 
 white ashes of the pile Ursula had made, and 
 she bent forward and blew upon it with her 
 breath. It burst into a flame. She chose the 
 smallest of her sticks and snapped them off, 
 reached for a few half -burnt and charred logs 
 that her father had laid aside, built them all 
 together, and blew again. In a minute arose
 
 Hallowmas Eve 129 
 
 a crackling blaze that lighted up the place. 
 Then, from here and there, she fetched her logs 
 and soon made herself a roaring fire. 
 
 She brought a low stool and seated herself 
 in the middle, straight in face of the sooty, 
 notched chimney-crooks upon which crocks and 
 kettles used to be hung. For a long while she 
 sat quite still. It had taken her much courage 
 to creep down upon the errand on which she 
 was bent. She had begun to undress, and was 
 not clad the same as when she went upstairs. 
 There was an old belief that a maid, who ate 
 an apple and then combed her hair on Hallow- 
 mas Eve, might see the man she was to marry 
 looking from behind her into the glass. Her 
 red hair, strong and thick, hung down her back, 
 though some of it, from her leaning forward, 
 had fallen loosely around her ears and dropped 
 in front over her shoulders. She had slipped 
 off her skirt. Her short petticoat and her hose 
 were all of crimson, and her shoes, brought 
 down in her hand and just put on, a ruddy 
 brown. The dancing fire-light shone and 
 glanced and flashed and played upon her. 
 There was something uncanny in her look, as 
 though she were a witch, or, more likely, a
 
 130 A Tangled Web 
 
 maid bewitched, as, with lips parted, and half 
 afraid to move, she stared into the flames. 
 
 At last, into the pocket of her petticoat stole 
 her hand. She drew out a handful of nuts and 
 laid them in her lap. Then, taking heart, she 
 hastily dropped a couple into the ashes. 
 
 For a moment she hesitated. It was natural 
 to say one thing, but all her wish and desire 
 prompted another. Yet she must be quick. 
 
 With a stick she pushed the first into the very 
 midst of the heat. 
 
 "William White." 
 
 Her lips did but just form the words, but 
 made no sound. She thrust the other nut for- 
 ward until the two lay side by side, and louder, 
 but still in an awesome whisper, spoke her own 
 name. 
 
 "Ursula Handsford." 
 
 He was her sweetheart, "in good right" as 
 they say, but she watched the nuts with a sink- 
 ing fear that the omen might prove fair. For 
 they neither burnt nor burst, but stood together 
 and blackened amongst the embers. 
 
 The fire had blazed out its first fury, and 
 glowed now with a steady light and quiet 
 strength. A cricket kept chirping in the cor-
 
 Hallowmas Eve 131 
 
 ner. The slow ticking of the tall clock, which 
 the ear never heeded amidst the sounds of day, 
 put on a mystery and solemnity in the stillness 
 of the night. 
 
 Suddenly, William went off with a crack that 
 carried him back into the chimney ; and the nut 
 called Ursula leapt bang up against the red pet- 
 ticoat, so that the girl could not help a scream 
 as she thrust away her stool. 
 
 Then they were not made for each other. 
 She breathed again. Yet this was but half of 
 it, after all. And now, eagerly, without wast- 
 ing a second, Ursula chose two other nuts, laid 
 them down upon the hearth, and pushed them 
 among the live coals with her fingers, so that 
 they were close-touching like peas in a pod. 
 
 "John White," she said, "an' an' Ursula 
 Handsford." 
 
 In a minute they were both afire. They 
 burnt like candles with a steady flame, and went 
 out near about together. Ursula first, as she 
 might look to do, being the elder by a year or 
 two. Truly, they were like man and wife, who 
 live in union all their years, and fall to ashes in 
 one grave. 
 
 A thrill of gladness sprang up in Ursula's
 
 132 A Tangled Web 
 
 heart. The two omens did not disagree, but 
 foretokened as she would have them do. There 
 were times to try these things, and then the 
 signs came true. And this was Hallowmas 
 Eve, when all the pixies were abroad, the 
 strongest night for spells of all the year. 
 
 Yet, when she ate the apple, a hedgerow 
 crab, there came no vision in the glass. 
 
 Close upon her delight followed a misgiving 
 that this burning of nuts might mean little or 
 nothing. It was so easy. Maidens for the 
 most part laughed when they talked of it; 
 though, to be sure, it had told the truth hun- 
 dreds of times as they all could well vouch for. 
 
 There flashed upon the brain of Ursula a 
 recollection of a spell Jack had read out from 
 the chap-book. It could bring up the very 
 figure and presence of the man, just as he 
 would be, even if the maid had never set eyes 
 on him before. But the thought of that made 
 her shudder. Besides, to do it she must go out 
 in the dark. 
 
 No doubt it was a sure thing. The very 
 names of people who had done it and the places, 
 too, were certain knowledge. She got up from 
 her stool, walked half-across the kitchen, and
 
 Hallowmas Eve 133 
 
 then stopped. She had not the heart to go on. 
 Yet it was nothing to do to cross the barton 
 and open the barn. Any other night, if needs 
 be, she would have gone without thought. 
 Scarcely knowing what she did, she went into 
 the milkhouse and peered out of the window 
 into the yard. From the deeper darkness 
 under a roof the starlight without looked quite 
 bright. She could make out the lines of the 
 paving-stones, the pump, the tree upon which 
 the milk pails were hung to drain and keep dry, 
 the wall and gable of the barn. To work the 
 spell aright, she must be unseen and alone. 
 Everything was fitting. After all, it had been 
 done hundreds of times, and nobody ever one 
 bit the worse or the book would have given a 
 warning, certain sure. 
 
 She drew the dairy-house bolt and went out, 
 taking the barn's key from under the eaves as 
 she passed. She was to stand midway upon 
 the barn's floor where they threshed the corn, 
 with both doors open, and raise three times the 
 winnowing sieve above her head. Then her 
 future husband would pass through, the way o* 
 the wind, in his everyday dress, in the very ap- 
 pearance of his trade, calling, or degree.
 
 134 A Tangled Web 
 
 But having found courage to start on her 
 undertaking, Ursula was carried forward, in 
 spite of her fears, on a whirl of growing ex- 
 citement. 
 
 All her preparations were quickly ready 
 the heavy doors pushed back, the sieve found 
 she scarcely knew how. 
 
 At the back, the barn opened towards the 
 fields, and above a dark line of orchard tops, but 
 just below the black durn-head of the door, 
 shone a great planet, sharp and bright, to which 
 the stars around looked pale and small. There 
 was not a sound of bird, or bat, or any moving 
 thing, and barely a breath of wind. 
 
 The girl's limbs shook and trembled so that 
 she had scarcely strength to stand and raise her 
 arms. But she nerved herself to the effort. 
 
 Once twice 
 
 The sieve dropped from her hands. With a 
 cry she stepped back, and, to save herself from 
 falling, clutched the wooden wall that parts the 
 raised threshing-floor from the bay of the barn. 
 Something she saw that terrified her, brought 
 her heart into her throat and stopped her 
 breath, yet she could not turn away her eyes. 
 Dim in the gloom, yet unmistakable in the bet-
 
 Hallowmas Eve 135 
 
 ter light of the doorway, stood the dusky figure 
 of a man. It stopped moved slowly toward 
 her across the floor. Then stopped again. 
 
 "Ursie." 
 
 Her name was spoken in a low whisper that 
 filled the barn and died away amongst the 
 rafters and the roof. Yet she knew the voice 
 of the young Jack White. She was afraid. 
 She did not dare reply. Even if she could have 
 found the heart to speak, she had no tongue to 
 utter word, but still clung to the board, and 
 held her breath in fear she might be heard. 
 
 "Ursie. Where be ? I saw the door ope as 
 I passed along the path gwaine home from 
 uncle Moggses nut-crack night. We've a-had 
 pretty high-digees sure 'nough what wi' the 
 bean-mow, an' the hempseed, an' one thing an' 
 t'other. I thought what you were up to, Ursie, 
 when I heard the hinge go creak. I want to 
 talk to 'ee, Ursie. \Vhere be?" 
 
 So it was truly he and no ghost. 
 
 The girl drew a deep sigh, half gasp and half 
 sob. He stretched out his hand and groped 
 and found her in the dark. At once she 
 clutched him by the arm and held him fast. 
 
 "Why, you be all to a trem'le," he began.
 
 136 A Tangled Web 
 
 "Oh, Jack. I be gallied a'most to death," 
 she panted. "For little sooner did I raise my 
 han' than you walked in an' I thought I 
 thought I thought mid-be the devil did do it, 
 Jack." 
 
 "Come on an' zit down !" he begged of her. 
 "Your vather brought in a wheat-mow, only 
 to-day morning, for I chanced to zee un myself. 
 Come in on the sheaves." 
 
 She was plaint as a child. He led her off 
 the barn's floor into the right-hand bay, and 
 they sat down close together, side by side, very 
 much as they were when last they talked in the 
 harvest-field. Only now the widow's open 
 speech had said all that before was hidden! 
 And Ursula's wits were scattered, too, with 
 the fright and strangeness of this meeting. 
 
 "I thought I should never come nighst 'ee 
 again, Ursie, to talk to 'ee, that is. I did lie 
 in wait to have a word, but you did keep out 
 o' the way. There, I've a-bin wild about 'ee, 
 an' I've a-bin a fool, too, an' spended money 
 an' an' all. You kep' me out o' it afore, by 
 what you did use to zay. I don't care now 
 not what do hap nor what I do do. For I do 
 love 'ee dearly, I do, an' always shall."
 
 Hallowmas Eve 137 
 
 As he said it he drew her closer to him, but 
 doubtfully, as if half afraid of meeting only 
 with upbraiding. 
 
 With a sudden impulse, the outcome of her 
 fright, her fears, and the joy his words gave 
 her, she threw her arms around his neck and 
 held him tight. Her loose hair was across her 
 cheek. He thrust his fingers amongst it and 
 against her throat. There was no need of 
 words. They kissed each other again and 
 again, with all the burning gladness of a full 
 love for the first time acknowledged. There 
 could be no trifling no disguising of their 
 passion after that. 
 
 His kisses burnt her. She could bear no 
 more and turned aside her lips. A sense of 
 danger crept over her, a knowledge of the 
 night, a dread lest another might detect the 
 open door, as young Jack had done. She drew 
 herself away and pushed him from her. 
 
 "I must go in," she said, and the words 
 sounded sudden and harsh. 
 
 A recollection of William came upon him. 
 He had loved and worshipped this elder broth- 
 er in no half-hearted way. He would never 
 
 again be able to look William in the face. 
 10
 
 138 A Tangled Web 
 
 "Don't 'ee go, Ursie," he entreated, and took 
 her by the arm. "Bide a bit, an' tell what we 
 shall do." 
 
 He was "so wonderful easy-led," as Rizpah 
 had before declared. Their love was come to 
 light. There was no going back. He saw the 
 plight to which it led them, but he relied upon 
 Ursula already, and was willing, without ques- 
 tion, to act as she might say. 
 
 They stayed awhile and talked in the dark- 
 ness. 
 
 Neither one could see the faintest glimmer 
 of the other's face; for the barn was lighted 
 only by the open doors, and the bay in which 
 the sheaves were placed was dim even in broad 
 day. But she grasped his hand and held it on 
 her lap. 
 
 There came to Ursula a longing to explain 
 and excuse herself. 
 
 "I tell 'ee, Jack, I I was never in love wi' 
 William," she stammered, in broken sentences. 
 "But I wur so miserable in the house. There, 
 he he corned along, an' I liked un well enough 
 an' I took un. Not but what I was that 
 afeard o* un, sure, that at times I did a'most 
 love un. An' if so be he had a-wed wi' me
 
 Hallowmas Eve 139 
 
 an' took me out o' it all then I would ha' 
 loved un true. An' I wur terrible upset the day 
 he went. But there wur no depth in it, like. 
 For I do tell 'ee true, Jack, all my heart have 
 a-bin zet upon 'ee, since the night o' the revel." 
 
 "Let's marry to once an' settle all," he said. 
 
 "But what o' your mother? You be boun' 
 to live to Winterhays." 
 
 "Ay, you know, but once wed, not a word to 
 be said." 
 
 "And do 'ee think Ursula Handsford is the 
 one to come where she isn' a- wanted?" 
 
 "But she took to 'ee wonderful, Ursie an' 
 would do again." 
 
 The widow's words still rankled, and Ursula 
 was proud. 
 
 "It didn't look much like it then, by what 
 she said. An' if I do but cast my eye 'pon 'ee 
 in church, she'll frown so black as a thunder- 
 cloud. An' if we should marry in such haste, 
 it'll be the talk o' the country." 
 
 "But what o' that? If we do meet, they'll 
 talk, an' there'll be no living wi' mother then." 
 
 "I tell 'ee what. Jack, you had best to tell 
 her outright. That we've a-caught a mind to 
 each other. That so 'tis, an' we can't help it,
 
 140 A Tangled Web 
 
 like. That I'll never wed wi' William now, 
 not if I do die a maid. For I've a-got all my 
 mind upon 'ee, Jack, an' I can't zay no other- 
 wise." 
 
 "An' if she won't hear o' it what shall us 
 do?" 
 
 "Then we'll act as do fall out. For I'll ha' 
 none but thee, Jack, come what may. An', at 
 the wo'st, we'll zet up for ourselves wi' a few 
 cows in a small way. An' we'll fo'ce my own 
 bit o' money out o' Vather to do it, whether he 
 will or no. For I will have it if needs be 
 so there. By hook or by crook !" 
 
 As she spoke, the girl got up, fully bent this 
 time upon going. 
 
 By the barn's door she stopped to set things 
 straight. But he put his arm around her again, 
 and they kissed good-bye. 
 
 "Come out to-morrow, Ursie dear," he 
 whispered. 
 
 "Come an' meet me up in wood." 
 
 "I will." 
 
 "Zo as to tell what your mother do zay." 
 
 He hesitated. He would rather have mar- 
 ried without a word and made all sure. But 
 he had no power to do other than she wished.
 
 Hallowmas Eve 141 
 
 ' "I will. Creep in quiet, an', when you be 
 abed, I'll lock all up an' lef the key for 'ee to 
 find to-morrow on the wall. Then, if your 
 father should hap to hear a sound, he can never 
 guess 'twas you." 
 
 So they parted. She crept into the silent 
 house and no one knew. But, as she stole up- 
 stairs, and all night after as she lay awake, 
 beneath the rapture of this new-found love lay 
 a vague dread of threatening evil yet to come.
 
 142 A Tangled Web 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 RECONCILIATION 
 
 It wanted but a week to Christmas when, 
 for the first time since the quarrel, the foot of 
 Ursula once more crossed the threshold of 
 .Winterhays. 
 
 Rizpah White had passed through many 
 changes of mind before this came about. Her 
 mood varied as, day by day, she looked at the 
 matter in some new light; but always her 
 thoughts were single-hearted and upright, and 
 in her anger was nothing mean. 
 
 At first, she went beside herself with wrath 
 that any maid, without cause, could throw over 
 so bold a man as William. For William was 
 good as gold. Where was another to match 
 him for the doing of his duty ? Going back to 
 the danger and hardship of the sea when he 
 had given it up for good, so as to keep the old 
 roof over their heads when it pleased God to 
 cast misfortune upon them. Not Jack, who, 
 if he could work well enough whilst he was at 
 it, must needs be running off to spend strength'
 
 Reconciliation 143 
 
 and money wherever there was revelling, and 
 fighting, and sports. The widow washed her 
 hands of all. A pretty maid indeed to change 
 her mind a'most so soon as the man was out of 
 sight. Rizpah would never gie consent to her 
 so long as she lived, whether for William or 
 Jack. 
 
 But soon her temper softened into a lament 
 that such a thing should come between her 
 sons. During her hours of solitary work, 
 when Jack was a-field, she could think of 
 nothing else. They were children again run- 
 ning about the house, the little one always at 
 the boy's heel, or riding pig-a-back on his 
 shoulders. Poor William, dead and gone, used 
 to call them dinner time an' twelve o'clock, 
 because when one came, the other was not far 
 off. And in all Jack's growing up, never did 
 they fall out but once. When Jack, all on the 
 sly, carried off William's whip, and thought- 
 less dapped it down and then forgot, and when 
 he ran back it was gone. Then William in his 
 haste hit him on the cheek and made his ear 
 bleed too. Yet, before the day was out, they 
 were again as thick as thieves. Now, come 
 what may, they must be at odds all their lives.
 
 144 A Tangled Web 
 
 The widow sighed. Doubtless it was the 
 will of God to send so many trials for some 
 wise end. And Jack was most wonderful 
 struck over Ursie. He had only been into 
 town once in the last six weeks. At last the 
 piety of Rizpah found, even in this trouble, the 
 finger of Providence. Over her knitting, be- 
 tween the whiles of household work, she saw 
 it all. Ursula Handsford was to steady Jack. 
 She was to keep him straight. Rizpah's heart 
 warmed at the thought. Then, in her mother's 
 love for the boy last-born, she half forgot 
 .William. Poor Jack was so terrible down in 
 the dumps. And, after all, it was better for 
 ^Villiam, too. For pity the man wed to a 
 woman who went about house with her 
 thoughts outside. No good ever came o' that. 
 Never in this world. 
 
 So, by the middle of December she was 
 ready to say that, since they had made up their 
 minds, however it might please God for things 
 to turn out, she had no wish to be ill friends or 
 to quarrel wi' the maid not she. 
 
 It was a cold, bleak day, when Ursula went 
 up the hill. The north wind came driving 
 down the valley, with a fine snow that lay
 
 Reconciliation 145 
 
 along the path and lodged between the short, 
 scanty grass, looking more wintry than when 
 the ground is covered deep in drifts. She was 
 uneasy. She had never spoken to the widow 
 since harvest. The insult did not rankle, but 
 Ursula dreaded the meeting more than she 
 could tell. However, she went on. Jack came 
 out to meet her by the garden-hatch and they 
 went in together. 
 
 It was early of a dull December afternoon. 
 The widow pulled together the logs, drew up 
 a chair, and bade Ursula sit down. They were 
 all three silent until presently Rizpah began. 
 
 "Well, Ursie," she said, in the calm voice of 
 one who accepts a fact and does not mean to 
 murmur. "Zo you lost no time zo soon as 
 William had a-turned the back o' un. 'Twould 
 ha' bin better to ha' bin off wi' the old love 
 afore you were on wi' the new an' more 
 seemly, too, I'm thinking. But I've a-got no 
 more to zay. 'Tis to be hoped you do know 
 your own mind, now." 
 
 If another had spoken so, Ursula would have 
 fired up at once, but the quiet manner of the 
 widow stirred no anger but, rather, begot 
 respect.
 
 146 A Tangled Web 
 
 "I should never ha' listened to William," 
 replied the maid in self-defence, "if I hadn' a- 
 bin so unhappy wi' Vather at home." 
 
 "Well, rich or poor, thank God, we've a-bin 
 all happy one wi' another in this house." The 
 widow sighed. For once the busy knitting 
 needles ceased and her hands rested idly in her 
 lap. "But what may chance to come, now, is 
 more than I do dare to think about." 
 
 Ursula had thought and wondered many a 
 day and many a night, yet she found not a 
 word to say. 
 
 Presently, the widow went on. 
 
 "If he did but know, I sim, I could rest more 
 content. But there's nowhere to zend to. An' 
 if he should write, he'd be gone again afore 
 anything could reach un. I can't abear to 
 think o' the man, fooled with his own thoughts 
 o' what he is to come home to. An' his brother 
 that loved un durs'n't walk a mile or so to meet 
 un if he should tramp back to Bratton out o' 
 luck. But there, it mus' all turn out as is or- 
 dained. 'Tis poor talking o' what you can't 
 mend. Hark! What's that?" 
 
 The gate had fallen to with a slam and there 
 came a step upon the garden path.
 
 Reconciliation 1 47 
 
 Ursula, by the further side of the fire, was 
 facing the window; and as her eye glanced 
 aslant across the garden plot, it caught sight of 
 the passing figure of a man a seaman with a 
 staff and a bundle tied in a handkerchief. 
 
 " 'Tis William a-come back," she gasped, 
 in a whisper so low that she could scarcely be 
 heard. 
 
 Each one looked blankly into another's face. 
 The moment that they dreaded had come 
 sooner than they thought. The widow pointed 
 with her finger and nodded to Ursula to go out 
 by the other way. But at once there came a 
 sharp rap upon the door. Then it could not 
 be he. For why knock when he need but lift 
 the latch? Unless he meant for joke to bring 
 his mother out and take her by surprise. 
 
 Eager to welcome back her son, yet trem- 
 bling to think what might befall, Rizpah rose 
 and went to answer the knock. The other two 
 stood half-way across the floor and listened. 
 
 "Is this Winterhays Farm?" inquired the 
 voice of a stranger. 
 
 "It is." 
 
 "Where the widow White do live?" 
 
 "Please to walk in."
 
 148 A Tangled Web 
 
 "I brought a message from Mr. White, mate 
 o' the Fortune." The visitor kept on talking 
 as he followed Rizpah into the kitchen. " ' "Pis 
 but a few miles out o' your way,' says he, and I 
 promised to come. He's safe an' sound in 
 Bristol port, and, though he can't get away 
 for a day or two, 'I'll eat my Christmas dinner 
 at home/ says he, 'and a merry time we'll 
 have,' says he. 'For the Fortune's as good as 
 her name,' he says, says he " 
 
 The widow interrupted to beg of the 
 stranger to please to take a seat. He stepped 
 into the chimney corner and made himself at 
 ease; though he must be going on almost at 
 once, for he had some miles to travel that 
 night. His face in the firelight was the colour 
 of the oaken dresser. He wore a loose jacket 
 of blue and a neckercher tied in a knot. The 
 widow without a word, but as a matter of 
 course, busied herself to lay out meat and 
 drink, the best she had, upon the board. And 
 all the while, taking no heed that Jack and 
 Ursula sate mute, he talked. 
 
 "Ay, the little Fortune is as good as her 
 name," he cried again, and slapped his knee. 
 "Though for twenty weeks we had the devil's
 
 Reconciliation 149 
 
 own luck off the west o' Ireland for they'll 
 beat right round now, rather than face the 
 Channel yet never a chase could we fall in 
 with, but once a Bristol snow, French-built. 
 And then a month or more between Ushant 
 and Land's End, and like to have mutiny, 
 along of a Swedish bark we stopped and let 
 go again. And then, a-cruising off Cape Finis- 
 terre, we fell in wi' a Frenchman o' fifty guns 
 and like enough she was to ha' carried us 
 home, but " 
 
 The widow brought a cup of cider and put 
 down to warm. 
 
 "Then Will then Mr. White is sound and 
 hearty?" she asked, laying a dignity upon the 
 word "Mr.," which, however, could not hide 
 her concern. 
 
 "Sound as oak, an' hearty as ever !" 
 
 "An' from what you do say, he he mus' ha' 
 done well for hizself this cruise?" she faltered. 
 
 "Never better, ma'am. But I'll just wet my 
 whistle," cried the seaman, stooping to take up 
 the cup. "Here's to his health, an' joy in the 
 spending o' it. Ay, ay. What with his pay, 
 an' double share o' prize money for a master's 
 mate but I've a-got a bit of writing stowed
 
 150 A Tangled Web 
 
 away on my clothes. 'Just run alongside an' 
 drop it wi' my mother,' says he 'or my brother, 
 Jack,' he says, says he " 
 
 He drank the cup dry and put it down. He 
 slapped himself all over till he heard the paper 
 crinkle; and then, thrusting his hand into his 
 jacket, dragged out a crumpled letter which he 
 held towards Rizpah White. 
 
 The widow laid it down upon the bench. 
 She could not read herself, and Jack must tell 
 it out presently, when they were alone. Be- 
 sides, the meal was ready. 
 
 " 'Tis but bread an' cheese, for we ha'n't a- 
 cooked, to-day," she explained, though, in good 
 truth, Rizpah had not cooked for many a day, 
 "but you be kindly welcome, if you'll please to 
 zit down to what there is, an' if you'll bide the 
 night " 
 
 The stranger could not hear of that. He 
 must be pushing on, too. The days were short, 
 and he had still a good ten miles before dark- 
 night. He swaggered to the oaken bench, and 
 fell to at once with a will and an appetite fit to 
 spread both famine and drought through the 
 four continents. But, having taken full sup- 
 plies aboard, he would not go back to the fire.
 
 Reconciliation 151 
 
 He took up his staff and bundle, boisterously 
 wished them good-bye and a Merry Christmas 
 and a safe run home for Mr. White and 
 then, amidst the widow's thanks, took leave and 
 went on his way. 
 
 Then Rizpah took up the letter again. With- 
 out a word, Jack and she went over to the win- 
 dow, but Ursie sat where she was. 
 
 The heavy, leaden clouds had closed in, and, 
 under a threatening storm, the afternoon grew 
 dark betime. Like enough there was going to 
 be a ground of snow. 
 
 With trembling fingers, the widow broke the 
 seals two little pats of red wax flattened by 
 the pressure of a thumb. Then Jack slowly 
 spelt out the letter and puzzled out the sense. 
 
 It ran : 
 
 DEAR JACK, 
 
 Tell dear Mother that I am well as I hope all are at 
 home. Tell dear Mother I cannot say the day, but I 
 think to be at Bratton within the week, and she need not 
 to trouble, for we brought in the French ship and all, and 
 I shall have a pretty sum, though I do not know how 
 much. Tell dear Mother not to trouble her head any 
 longer, but to kill a goose for Christmas and I will be 
 there. And whisper to Ursie Hanclsford, first thing, I 
 shall ride to Wells for a licence, for none o' your beating 
 to winnard with the banns for we. So no more till we 
 do meet. 
 
 From your loving brother, 
 
 WILLIAM WHITE.
 
 BOOK II
 
 BOOK II 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 "THEY Two, THEIRZELVES" 
 
 Ladyday had come and gone, but Rizpah 
 White had not found the wherewi' to pay her 
 rent. 
 
 As yet, she was only a few days behind time, 
 but what to do was more than she could tell. 
 She was the mistress young Jack not yet be- 
 ing of age and she had been sent for by law- 
 yer Anstey, the steward, to go that morning 
 about it into Wincanton town. The meeting 
 with gentlefolks the confession that she could 
 not pay had flustered Rizpah. Now, at noon, 
 with heavy steps and a sad heart, she came 
 trudging home by the lonely road along the 
 hill-top. 
 
 Above the village was a four-cross-way, close 
 to a piece of waste run wild with glistening 
 gorse and brake. As she reached the corner
 
 156 A Tangled Web 
 
 to turn down into Bratton, between tall hedge- 
 rows through the gap of a five-barred gate, the 
 whole valley lay suddenly open to her sight. 
 Quickly her eye glanced from the grey church, 
 with its square tower in the grave-yard high 
 upon the side of the ridge, to the straggling 
 houses all along the slope, with Winterhays 
 standing alone, the nearest of them all, amidst 
 the fields she had trodden daily for the best part 
 of her life. 
 
 It was spring, of a Thursday as Good Fri- 
 day fell on the morrow. Bright-edged April 
 clouds, with patches of deep, clear blue be- 
 tween, hung over all. Ploughed ground and 
 pasture-field alike shone and glistened sweet 
 with sun and shower. The wheat was grow- 
 ing fresh as grass, and Jack had put the barley 
 in most wonderful well, to year. The pushing 
 leaf upon the elm was breaking green, though 
 blackthorn bushes in the gully hedgerow still 
 held their blossom white as snow. Down in 
 the bottom, close to three-hounds waste, a thin 
 blue mist of smoke curled up between the trees. 
 Sure sign that winter was behind their backs 
 when the wandering gipsies came about once 
 more.
 
 "They Two, Theirzelves" 157 
 
 The place was dear to her, and it never 
 looked more homely than to-day. Since poor 
 Master brought her there scarce out of her 
 teens, she had never laid head to pillow under 
 any other roof. For if they were ten mile 
 away, no matter what the weather, rain or 
 shine, starlight or cloudy night, back they must 
 come to be ready for the morning work. And 
 there the boys were born. And there, in the 
 room of the middle dormer, above the porch, 
 the blow fell; when the hand of God, without 
 sign or warning, snatched the company from 
 her fireside and the mate from her bed. The 
 lonesomeness of the empty corner made her 
 heart cling to the old walls. And in the church- 
 yard was the grave not overgrown, where her 
 good man slept, with no stone at his head, as 
 yet, that folk might read the name and who he 
 was. Ay, though it were a palace fit for a 
 king, with fields o' meadow-grass knee-deep, 
 and grounds to yield twelve sacks o' wheat the 
 acre, never fail, in any other spot on earth Riz- 
 pah must live a stranger all her days. And 
 they would have to leave. Though it had not 
 been said for good and all, it was clear as day 
 that they must go.
 
 158 A Tangled Web 
 
 All the road along, she had been at her wits' 
 end to think of some way to raise money to try 
 her luck for another year. To beg for help 
 of great-uncle Tutchins, or to try to borrow of 
 cousin Simon Mogg. But it was of no use. 
 To do either one or the other was but to lower 
 her pride and to get "No" for an answer. No 
 thought would come into her head clear enough 
 to take in common-sense and flatter her into 
 hope. Only, since the last word had not been 
 spoken, her brain could not rest. 
 
 From the height, she saw Ursula with young 
 Jack behind, come out of the house and into the 
 path to look. Restless to hear what she had 
 to tell, they were watching for her to come 
 back. They dared not go up so far as the road, 
 she understood, lest in their countenances folk 
 should read their eagerness and talk. Nothing 
 could be kept from the prying eyes and busy 
 tongues of Bratton. 
 
 Then the whole weight of Rizpah's troubles 
 bore down upon her at once. All her life 
 through she had stood up against the ills of to- 
 day, and faced to-morrow with a stout courage, 
 but at last her spirit failed. She had done her 
 best. No hands upon earth could do more.
 
 "They Two, Theirzelves " 159 
 
 She had slaved from morn to night, pinched 
 and saved when nobody saw, and gone to bed 
 hungry all to no end. The chance was past. 
 It was no longer any good to try to keep things 
 together now. She glanced again at the man 
 and woman standing just by the end of the 
 wall. "Ah!" she sighed, stretching one arm 
 towards them as she spoke, " 'Tis you two have 
 a-brought it about. 'Tis you two" But 
 tears rushed into her eyes, blurred her sight, 
 and choked the words. 
 
 In the middle of a corner of waste made by 
 the cross-roads was a small knoll, and, at one 
 side, a copse with thick undergrowth and a few 
 tall trees. She could not go home yet. To 
 talk to gentry, she had put on the mourning, 
 heavy and stiff, that she wore on Sundays, and 
 she was all of a sweat with this warm day of 
 early spring. She went and sat down, out of 
 the way upon the bank, to rest. To see Jack 
 and Ursula brought back to her mind the story 
 of the last few months, with all its vivid hope 
 and dark disappointment. 
 
 This was how it had fallen out. 
 
 Within a day after the visit of the sea- 
 man, the news of William's good fortune and
 
 160 A Tangled Web 
 
 looked- for return went buzzing from mouth to 
 mouth, and ran like wildfire through all the 
 villages around Bratton. Quite a sight o' folk 
 trooped to and fro along the path to Winter- 
 hays ; and the widow could not stir out, so much 
 as a foot, without being met and stopped by 
 friends and neighbours burning "to hear the 
 rights o' it all." And everybody was really 
 and truly glad. For Rizpah was well-liked, as 
 right-hearted people always are and will be. 
 Now that she was in luck, the whole parish 
 rang with her praises, and tongues chimed in, 
 one with another, like a peal o' bells. For the 
 Whites were as good a sort as ever trod shoe- 
 leather zo they were always ready to lend a 
 thing when they had it, and do a good turn 
 when they could, like; and never waiting to 
 snap a body off short who had any little favour 
 to ask, like some do, that could be mentioned 
 zo they do. For if they must say "No" as 
 everybody must now and again when it isn't 
 convenient zo they mus', in course they mus' 
 or, if they ha'n't a-got it, mayhap, why then, 
 wi' a White, one and all, the answer do pop out 
 smiling, and tell the reason why zo 't do. An' 
 never glad wi' another's harm, no, nor jalous
 
 "They Two, Theirzelves " 161 
 
 o' good. An' if the widow did speak out 
 straight when she wasn't best pleased, why, all 
 that the better to be sure, than 'tis to be so 
 under-creeping, like some be zo they be to 
 tell behind the back o' 'ee what they ha'n't a-got 
 spirit to speak to your face no more they 
 ha'n't. Ah ! for then you can tell where you be 
 zo you can. An' once said is a-had out an' 
 done wi' zo 'tis. Though there be many 
 about do hide away a thing, and hold it in mind 
 for years, till they can see what they can do 
 zo they do. 
 
 And all this praise, though a little breathless, 
 was sweet to Rizpah; for, look at it how she 
 would, it was sincere, and the goodwill, frank 
 and clear as summer sunshine, so that her pride 
 in herself sprang up and grew afresh in the 
 warmth of it. 
 
 And amongst her relatives, the rumour of 
 this piece of good fortune swept away every 
 little difference and healed every wound. 
 
 To tell the truth, great-uncle Tutchins had 
 not been to Winterhays since harvest. He was 
 a bit upset. Yes, he was. And nothing but 
 natural so to be. He made no pretence to hide 
 his displeasure, for, as he said, after he had
 
 1 62 A Tangled Web 
 
 a-sweat like a bull all day, a-carr'ing wheat, 
 and then zot down an' ate his supper, and took 
 his glass, without so much as a single thought 
 in the head of him, to find Rizpah White jump 
 up and come at him like a roaring lion was 
 enough to stir the bile of any man. And there 
 was no call for it, neither. Though, to be sure, 
 Rizpah did not know then what has since 
 turned out wi' young Jack and Ursula; and 
 that, now that the Whites looked to be better 
 off, he began to see might make a difference. 
 
 So was Malachi Webb most terr'ble out of 
 temper, too ; though nobody thought that mat- 
 tered but Malachi himself. He seized every 
 opportunity of pointing out that it wasn't to 
 say that the widow had been doing so wonder- 
 ful well, either, that she should stand up and 
 spit fire at one no worse off than herself. 
 
 Cousin Simon Mogg had never so much as 
 put a foot near the place since Bratton revel. 
 He liked Rizpah, so he said, well enough to bide 
 away. Look at it how you might, he said, the 
 Whites were not wise; and cousin Simon 
 Mogg, though he said it himself, had never 
 been the man to take advantage. Folk that 
 were well-to-do had no right to help eat their
 
 "They Two, Theirzelves" 163 
 
 own kin out o' house and home. Besides, as 
 he owned in a whisper to great-uncle Tutchins, 
 Rizpah, much as he respected her in many 
 ways, might hap, one of these fine days, to run 
 short and look around for a few pounds. 
 Then, if a man have a-bin in an' out the house 
 morning, noon and night, all times and all sea- 
 sons, eating and drinking, making free with 
 whatever there was, why, all that the harder 
 to say "No." Though he liked Rizpah, mind 
 that. An', mayhap, if he were most wonderful 
 friendly, might chance to give away. And to 
 be fair, whatever might come, it was none of 
 her own fault, and he should always like her, 
 hap what may. So, in the staying away of 
 cousin Simon Mogg there was no ill-will, but, 
 on the one hand, real goodness of heart, and 
 on the other, a prudent desire to keep out of the 
 way of temptation. Great-uncle Tutchins saw 
 this clearly, and told cousin Simon Mogg he 
 was quite right. 
 
 But when it became known that William had 
 done well and was to be home for Christmas 
 Day, they all trooped in, one at a time or two 
 together, to shake the widow by the hand and 
 show how glad they were. The kitchen was
 
 164 A Tangled Web 
 
 full of visitors all the week through. And the 
 questions they asked were more than Rizpah 
 could well answer. How much had William 
 made? What would his two shares amount 
 to? There was nothing to go by but this 
 William was not the man to talk o' more than 
 he had done. Stories of untold gold won upon 
 the high seas dazzled the fancy of Rizpah, so 
 that, for a day or two, she dreamed that all her 
 cares were over, but for the one trouble of this 
 love affair of Ursula. Her load was so greatly 
 lightened that, at times for hours together, she 
 forgot even that. Her mind was made up 
 what to do, and that in itself brings quiet. 
 Ursie, at first, must keep out of the way. Jack 
 need say nothing. And then at night she 
 would sit with William by the fire alone, and 
 talk, and, watching all the while, catch the right 
 moment to speak out the truth. 
 
 So Rizpah killed and picked the fattest goose 
 she had, and set it ready for roasting, Christ- 
 mas morning. The holly was thick and glisten- 
 ing red in berry that year, and she trimmed up 
 the kitchen as never was, chimney, window, 
 wall, and beam. It shone a welcome not only 
 to the day but ready for the traveller, by this
 
 "They Two, Theirzelves" 165 
 
 time started on his homeward road. And as 
 she stood to tend the spit, anxious and trem- 
 bling between mother's love and fears, she 
 thought out what was just. If William's 
 money won back his father's land, then, of 
 good right, he must live with her at home. 
 And Jack could marry Ursie and go into some 
 farm, away out of sight, so as not to be an eye- 
 sore day by day. Mayhap, in God's will, as 
 time went on, William would choose another 
 wife and marry, too; and, so, ill-will wear out 
 and all be one again. 
 
 As the morning passed, every whip's while 
 she ran out to the garden gate to look along the 
 path. For certain, he would come by coach to 
 one of the towns near by and walk across. But 
 travelling was like to be late, Christmas time 
 and all. Yet William knew what he was say- 
 ing when he wrote he would be there. Rizpah 
 put back the cooking to make the dinner late. 
 
 But noon slid past, yet William did not come. 
 
 For certain, if it were by way of Wincanton 
 he was travelling, by this time the coach must 
 have gone by. 
 
 In the afternoon, great-uncle Tutchins, and 
 Malachi, and ever so many more looked in.
 
 1 66 A Tangled Web 
 
 What, not come ? Oh well, sure as the light he 
 would walk in afore night. They sat down 
 just to wait, and made themselves very merry, 
 as at that season everybody should. 
 
 "You zee," reasoned the widow, sadly, but 
 still with pride; "a man in authority is never 
 free. He mus' carr' it all in the head o' un, for 
 if any little thing mid turn out wrong or go 
 awry, the blame do fall 'pon his shoulders. So 
 his duty do never cease, when a common man 
 mid do as he will. What wonder, then, if Wil- 
 liam should be a little late?" 
 
 To this they all agreed, and fell a-talking of 
 the great advantages of humble station. Great- 
 uncle Tutchins declared that he had "a-zaid it 
 afore, and 'ud say it again, that a steady, care- 
 ful, labouring man, wi' nothing, is better off in 
 real truth than one that have a-got so much. 
 For he've a-got no cares an' nothing to lose. 
 But property is a real tyrant, look at it how you 
 will." He took a deep drink of hot gin and 
 cider, wagged his head wisely, and glanced 
 around for support. Malachi and the rest of 
 them seemed to have their doubts, until cousin 
 Simon Mogg, one of the best off and the most 
 far-seeing men within ten miles of Bratton,
 
 "They Two, Theirzelves" 167 
 
 mild as he looked, spoke up. "It mid be hard 
 for some to zee it," he said, speaking as one 
 who had suffered the hardships of wealth, "but 
 that's no more than the truth." 
 
 But evening drew on, and then dark-night 
 and candles, yet William did not come. 
 
 With a sigh, the widow put out the goose 
 cold for supper, and the visitors grew very 
 jolly and stayed quite late, laughing and talk- 
 ing all the more to keep Rizpah up in heart, so 
 they said. For she showed a little downcast, 
 to be sure she did. Anybody can understand 
 that who knows a mother's heart. But there, 
 after all, he was sure to come to-morrow, or 
 leastways, as quick as he could. 
 
 To-morrow came and went. Then, day 
 after day and week after week had slowly 
 slipped away until now, the beginning of April, 
 but brought neither sound nor sign to tell 
 whether William were alive or dead. 
 
 At first, folk thought little of this delay. 
 For, after all, it is the commonest thing in life 
 for a man not to do the thing he means upon 
 the day he mentioned; and wondering a little 
 longer only whetted the appetite of Bratton to 
 look for more, when William should come.
 
 1 68 A Tangled Web 
 
 But soon the Moggs, the Puckeridges, great- 
 uncle Tutchins, and Malachi Webb began to 
 smile. "Ah ! set a sailor ashore wi' money in 
 his pocket, and you'll soon find a man without 
 a coat to his back." "Ay, an' quick-come-by 
 is a different colour to hold-vast." Malachi 
 Webb, for one, threw out a doubt whether Wil- 
 liam could ever ha' won one quarter so much 
 as the widow had a-gied out. So, in the end, 
 interest flagged and fell. For weeks, the name 
 of William White had not crossed anybody's 
 lips, except, it may be, now and again in gossip 
 over a friendly glass and coupled with a joke. 
 
 Rizpah alone felt quite certain of what had 
 happened. 
 
 But what is done is done, and it is no good to 
 talk. So she had hidden away her thoughts, 
 and brooded over them, but, up to now, no 
 word of complaint had crossed her lips to any 
 Christian soul. "Yes," she muttered to her- 
 self, as the loss of William came back into her 
 mind. " 'Tis they two, theirzelves, that have 
 brought it about." 
 
 She waited only long enough to dry her 
 tears and hide the traces of her agitation. Her 
 emotion was too deep, and she too familiar
 
 "They Two, Theirzelves " 169 
 
 with her sorrow, to give way to long weeping 
 or useless lament. Besides, there was no time 
 to waste. The day was passing away; the 
 morning gone and nothing done. She must 
 hurry home, change her gown, and get to 
 work. 
 
 She got up and walked quickly homewards 
 down the hill. Jack and Ursula had gone in- 
 doors again, but, as she entered the garden, 
 they came running in haste out of the porch. 
 Near the gate stood the butt of a hollow tree, 
 filled with earth and the dry sticks of last year's 
 flowers, and upon the edge of this Rizpah sat 
 down again. 
 
 "What had he to zay, mother? What could 
 'ee come to?" cried young Jack, as fast as 
 words could follow one another. 
 
 Ursula looked at the widow's face and was 
 silent. 
 
 "He didn' zay so very much," began Rizpah, 
 slowly, and pausing to think between each sen- 
 tence, as if trying to call back the lawyer's very 
 words. "He was wonderful kind, in a way, 
 like, about the rent. He zaid, after knowing 
 the Whites so many years, he knew that he was 
 safe. He zaid, there was a plenty here to cover 
 
 12
 
 170 A Tangled Web 
 
 all, an' he zaid, he'd so soon trust me as any in 
 the world " 
 
 "Then he'll let it bide a bit," put in Jack, 
 brightening at the thought. 
 
 But, giving no heed to the question, the 
 widow went on: 
 
 "If I had a-bin the first in the land, he 
 couldn' a-spoke more fair. He zaid, his mean- 
 ing in sending were to learn out what I do 
 think my own zelf. He zaid, he had a-heard a 
 sound that there wasn't enough stock on the 
 farm. An' did I think we could ever hope to 
 keep it on ? He zaid, there was another willing 
 to take the place at a high price " 
 
 A feeling of mingled anger and shame came 
 over Ursula, and her mouth grew hard. She 
 could not bear to look the widow in the face. 
 She turned away, picked a shining leaf from 
 the laurel hedge, and tore it into shreds. 
 
 "An' then he zaid, 'twere better by far to lef 
 betime, than when we had a-lost all. An', after 
 all, 't'ud be to our own good to go; vor he'd 
 find a littler farm to match our means, an' take 
 care we suffered no hurt going out or in. An' 
 then he zaid " 
 
 But Rizpah suddenly broke off and could tell
 
 "They Two, Thqirzelves " 171 
 
 no more. She lifted her hands in utter hope- 
 lessness and, raising her voice, she cried : 
 
 "There! there! It was all such sense 
 such sense. For if he had a-found fau't, I 
 could have a-bore wi' it. But when he were 
 so kind, my tongue could shape never a word 
 to zay. An' then he zaid, quite quiet like, 
 'think it over a week, Mrs. White, what's best 
 for yourzelf, an' come wi' an answer then.' ' 
 
 "We had better to zell " 
 
 She cut Jack short. 
 
 "I tell 'ee there's nothing but a miracle can 
 save us, now !" she cried, angrily, rising to her 
 feet to go indoors, for the silliness of what he 
 was about to say was more than she could be 
 still to hear. 
 
 She took a few hasty steps upon the path, 
 but, by the porch, she turned about and her 
 voice rang sharp and clear. 
 
 "There was never but one chance in this 
 world," she cried, with a look full of reproach. 
 "An' that you cast away from me. For the 
 Almighty blessed William zo he did an' 
 gied 'un luck; an' 'twere you yourzelf, Urs'la 
 Handsford, that drove 'un away from the 
 home he thought to ha' come back to. Ah ! he
 
 172 A Tangled Web 
 
 would ha' corned if he hadn' a-heard. Mayhap 
 he did come, for all we do know an' learnt 
 an' went in shame or anger, so silent as he 
 corned. For he had a steadfastness o' heart, 
 had William, that narn o' 'ee have a-got, nor 
 never will. An' he do believe that his own 
 mother allowed it all an' held against un. For 
 he'd never a-lef me, else. An' zay what you 
 will, or do what you mid, 'tis you two that have 
 a-brought it about to drive away my son to 
 turn me out o' house an' home an' bring me 
 to the grave in want when I mid ha' lived in 
 plenty." 
 
 She had said her say. She stopped abruptly 
 and went indoors. 
 
 Ursula, quivering in every nerve, turned 
 round to Jack. 
 
 "Go up an' put in the banns, to-day," she 
 said, shortly. "An' wait, to-night, till every- 
 body is abed an' soun' asleep. Then come 
 down quiet, mind to milkhouse door. An' 
 bide, Jack, till I do let 'ee in. For I've a-got a 
 need o' 'ee for what I mean to do." 
 
 Then, without waiting for so much as an 
 "Ay" or "Nay," she strode out of the gate, 
 leaving Jack to watch her pass out of sight.
 
 Four-Pennyworth of Fortune 173 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 FOUR-PENNYWORTH OF FORTUNE 
 
 The footpath leading across the fields and 
 passing close behind Jacob Handsford's barn 
 was more lonely than the village street. To 
 avoid meeting anybody, and the better to get 
 indoors unseen, Ursula had taken that way 
 home. 
 
 Warm at heart and impulsive by nature, she 
 had no power to conceal her thoughts and feel- 
 ings, or to bide her time. If she were angry, 
 she must show it ; when her blood was up, she 
 must speak out. And yet, brought up by her 
 father and hourly alert to his secret ways, she 
 had gained an insight into the hidden workings 
 of the meaner side of human nature which the 
 single-minded Rizpah did not possess. Well 
 enough she knew who had hinted that Winter- 
 hays was understocked. The friendliness of 
 the lawyer Anstey, which the widow took for 
 kindly respect, and young Jack seemed to think 
 made all things easy, did not deceive Ursula.
 
 174 A Tangled Web 
 
 Why, the very phrases smacked of her father's 
 words. She could hear his little dry chuckle 
 as he whispered, for the widow's own good, 
 mind, that 'twere better to leave in time than 
 to lose all. And the reason was as plain as 
 noonday. By fair words, of her own will, they 
 must get the widow to go out. For the name 
 of Jacob Handsford was a bye-word already. 
 And to go behind a bargain, or, by under- 
 creeping, to worm and hook another out of 
 home, was a crime in the eyes of all honest 
 folk to follow a man to the end of his days, 
 and be remembered and talked about when his 
 bones lay bare and dry under the sod. Even 
 he, who stuck at nothing when a penny was to 
 be got, hesitated to face that, if by other means 
 he could gain his own ends. But little did he 
 guess that they knew he had made an offer for 
 the land. She took a spiteful delight in pic- 
 turing how he would fume and scold when he 
 presently found her speaking straight out, and 
 determined to claim her rights. For the time 
 was come to have her money, and have it she 
 would, ay, and use it, too, to stop him in what 
 he meant to do. 
 
 And underneath all her anger and excite-
 
 Four-Pennyworth of Fortune 175 
 
 ment was a constant gnawing of remorse. 
 ,What the widow said was true. Ursula had 
 thought of that herself. William had heard, 
 and therefore would never again come back to 
 Bratton. Even when she went in fear of his 
 return, and the troubles it might bring, she 
 saw, clearly enough, that his absence must 
 mean the ruin of the Whites. To think of it 
 made her sick at heart. It was she who was 
 turning them out of Winterhays. 
 
 Oh, well! Wait until evening, she said to 
 herself, when her father came in to his supper, 
 with nobody else about, then let them see what 
 was to be done. 
 
 The moment came sooner than Ursula ex- 
 pected. 
 
 She had passed the barn and reached the 
 barton gate, through which she used to drive 
 in the cows, when a sudden outburst of voices 
 fell on her ear. It came from the paved court- 
 yard before the milk-house door. At first, she 
 was too far off to catch the drift of it ; but, sure 
 enough, her father was dealing out shrill ac- 
 cusations and threats. She could also hear the 
 terrified denials, the crying and frightened sobs 
 of little Hannah Peach.
 
 176 A Tangled Web 
 
 "You've a-stole it." 
 
 "I ha'n't, maister, I ha'n't I tell 'ee I 
 ha'n't" 
 
 "You've a-stole the money, you little work- 
 house thief. I'll zend for the constable. I'll 
 bring 'ee to the gallis, I will. An' you, too, 
 you fortune-telling, thieving, runabout rogue. 
 I'll have 'ee brought afore a justice, I will. 
 You shall go to jail, you shall. I'll have 'ee 
 flogged to the cart's tail " 
 
 Eager to learn what all this hullibaloo might 
 mean, Ursula ran across the barton and into 
 the yard. 
 
 By the pump, a tall, black-haired gipsy 
 woman was standing, a wicker basket of wares 
 hanging by a strap from her shoulder. At the 
 doorway was Hannah, bewailing and wringing 
 her hands. Between them stood Jacob Hands- 
 ford, in shirt-sleeves, pick in hand, just as he 
 had popped in from the stalls. 
 
 "I zaw money pass, I did. Silver money I 
 zaw pass. Ha! ha! You little thought of 
 anybeddy a-watching t'other side o' wall. But 
 I eyed 'ee in. An' saw the maid run indoors 
 an' come out again an' cross her han' wi' 
 a silver piece. I saw the glitter o' it, I did. Gie
 
 Four-Pennyworth of Fortune 177 
 
 it here, I tell 'ee, or 't'ull be the wo'se for 'ee. 
 She stole it. Gie it here!" 
 
 As he spoke, he stretched out his arm to- 
 wards the gipsy. Scared at his threats and 
 overawed at the mere mention of a justice, the 
 woman stepped forward, and dropped into his 
 hollow palm Hannah's lucky fourpenny-bit. 
 Ursula understood at once. The little work- 
 house maid, longing to know what her poor 
 life might have in store, had given the only 
 money she ever owned to learn her lot. 
 
 At sight of the coin, Jacob Handsford was 
 beside himself. 
 
 "Run up for the tything-man !" he threat- 
 ened at the top of his voice. "I won't have no 
 thieves about house. I'll send her back to the 
 workhouse. He! he! 'Tis you, Ursie, she've 
 a-robbed, for I were never one to lef money 
 about. She'll come to the gallis, I know she 
 will. Ho ! ho ! We shall live to see the huzzy 
 ride on a hurdle." 
 
 The gipsy-woman had already made the best 
 of her way off. Upon seeing Ursula, Hannah, 
 still weeping bitterly, gave over her frightened 
 declarations of innocence and became mute. 
 
 "No, we sha'nt," contradicted Ursula, flatly.
 
 178 A Tangled We> 
 
 " 'Tis her own money. I gied it to her, my- 
 zelf, for a honester girl to work there can't be. 
 'Tis her own to do as she will wi', so there." 
 
 Jacob quietly slipped the groat into his 
 breeches pocket. 
 
 "Ho ! ho ! So that's how you do waste what 
 I do work so hard to get, is it? That's how 
 you do rob your vather o' what's only a-gied 
 'ee for a purpose. Oh well! forewarned 
 forearmed; once bit twice shy. I've a-gied 
 'ee too much, I have, by far. I've a-bin a fool 
 to be so bountiful. You've so good as stole it 
 yourzelf you have. 'Tis 'bezzlement in law. 
 That's what 'tis. But I shall mind it. He! 
 he ! I shall tell 'ee o' it when next you do come 
 a- wanting an' a-begging." 
 
 He had been strangely shy of quarrelling 
 with her of late, and, as he finished speaking, 
 he turned his back as if to shuffle away about 
 his business. 
 
 But the blood of Ursula was up. All that 
 she had in mind to say to him at evening came 
 out there and then upon the spot. 
 
 "An' that'll be next-never-come-day, if you 
 do wait to then. I shall never ax 'ee for no 
 more, except what's mine by good right and
 
 Four- Penny worth of Fortune 179 
 
 law. So I mid so well tell 'ee, and gie notice 
 at once. I do mean to wed wi' the young Jack 
 White. I have a-told un a' ready he mid put in 
 the banns. So all you have a-got to do is to 
 han' me over what's my own, for that's all I 
 do ax o' 'ee." 
 
 Startled at such sudden and unlooked-for 
 news, he turned round in a passion, clutching 
 his upraised pick as if he would strike. But 
 the girl only looked him full in the face, and 
 that cowed him. 
 
 "I won't gie it to 'ee," he said, sullenly. 
 "You don't know your own mind. This time 
 last year, 'twere William, an', now, 'tis John. 
 I don't consent to the marriage, and I won't gie 
 it up." 
 
 "Then there is they that can make 'ee, quick 
 enough. Ay, an' wi' all the use-money, since 
 the day you took it in han' " 
 
 "They can't. They can't," cried Jacob, 
 louder than before. But the misgiving under- 
 neath his bluster was plain to see. 
 
 "They both can an' will," the girl went on, 
 raising her voice, and speaking very fast. "An' 
 first thing to-morrow morning, so soon as the 
 milking is a-done, I'll walk into Wincanton
 
 180 A Tangled Web 
 
 town my very zelf , and see the lawyer Anstey ; 
 and hire up to look at girt-uncle Jeremy's will ; 
 an' find out what 'tis ; an' get my rights for me ; 
 an' then he can take zo much as is wanted to 
 pay off the rent on Winterhays, an' the rest'll 
 go to stock it better, as there's some about do 
 think 'tis understocked. We shall get on well 
 enough an' ask nothing o' nobody. An' you'll 
 be able to get somebody to manage for 'ee, 
 more to your own liking." 
 
 This volley of threats took Jacob so much 
 by surprise that for the moment he was dumb- 
 founded. That Ursula would act as well as 
 talk, he did not doubt. If she were to go to the 
 lawyer Anstey and say as much as that, there 
 was an end to all his schemes. With the help 
 of Ursula, the Whites could stay on well 
 enough. It was one thing to jog along and 
 make a living with the land their own, as they 
 did when old William White was alive, but 
 quite another to pay rent. Yet, with more 
 means, they could do it, ay, and save a little 
 year by year. His shrewd, money-loving mind 
 grasped all this in an instant. But it took 
 longer to frame a wise reply. He fidgetted 
 with his feet. His eyes glanced restlessly from
 
 Four-Pennyworth of Fortune 181 
 
 house to wall and back again. Then, at last, 
 he found his tongue. 
 
 "Pack o' nonsense," he cried, his piping little 
 voice cracking with excitement; "you don't 
 know what you do zay. He ! he ! There, I've 
 a-got no time to listen to such stuff." And, 
 with a forced, uneasy laugh, he turned to go 
 his way. 
 
 "Then I'll change my frock an' go in to 
 once," the girl called after him. 
 
 He stopped, with his hand upon the latch of 
 the little wooden gate that opened into the 
 yard. 
 
 "You can't do that," he shouted. "You do 
 want to move too fast by half. Ho! ho! I 
 don't deny 'ee your money. I never ha'n't zaid 
 no such word. But you can't call in money 
 like you can whistle to the dog. You've a-got 
 to take your time. There's notice to be a- 
 sar'ed, an' the time mus' run. He! he! You 
 do think to ask at noon, an' go to law afore 
 night. Why, the lawyer Anstey 'ud laugh in 
 the face o' 'ee. Ay, an' chuckle behind your 
 back, too, the while he did use up half your 
 money in law about nothing. But you can't 
 go to law if I don't deny 'ee. An' I tell 'ee
 
 1 82 A Tangled Web 
 
 straight out, you shall have your money. Some 
 time after Midsummer you shall have it. But 
 tidden what you do think. I don't gie my con- 
 sent, an' so I shall charge 'ee for time and 
 trouble. Ah; an' then there's drawbacks too. 
 There's kip and clothes. Ho! ho! Tidden 
 what you think. But you shall have your 
 money, never fear. All that you have a-got 
 left o' it. I have a-told 'ee so mind that. So 
 soon after Midsummer as I can find time to 
 reckon up the accounts." 
 
 He gave her no chance to make reply, but 
 hurried away as fast as he could. And all the 
 afternoon he worked close about the house so 
 that he might see if Ursula started for Win- 
 canton town. 
 
 He had got the better of her the girl knew 
 that. 
 
 She should be but a fool to go to a lawyer 
 when he could answer that he was ready to 
 pay. Yet, clearly enough, she saw this was 
 only a put-off, and, at Midsummer, he would 
 find some other excuse. Then the miserable 
 meanness of charging her for living at home 
 for that was what his words meant when she 
 had managed everything and worked for him
 
 Four-Pennyworth of Fortune 183 
 
 like a slave, flashed across her mind. He might 
 take it out and welcome, for all she cared, so 
 long as she might have the rest at once to get 
 out of the house and away from him for good. 
 She wished that somebody would come and 
 rob him of every farthing and do him out of 
 every acre that he had. She ran into house 
 and gave Hannah Peach a whole shilling out 
 of downright anger and ill-will. 
 
 "There! An' I wish 'twur a crown," she 
 cried. "An' I hope we mid both live to see un 
 lost his every varden an' beg by the roadside," 
 she cried. 
 
 The little workhouse maid, frightened half 
 out of her wits at the word gallows, had been 
 weeping her eyes out ever since. 
 
 Now she stared in wonder at Miss Urs'la 
 and dried her tears.
 
 184 A Tangled Web 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 URSULA'S SCHEME 
 
 For more than an hour after Jacob Hands- 
 ford was in bed and all was still, Ursula waited 
 and listened, before she ventured to creep 
 downstairs. 
 
 She had taken no pains, to-night, to keep the 
 fire from going out, and the kitchen was quite 
 dark. She had to feel her way across the room. 
 She had thrown a short, round cape over her 
 shoulders and the edge of it swept a drinking 
 horn from off the corner of the bench as she 
 passed. It fell against the stool and rolled 
 away across the floor. The noise and clatter 
 of it quite startled her. Then she bethought 
 herself that it was wiser to strike a light before 
 going to let Jack in. He would but blunder 
 upon something or the other and rouse the 
 house. But even the snick of the steel against 
 the 'flint sounded strangely loud. And if she 
 carried the candle out to door, somebody might
 
 Ursula's Scheme 185 
 
 see. The girl was so keenly alive to what she 
 was about that she crept out into the yard, 
 called him in, closed the door behind, and bade 
 him wait where he was whilst she fetched the 
 light to show the way. 
 
 "Ursie " 
 
 She raised her finger at once to cut his ques- 
 tion short. He spoke in a deep, bass whisper 
 that, in the quiet of night, seemed to rumble 
 all through the place, and Ursula had set her 
 heart so dearly upon the thing she had in hand 
 to do that the mere thought of interruption 
 frightened her. 
 
 She crossed to her father's old bureau, noise- 
 lessly drew out the rests and turned back the 
 slanting lid. In one of the square pigeon-holes 
 were two letters, both brought by hand within 
 the last week. Her father had sat down in 
 a temper and had written an angry answer 
 to the first. Never had Ursula beheld such 
 urgent haste in all her life. Why, to send a 
 message by writing did not happen once in a 
 blue moon. And for very good reason, too, 
 since it was so much easier to wait a week or so 
 for a chance to say what you mid have to say 
 by word o' mouth. Something was going on. 
 
 13
 
 1 86 A Tangled Web 
 
 Ursula was sure of it. And his frequent por- 
 ing over the figuring, too that was strange. 
 It must be about this taking of Winterhays. 
 Her mind was bent upon knowing, if it took 
 all night. 
 
 She opened the book at the beginning, placed 
 the candle to light the page, and beckoned to 
 young Jack. 
 
 "Read it out, but soft, like," she said, in his 
 ear. 
 
 The young Jack knit his brows into a frown 
 too frightful for words to tell, as he drew his 
 finger along the line and spelt and read aloud. 
 
 "To charm away warts. Take a bit of rancy 
 bacon, rub the warts well, and bury it under 
 the middle stone of the drashle of the stable 
 door. The warts will then go." 
 
 "Tidden that," said Ursula, quickly, point- 
 ing hap-hazard at writing lower down on the 
 same leaf. "There, what's this about?" 
 
 "To ward off the evil eye " 
 
 "No, not that. There then there." 
 
 "To cure poll-evil!' 
 
 "La!" burst out the girl, sharply, being on 
 edge with impatience. "I sim, if I were a 
 scholar, I could soon find out what I do want.
 
 Ursula's Scheme 187 
 
 Turn over leaf. Turn on till you do zee where 
 he do put down about his money." 
 
 The early pages were covered thick with 
 charms and cures and recipes intermixed with 
 here and there a maxim of prudent husbandry, 
 culled and copied in full out of some printed 
 book in the small, scram hand of Jacob Hands- 
 ford. Then came a blank as if all were done. 
 And then again was writing in another shape, 
 unlocked for, in the very middle of the book. 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 Jack pulled closer the candle, snuffed it, bent 
 down his head and began to puzzle again. 
 
 "The count of the two hundred pounds left 
 by Jeremy Handsford, and put out to use upon 
 security to Mr. Malachi Webb." 
 
 "That's it. That's it. That's my money, 
 Jack. Read it out quick, there's a dear, good 
 chap." She caught him hold by the arm and 
 squeezed him with delight. "An' that's who 
 one o' the letters was from, too. Here ! Stop 
 a minute. Look here." 
 
 From the pigeon-holes in front of them, she 
 hastily reached down two thin sheets of paper, 
 both folded alike and broken around the red 
 wafers where they had been torn abroad. One
 
 1 88 A Tangled Web 
 
 after the other she opened and spread them out 
 before him on the desk. 
 
 "There, read they first, Jack," she told him. 
 
 They were both from Malachi Webb, and 
 the story which they had to tell was clear and 
 not to be mistaken. ' The earlier was the longer, 
 and to this Jacob had sent the sharp reply. It 
 was in a tone of complaint. He should be "a 
 goodish bit put about," so Malachi said, to pay 
 off the mortgage in such a hurry; and he 
 thought it a very hard thing to have it called 
 in, in such a sudden way, in a time of misfor- 
 tune and when the use-money had never been 
 even a day late. He begged of Mr. Jacob 
 Handsford to think it over again before put- 
 ting him to so much loss, to say nothing of ill- 
 convenience. 
 
 Ursula could not hold her peace to listen to 
 the end. She stood up, from leaning on the 
 bureau, and stamped her bare foot upon the 
 ground. Forgetful of the need for silence, 
 she spoke no more in a whisper, but as if, for 
 anything she cared, all the world might hear. 
 
 "Then 'tis all a lie to put me off that he told 
 by now, about not being able to call it in afore 
 Midsummer. He could do it when it suited
 
 Ursula's Scheme 189 
 
 'un, well enough. Ay, or any other mortal 
 thing to gain his own ends. Pinch and scrape 
 and squeeze and starve his own zelf or ruin 
 anybody else to gain a penny the more. But 
 I'll have it out o' un. I'll go to-morrow." 
 
 ''Hush, Ursie. He'll hear 'ee an' come 
 down." 
 
 "An' I don't care if he do. I ben't afeared 
 o' un one mo'sel bit. Why, there's scarce a 
 minute o' the day what wi' his talk o' other 
 folk; or his peeping an' watchin' what you do 
 do from morning when he do look for the 
 broken crust for Hannah that were left over- 
 night, to the last thing when his eye do meas- 
 ure the candle-end afore he do blow out the 
 light when I couldn' catch un hold by the 
 neck an' kill un. I could. Now. When I do 
 but think o' it, I could kill un." 
 
 Her voice had risen almost into a scream. 
 It was the anger of a free heart pent-up and 
 imprisoned through all its youth with a ring 
 of meannesses that stood together, close as the 
 bars of a cage. But Ursula's face told more 
 than her words. Two deep furrows frowned 
 between her brows, and her eyes glared with 
 fury, as she cried again,
 
 190 A Tangled Web 
 
 "I could, I could." 
 
 Then she stepped quickly back to the letter. 
 
 "Come, let's hear the upshot about Malachi 
 Webb," she said. 
 
 The second letter was very brief. The bor- 
 rower must have found a friend to help him 
 through, and now a strain of confidence and 
 manly independence underlay Malachi's style. 
 There was almost a sneer in the way he stuck 
 up for himself, telling Jacob to rest his mind 
 in peace, for his money he should have to the 
 last farthing upon April I3th, and not one 
 minute before "when is the right time you 
 can call it in by law, and I will meet you to 
 Wincanton town after work that evening, for 
 the convenience of both, there to pay the money 
 into your own hand, and take your quittance 
 in full," added Malachi, and signed his name 
 with a flourish full of pride. 
 
 "When is it?" she asked, looking Jack full in 
 the face. 
 
 He laid hand to forehead, trying to count 
 right back from quarter-day. His brain was 
 not so nimble as hers. 
 
 " 'Twere the zebenth o' Zunday," she said, 
 quickly, telling the days upon her fingers,
 
 Ursula's Scheme 191 
 
 "Monday, eight; Tuesday, nine; Wednesday, 
 ten." 
 
 "Ay. But 'tis Good Friday, to-morrow, and 
 that do vail on the twelfth. Mus' be o' Zatur- 
 day, then," he put in, suddenly recollecting, 
 after he had fallen into hopeless confusion. 
 
 "Jack," she went on, eagerly, craning her 
 head towards him and holding out a hand 
 quivering with excitement. "Do 'ee zee 
 through it? Can 'ee read the meaning o' it 
 all?" 
 
 He looked at her in perplexity, not catching 
 what she meant. 
 
 "He've a-called it in, Jack, so as to be ready 
 to take up Winterhays." 
 
 "That's what 'tis, for certain sure," sighed 
 Jack. 
 
 Then he frowned. His lips and brow be- 
 came hard-set. He looked as she had seen him 
 many a time, when he stood up for a bout of 
 cudgel-playing, or knelt on one knee on the 
 grass to set "Hold-fast" fair at the bull. 
 
 "So he's using my own money for 'tis the 
 very same by the book to bring about my own 
 ruin. For what's mine is yours, Jack, or will 
 be any time you do like. For I'll marry 'ee so
 
 192 A Tangled Web 
 
 soon as ever the time do allow. The Monday 
 a'ter we be called home the day afore. An' 
 I'll never put up wi' it. "Tis mine, an' I'll have 
 it, come what may. So there." 
 
 In her excitement, she turned back to the 
 desk and took up the letter she could not read. 
 
 *'An' so you ought," he added, grimly, truly 
 angry on Ursie's behalf. Though, for the life 
 of him, he could have given no counsel as to 
 how it might be brought about. At the sports, 
 or on the farm, he was sharp enough, and could 
 make things hum; but of law and all such 
 business there was not a notion in his brain. 
 
 Then it suddenly flashed upon Ursula what 
 they might do. 
 
 Her voice sank into an awesome whisper, 
 for her heart half failed as she gave words to 
 its own prompting. 
 
 "He'll bring the money home, here," she 
 said, and stopped. 
 
 "To be sure; he can't use it till answer is 
 a-gied the best part of a week." 
 
 "No. He'll bring it home an' hide it 
 away " 
 
 "An' you'll find it, Ursie," spoke up Jack, 
 catching at what she meant.
 
 Ursula's Scheme 193 
 
 The girl shook her head. 
 
 "You mid watch an' peep till doomsday an' 
 not do that/' she said. "He's so secret an' sly. 
 He'll never drop a word about going till 'tis 
 time to start. An' Jack, if I do let the old mare 
 out in common, late in a'ternoon, an' keep out 
 o' the way, he'll never catch her by hiszelf, not 
 in a blue moon." 
 
 "But if he couldn't go, Ursie, Malachi 'ud 
 pay im on the morrow just the same." 
 
 "Couldn' go?" she cried, with some impa- 
 tience at finding him so dull ; for she was all on 
 edge herself with the thought that had sud- 
 denly come into her brain. "He'd have to go 
 a-voot, for go he will, if 'tis bare-voot. An* 
 Jack," she turned towards him and stopped. 
 She drew closer to him, and again her voice 
 sank into a whisper, "He could nohow get back 
 then till a'ter dark." 
 
 Their eyes met. They gazed speechless at 
 each other. Both understood ; but, for a while, 
 neither had the courage, even in the silent se- 
 curity of night, to breathe the word. 
 
 It was Ursula who spoke first. 
 
 "If if anybeddy were to wait there, in the 
 dark, between the high trees, near by the cross-.
 
 194 A Tangled Web 
 
 roads they they would stop un, an' take 
 all," she stammered. 
 
 " 'Tis the gallis, Ursie, to rob on the high- 
 road," he said, hoarsely. 
 
 "I don't call it to rob," she broke out, warm- 
 ly, for Ursula's nature was frank and honest 
 as his. " 'Tis but to take our own. An' he'll 
 be nothing the worse. Not a varden out o' 
 pocket not in all honesty. For he'll never pay 
 not he! An' though, for a blind, we mid 
 claim to make un, nothing but law can do that. 
 So, from time to time, we could threaten an' 
 zit still. He'll hollar, but he'll lost nothing o' 
 his own." 
 
 "I misdoubt it 'ud never save a neck from 
 the halter to tell a judge an' jury that," he told 
 her, shaking his head. 
 
 "But nobody could ever know. How could 
 any soul ever vind it out? Oh, Jack, dear," 
 she cried, throwing her arms round his neck, 
 "I can't a-bear to think that 'tis we shall do 
 your mother out o' house an' home. For Wil- 
 liam 'ud a-come an' put all straight. He had 
 the means to, by his letter. That's what I do 
 feel. He faced death for it, an' got it, but 
 'twere we that spoiled all."
 
 Ursula's Scheme 195 
 
 "Like as not, your vather 'ud know me, 
 Ursie," he faltered, yielding to her caress, and 
 neither strong enough to answer "yes" nor 
 "no." 
 
 " 'Tis pitch-dark there along by the wood," 
 she urged, again, in a low whisper. 
 
 "He'd know me by my voice. An' all the 
 Whites have a-bin honest, time out o' mind." 
 
 "What need to speak ? Stay in wait against 
 a tree. Let un pass an' then step out an' catch 
 un hold. He'd be no more 'an a chile in your 
 arms. You've no call to hurt un. He ha'n't 
 a-got the heart of a mouse, nor the strength of 
 a vly. He'll gie it up to once and none'll ever 
 know. An' 'tis my own the very same that 
 were lef to me. If I were but a man, I'd go an' 
 take it for myself." 
 
 At the thought of this money, her anger 
 against her father re-kindled, and, for a mo- 
 ment, overcame her love. She drew away 
 from her lover and stood upright. Her spirit 
 was as bold as her words, and it was plain to 
 see that Ursula Handsford made no boast. "I 
 wish I had a-bin a man," she cried. 
 
 "I'll do it," he told her, quickly. "I'll do 
 whatever you do zay. For I do love *ee so
 
 196 A Tangled Web 
 
 dearly, Ursie, that I must, whether my mind 
 do go wi' it or no. I do care for nothing 'pon 
 earth but you " 
 
 "There's a long coat a gentleman's riding- 
 coat, only he's in holes an' libbets he put un 
 away to make a mommet, just the very same as 
 he do do wi' everything he do think he can 
 turn to use. I'll vetch un down in morning, 
 and you shall wear un, Jack. He'll cover 'ee 
 right up. Vather could never tell 'ee, no, not 
 if you wur his own son." 
 
 "I'll do it, Ursie. Hit or miss, I'll take it in 
 han'. I'll get your money if I " 
 
 "Hush," she whispered, holding up her fin- 
 ger. "Don't 'ee talk so loud. Creep into the 
 corner, Jack, an' sit down. I'll put away the 
 things so neat as if they never had a-bin 
 touched an' dout the light an' come an' talk 
 wi' 'ee, Jack. You've a-got no call to go till 
 daybreak or a little afore." 
 
 She quietly closed the bureau, blew out the 
 candle, and groped her way to him on the seat 
 beside the hearth. It was quite dark, though 
 the warmth of the fire still hung about the floor 
 and walls. A gust of wind passed moaning 
 overhead. Heavy drops of rain beat down the
 
 Ursula's Scheme 197 
 
 open chimney, above which was a black cloud. 
 And then the stars, brighter against the sooty 
 darkness than they ever shone in open night, 
 gleamed out again as the April shower swept 
 past. 
 
 She threw aside her cape. She leaned her 
 head upon his shoulder with her glowing cheek 
 to his. Her brain was all on fire. Thoughts 
 sprang up as quick as flames, she knew not 
 whence or how. 
 
 "I can zee how to make all safe," she went 
 on, in a quick, low voice. "Or, anyway, to 
 baffle un if he should have an inkling who mid 
 be. Hannah is a good girl. She cried her eyes 
 out, a'most, this very a'ternoon, to think that I 
 should marry an' go. She'll do anything 'pon 
 earth to please me. You mus' come down 
 here, Jack, so soon as Vather have a-started. 
 An' the maid shall zee 'ee here. An' you can 
 bide, an' talk wi' her, too, a bit. An', just 
 afore you do go, we'll put her out to gate to 
 watch for Vather to come down road, an' run 
 in an' let us know. An' you'll slip out by the 
 back, Jack, all unbeknown. An' when you've 
 a-met wi' un, an' stopped un, an' got my 
 money, you'll turn back upon the road an'
 
 198 A Tangled Web 
 
 quick athirt the fields an' in afore he can get 
 roun'. An' the maid'll find 'ee here just as she 
 left 'ee. Ay ! an' then you shall loiter a bit too 
 long, an' the old man shall catch sight o' 'ee, 
 too, as you do go out. An', if he should zay a 
 word, I'll up an' tell un, now we've a-put in the 
 banns, you shall come an' go as you like, or I'll 
 lef the house there-right." 
 
 "How you do think of things, Ursie. An* 
 bring anybeddy to your own mind, too," he 
 said. "I sim I could never go again a thing 
 you do zay I do love 'ee so." 
 
 For answer, she pressed her burning lips to 
 his. 
 
 In the glow and rapture of their love, the 
 undertaking for to-morrow night passed out of 
 mind. Ursula's plans, so clear and simple, had 
 lulled their fears and set aside the difficulties 
 besetting their path. All looked easy, and 
 could not fail to turn out all right. Ursula 
 would get her own. Then they could see their 
 way. Winterhays would be saved, too. They 
 were full of hope. The banns were in to-day. 
 They were as good as man and wife al- 
 ready. 
 
 "An' I do love 'ee, too, dear Jack; so much
 
 Ursula's Scheme 199 
 
 as heart can hold," she breathed, drawing his 
 head closer, and pressing her hands against his 
 cheeks. 
 
 It was the truth, and words could say no 
 more. He worshipped her with the blind de- 
 votion of a stripling in his first love; but hers 
 was the full passion of a ripe womanhood 
 which had waited long. 
 
 "I sim I can never leave 'ee, Ursie." 
 
 " "Tis full early yet, we can bide for hours," 
 she said. 
 
 They stayed there in the kitchen all night 
 through. 
 
 The stars that looked down at them from 
 above the chimney-top began to pale. The 
 first grey light of dawn found out each chink 
 in the shuttered window and peered beneath the 
 door. But still they could not part. 
 
 When, at last, the time had come that he 
 must needs go, she led him out into the court- 
 yard, and in the first cold light of morning held 
 him fast again. 
 
 Whilst she clung to him, her cheek grew 
 crimson. She hid her face upon his shoulder 
 as if she were ashamed. He laid his hand 
 upon her neck below her bright red hair.
 
 200 A Tangled Web 
 
 "But we can be married, Jack dear, afore the 
 month is out," she sighed. 
 
 "In little better than a fortnight, Ursie," he 
 said. 
 
 Then they parted hastily, and, without look- 
 ing back, she ran indoors. She barred all up, 
 and crept into her room an hour before her 
 father was astir. 
 
 When, as soon as day came up, he called and 
 beat upon the stairs, she came down as usual 
 and went out to fetch the cows. 
 
 At the milking and afterwards, the whole 
 day through, Jacob Handsford was quite con- 
 tented and merry for him. He did not 
 grumble once, morning or afternoon, even at 
 Hannah Peach, until toward evening, when he 
 found the mare had broken fence and strayed. 
 Then he called, and raved, and cursed ; only it 
 so fell out there was no one thereabout to hear.
 
 The Highway 201 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE HIGH WAY 
 
 The time was come for Jack to start. 
 
 From the kitchen window he and Ursula 
 watched, at sundown, the last gleam of light die 
 out beyond the hill. The promise of the early 
 part of the week that Spring was come had been 
 belied. Good Friday had been cold and wet. 
 Folk rubbed their hands, put on more logs at 
 night, and talked of winter blackthorn win- 
 ter, as they called it, because the wild sloe was 
 in flower. To-day there had been wild gusts 
 of wind, and angry pattering of hail at times 
 during the afternoon; but now the sky was 
 overcast with heavy cloud. Almost at once 
 the darkness fell, and the brief twilight turned 
 to night. Houses, trees, and orchards melted 
 into gloom. It grew so black they could not 
 see the stalls across the barton yard. 
 
 Everything had fallen out just as Ursula 
 foresaw. 
 
 Rather than wait a day, when the money 
 was within reach, her father soon gave over 
 
 14
 
 2O2 A Tangled Web 
 
 trying to catch the mare, and started a-foot 
 without a word to anybody of his errand. To 
 make sure, she had run into the orchard and 
 stood back out of sight behind the leaning trees 
 to see him pass. He was late, and red, and out 
 of breath with running and shouting, yet he 
 went in haste. Now, little Hannah Peach, glad 
 as a child to be of use to Miss Urs'la, stood 
 posted just within the gate, with ears alert to 
 listen for his footfall on the road. Yet the 
 lovers lingered for a while. , It was well that 
 everybody should get indoors. Might some 
 belated villager only chance to meet young 
 Jack, and bid him "good-night," there was 
 an end to all the fine tale that Hannah Peach 
 could tell. 
 
 They could not talk of what they had in 
 hand. Not that the thought of danger held 
 them tongue-tied. But they were on tenter- 
 hooks, as folks say, until the thing was done. 
 If either were shaken in courage, it was Ursula 
 who wavered now. To young Jack, as soon 
 as his mind grew used to it, the thing looked 
 easy. For robbery on the road was common 
 in those days, and though the penalty was 
 hard, not once in a hundred times did a high-
 
 The Highway 203 
 
 way man get caught and brought to justice. 
 Why, many a man lived on it all his life and 
 died in bed at last. Jack's only fear was that 
 something might go awry. Jacob Handsford 
 might think twice about carrying so much by 
 night, though Ursula felt sure he would never 
 let money out of his clutch. Or he might hap- 
 pen to come home in company. Though, for 
 that matter, he had never a friend in the world, 
 and he would sooner walk alone until morning 
 than trust himself to a stranger by the way. 
 Or Jack might miss him. Though that could 
 scarcely be. His only trouble, when once his 
 mind got used to the thing in hand, was lest this 
 chance should slip. 
 
 " 'Tis time I do start, Ursie," he whispered, 
 restlessly, at last, "or he'll ha' passed the place." 
 
 "He can't come yet for a bit." 
 
 " 'Tis a good step to get there." 
 
 Now that they came to the point, Ursula was 
 on the verge of breaking down. 
 
 "There's no hurt can came to 'ee, Jack, 
 dear, is there ?" she stammered, uneasily. She 
 caught him by both arms, standing straight in 
 front as if to block the way. 
 
 "None in the world," he answered, gaily.
 
 204 A Tangled Web 
 
 Ursula sighed. "I can't a-bear to let 'ee 
 go," she said. "Lord, if Vather should know 
 thee, Jack!" 
 
 "Not he," he laughed, and gave her a kiss 
 as he set her aside. 
 
 The old coat, put away to use for a scare- 
 crow, had been smuggled indoors. He put it 
 on. It was thread-bare and in tatters, but 
 what did it matter for that ? It was long, and 
 reached below his knees and broad, making 
 another man of him altogether. 
 
 She took courage. "Ay, an' 't 'ull shoot 
 off the rain, so as when he do find 'ee here, 
 you'll be zo dry as a bone. That 'ull be proof, 
 too, you ha'n't a-bin out in the wet," she cried, 
 eagerly; but then arose another fear. 
 
 "Mayhap he mid chance to catch a sight o' 
 your face." 
 
 "He could never so much as glimpse it in 
 the dark." 
 
 But she ran to fetch a "neckercher" never- 
 theless to muffle around and make all sure. 
 
 Then, with both hands she clutched his arm, 
 as they went together out in the night, careful 
 not to make a sound lest the little maid might 
 hear.
 
 The Highway 205 
 
 "An' don't 'ee wait a minute, Jack, dear, 
 afore you do run back an' let me know an' see 
 you be safe," she implored, still holding him 
 fast. "I shall look for 'ee every minute, an' 
 'twill seem a year till you be here again to 
 show me everything have a-turned out well." 
 
 "I'll come straight back, Ursie, so quick as 
 ever feet can run." 
 
 For a moment she pressed him closer still. 
 Then, with a sigh, she let him go. 
 
 He clambered over the low wall into the 
 field, and quickly vanished into the gloom. In 
 the heart of Ursula arose a sudden misgiving of 
 evil an eager prompting to cry out and call 
 him back. But she did not. She wavered, 
 half afraid to speak, too, lest Hannah Peach 
 should hear, and then it was too late. Yet 
 what ill could befall him ? None in the world. 
 Not so much a dread of the undertaking but 
 her love for him had made her coward. She 
 could not help it. The other night all looked so 
 simple and so safe and now she saw only the 
 risk. Oh, God! if anything should happen to 
 Jack ! And she had sent him upon the errand. 
 Yet what could ? Heavy with doubt and a sad 
 foreboding, which her mind told her was with-
 
 206 A Tangled Web 
 
 out sense and yet harboured aH the more, she 
 crept indoors to the kitchen and sat down to 
 wait. 
 
 As to Jack, he went with a light heart 
 enough. The thing was easy enough to do 
 to stop a man three times his age, and not of 
 half his strength. There was nothing on earth 
 he would not attempt to please Ursula. And 
 this had right on its side. It was Ursula's 
 very own money as clear as pen and ink could 
 show. And as for Jacob Handsford, he hated 
 him. Not only for the grudge owing because 
 of the land, but with the deep dislike that ava- 
 rice and evil nature draw down upon a man. 
 The thing well and safe done was no more to 
 his mind than a grim joke. And how all the 
 neighbours would chuckle and laugh when they 
 heard that little Jakey Handsford had been 
 robbed. Ha! and then, like enough, Jacob 
 would be mean enough to put out the excuse 
 that it was Ursula's money which was gone, 
 and so he was quit of her claim. 
 
 Yet even the most harmless Christmas prank 
 has to be done with judgment, and forethought, 
 and on the sly. All must turn out well if only 
 he could get to and fro unseen. It is better not
 
 The Highway 207 
 
 to follow the path, but to strike at once across 
 the open ground. Nobody was likely to be 
 about, but now and again he stood and listened 
 all the same. Under the shelter of the hill, the 
 valley lay quite still. There was not a sound 
 of moving man or beast. The village win- 
 dows glimmered one above another, here, close 
 together, there, solitary and wide apart, all up 
 the slope, a light in every house. A small driz- 
 zle, fine as a mist, was beginning to fall, and the 
 night threatened more storm and rain. 
 
 That was good. The thick darkness blotted 
 out all landmarks, so that, if he had not known 
 the country every step, he must have missed 
 the way. But he had the luck to hit the gap 
 and clambered through the gully, where great 
 stones gave a passage dry-shod above the water 
 and across the mud. After that the fields 
 were his own all up the slanting corn- 
 grounds, along the copse, and so over a gate 
 into the road. 
 
 The spot upon the highway where he came 
 out of the fields was too open to please him. 
 There lay a strip of grass upon each side, and 
 the hedges stood too far back to offer a hiding 
 place. These wayside wastes were common
 
 208 A Tangled Web 
 
 between market towns in olden times, when 
 land was cheaper than it is to-day. In the first 
 place, they had been left by law to give security 
 from surprise to the home-returning traveller ; 
 and to-day there was neither bush nor cover 
 by which he could lurk without fear of being 
 seen. More than that, he was too near the vil- 
 lage if Jacob might hap to cry for help. But, 
 further on, great trees had been allowed to 
 grow up quite close and partly overhanging the 
 highway. Towards them Jack White made 
 the best of his way, keeping upon the soft sod, 
 and feeling before him with the stout ground- 
 ash stick he always carried in his hand. Very 
 soon he came to an old elm, tall and weather- 
 beaten, trimmed of its branches half-way up the 
 stem, and covered thick with ivy. Against 
 this he took his stand. 
 
 Here, on the height, the rising wind was free 
 to have its way. It moaned and whistled as it 
 drove sweeping through the bare branches that 
 kept creaking as they bent and swayed above 
 his head. The fine rain, now falling thick and 
 fast, gathered on the limbs above and fell in 
 great drops which kept striking with a thud 
 against the broad ivy leaves. It was a night
 
 The Highway 209 
 
 when those who were in would stay, and any 
 who must needs be out would hasten on his 
 way. 
 
 But time went by, and Jacob Handsford did 
 not come. 
 
 How late it might be young Jack could not 
 so much as give a guess. He tried to reckon 
 on from sunset so long in the house, so long 
 across the fields, and now it seemed an age 
 under the tree. In places through the holes 
 and tatters of the old riding-coat he was get- 
 ting wet to the skin. He dared not after this 
 be caught sitting with Ursula at the farm. He 
 must go just when the maid came in to tell. 
 The wet-stained patches beneath upon his own 
 coat would catch the eye of Jacob Handsford 
 at once, and give the lie to anything that Han- 
 nah Peach could say. 
 
 From time to time he stepped out into the 
 road to hearken. 
 
 Now that his eyes were used to the darkness, 
 beyond the trees he could dimly make out the 
 way running straight along the lonely ridge. 
 But nobody could he see. How long was it 
 good to wait? Jacob Handsford must have 
 gone by before he came. Their only chance
 
 2i o A Tangled Web 
 
 was gone. His heart sank. He had missed 
 laying hands on Ursula's money, and the hold- 
 ing of Winterhays was lost. Not until now, 
 when he felt sure their plan had failed, did he 
 know how keenly he was bent on carrying it 
 out. He ought to have started before just 
 in the first dumps, like, before dark-night. 
 Ursula had kept him. too late, he said to him- 
 self. 
 
 And yet Jacob could never have got home so 
 soon. Like enough the turning out of the 
 mare had upset his plans, so that he had missed 
 Malachi after all. Perhaps even followed him 
 home to his own house, which would bring 
 Jacob back to Bratton by another way. 
 
 Still Jack waited, in spite of all his doubts. 
 
 Suddenly a sound fell upon his ear. Some- 
 thing that was not of the wind and rain. Then 
 a gust swept down the road that made it fruit- 
 less to listen. He crept back on tiptoe amongst 
 the trees to wait. After the blast followed a 
 lull. Yes, somebody was coming. Now and 
 again he could distinctly catch the clink of a 
 footstep far away a short, quick step walking 
 in haste. Soon he could dimly make out the 
 figure of a man then, as it came closer still,
 
 The Highway 21 1 
 
 i 
 the short stature of Jacob, leaning forward as 
 
 he hurried on against the wind. 
 
 He wrapped the "neckercher" around his 
 face right up to his eyes. He was wet and cold, 
 but a grim gladness warmed the heart of young 
 Jack White. It was all right. Nothing could 
 have turned out better, after all. He felt cer- 
 tain that Jacob carried the money. There was 
 eagerness and excitement in the man's pace. 
 
 His plan was simple. He must let Jacob 
 pass; then spring out unawares, throw both 
 hands around him from behind his back and 
 grip him fast. Ten to one, feeling his weak- 
 ness, Jacob would give up at once. Or, at 
 most, whine and swear himself a poor farmer 
 on his way home with nothing about him; or 
 offer, mayhap, a little from his pocket so as to 
 save all. He would be cunning for certain 
 sure, but if he were fool enough to struggle or 
 utter cry then let him put up with such rough- 
 ness as may befall. 
 
 But the young Jack White reckoned without 
 his host. 
 
 Jacob, as he drew near the trees, with that 
 shrewd forethought which lay in the very grain 
 of him, kept off towards the other side of the
 
 212 A Tangled Web 
 
 road. Instead of coming quite close, he would 
 pass ten or a dozen steps away. In his hand he 
 carried a stout cudgel with which he walked. 
 For all his haste, it was clear to see the senses 
 of the little man, quickened with the knowledge 
 of what he had about him, were keenly 
 alert. 
 
 Jack waited his time. Jacob had come op- 
 posite the elms and but one pace beyond, when, 
 suddenly aware of someone at his heels, he 
 abruptly turned round. Quick as thought he 
 grasped it all. Without a word, he ran for- 
 ward, raised his cudgel, and struck with all his 
 might. 
 
 The blow fell aslant across Jack's head and 
 on to his shoulder. It was so unlocked for, 
 that, for a moment, it staggered him. 
 
 Then, beyond belief, Jacob rushed wildly on, 
 striking again and again in fierce excitement 
 with the fearless rage of one carried away by 
 fear or driven by overwhelming passion. Sure 
 enough, Ursula had mistaken her father when 
 she thought him timid as a mouse. However 
 that might be in the doings of every day, fof 
 the safety of his money he sprang up to fight 
 like fury. That was everything to him. He
 
 The Highway 213 
 
 came on, caring neither for life nor limb. For 
 that little bag of gold he had the courage to 
 dare anything. Just as the most timid of 
 womenkind will face any danger to shelter her 
 child. 
 
 For a moment, young Jack did but parry the 
 strokes, and that, too, they came so fast, was as 
 much as he could do. Once or twice he had 
 been struck on the neck, on the shoulder 
 and he was smarting on the arm. He saw the 
 danger, too. If, by a chance blow, he should 
 get knocked down, nothing could save him 
 from the constable and the law, for Jacob 
 Handsford, to be sure, would leave no stone 
 unturned. 
 
 He stepped back on the wayside out of reach. 
 He had been beaten, and he ached. The youth 
 and manhood in him, the pride of so many a 
 cudgel fight and wrestling bout, felt shame 
 to give ground to a weak old man like that. 
 And, now that his blood was up, the money he 
 must have, come what may. 
 
 "Body and soul!" he cursed aloud between 
 his teeth. 
 
 He stopped a moment to draw breath. The 
 other stood quite still in the road, facing him,
 
 214 A Tangled Web 
 
 staring at him, fearful to turn his back, yet too 
 timorous now, as it looked, to make another 
 onset. 
 
 It had grown lighter than just now. The 
 rain had ceased. Above the hedgerow before 
 him shone a patch of bright starlight piercing 
 through a breach rent in the cloud. 
 
 And still the little man stared, his head 
 craned forward to peer through the gloom, as 
 if half recognizing his assailant, yet not quite 
 sure. 
 
 What if Jacob, even in the darkness, had 
 made him out? No, that was impossible. He 
 might have guessed at him by the voice. The 
 heart of young Jack White quailed under the 
 thought. What a fool he had been to speak. 
 Now Jacob knew him. Or, at least, in his 
 mind harboured a shrewd inkling as to who it 
 was. Enough, with such a man, to give the 
 clue by which to worm all out. 
 
 An awful dread of being known came over 
 him. He would be in the power of one who 
 had, all along, been doing in secret everything 
 that wit could scheme to bring about their ruin. 
 Quick as thought, he changed his staff to his 
 left hand, rushed in, no matter what blow
 
 The Highway 2 1 5 
 
 might fall, and struck Jacob on the brow with 
 his right fist. 
 
 The little man reeled two steps and fell. 
 He made one poor attempt to rise, but the 
 young Jack White raised his stick and hit 
 him on the head. At once, he dropped back 
 stunned and lay in the road quite still. 
 
 There was but one way now to make all safe. 
 To waste no time in getting the money; to 
 hasten back to Ursula; then to go straight to 
 some neighbour's house to sit an hour with a 
 pipe and a glass. Later on let Ursula raise a 
 cry that her father was lost. Jacob could never 
 be sure enough to swear to him upon oath. 
 Jack White's time could all be accounted for, 
 let Jacob hereafter say what he may. 
 
 This plan quickly passed through Jack's 
 brain. He knelt and bent over the outstretched 
 body before him, searching pocket after pocket, 
 and turning it, first on one side, then on the 
 other, the better to do as he would. How the 
 man bled, to be sure ! Jacob Handsford, so far 
 as he could see, had not changed a stitch to go 
 into the town. He had only taken off his long 
 smock, and wore the everyday clothes in which 
 he was wont to work about his farm. The
 
 2i 6 A Tangled Web 
 
 breeches and hose, the long jacket with buttons 
 close together down before, and the narrow, 
 strap with a broad buckle around his waist. 
 But nowhere was any money to be found. 
 Nothing, that is to say, but a silver groat and a 
 pennypiece in the pocket of the right-hand side. 
 That he put back and left there. It was no 
 good. Besides, this not Ursula's money, and 
 young Jack White was not a thief. 
 
 So all their trouble had been taken in vain. 
 He must trudge back to Ursula from a fool's 
 errand, wet through and suspected for his 
 pains. And Jacob had got a cracked crown 
 that would last him a pretty while. She might 
 have him a sick man on her hands for a full 
 month or more. That was all the good that 
 had come of their fine plot. 
 
 Then a sudden gladness, a sense of safety, 
 came over him. Whether Jacob knew him or 
 not was of very little account. Since there 
 was no money there was no robbery, and to 
 knock a man down, even if it could be proved, 
 was a small matter indeed. Why, if every- 
 thing were known right out as it now stood, 
 every soul in Bratton would be ready to swear 
 that it only served little Jakey well-right after
 
 The Highway 217 
 
 all he had done. Folk would laugh at the 
 thought of it. And he would sooner fly than 
 show his nose in court to have Ursula's money 
 talked about. He would rather pay up than 
 that. Very likely it was all for the best as it 
 was. 
 
 Yet Jacob lay strangely still. Not a sound, 
 nor a sigh, move him about as much as you 
 would. Surely he was not much hurt surely 
 he could not be 
 
 With nimble ringers, Jack undid the buttons 
 and thrust his hand within the jacket to feel. 
 
 Hidden close against the man's heart lay a 
 soft, leathern bag, spread flat, and hung around 
 the neck by a string. He broke away the knot 
 and dragged it out. It was heavy, and the 
 coins grated and clinked together as he held it 
 up. So there was Ursula's money after all 
 the money that was going to turn them out. 
 He gave a short, grim laugh, very much as 
 Jacob might have done, himself, when some- 
 body was outwitted whom he loved none too 
 well. Ursula would have her rights then, and 
 be even with the abomination old skinflint after 
 all. 
 
 Then the misgiving came back. 
 
 15
 
 2i 8 A Tangled Web 
 
 Again his fingers stole underneath the open 
 coat. 
 
 Not a throb not a flutter was there. Not 
 the slightest rise or fall of breathing, nor any 
 movement or sign of life. 
 
 For a minute, Jack White knelt terror- 
 stricken the bag of gold in one hand, the 
 other pressed upon the dead man's breast. 
 
 Slowly the whole truth came home to him. 
 
 It was the father of Ursula whom he had 
 killed.
 
 The Wayfarer 219 
 
 THE WAYFARER 
 
 Shuddering with horror and bewilderment, 
 Jack White slowly rose to his feet. Dazed and 
 overwhelmed with awe, he stood there trem- 
 bling, almost touching the dead man and with- 
 out strength to stir. 
 
 He grasped all that had happened. His 
 mind saw clearly what he had done. But his 
 brain could not help him. His forehead, sweat- 
 ing from every pore, was throbbing fit to burst. 
 He stood as one in a nightmare, shivering, 
 spellbound, and unable to move. 
 
 Slowly a fear for his own safety crept over 
 him. 
 
 How should he act? Where could he go? 
 What was he to do ? 
 
 If he had done it secretly, of himself, and 
 Ursula had known nothing, it would have been 
 very easy to hide away the body and leave no 
 clue. Nobody would dream that one of the
 
 22O A Tangled Web 
 
 Whites, hard up though they might be, would 
 go upon the road to rob. But what of Ursula ? 
 She had never thought of harm. Only to get 
 what was her own. "He'll be nothing the 
 zvorse. You'll have no call to hurt un." Those 
 were her very words. And she was waiting 
 still, all on edge for him to come with the 
 money and tell what had fallen out. 
 
 He could never face her to tell her this. 
 
 At the thought of it he was beside himself. 
 Better to take the money and run. There was 
 all night through to get away. Say now it 
 might be hard upon nine. Dawn would break 
 and folk begin to move at five. That gave 
 eight hours. Thirty mile he could make and 
 then hide until dark. Or get to Bristol and 
 creep away aboard some ship. Or pay his 
 passage. Though that must mean time and 
 talk in open day. Folk would see him and 
 take note. And the news of the murder could 
 not be far behind his heels. For he would be 
 missed. In an hour or two, at most, his 
 mother, at her wits' end, would run and rouse 
 the neighbours from their beds. And Jacob 
 too must be lost for what could Ursie do 
 when no one came? ay, and looked for on
 
 The Wayfarer 221 
 
 the Wincanton road and found. And then, 
 even mayhap before midnight, horsemen would 
 go galloping to every town within ten miles to 
 raise the hue and cry. They would call him 
 by name tell of his age, his height, his colour 
 ay, and the very stuff of every stitch of his 
 clothing. He could see them hear them 
 already. The constables and the well-to-do, 
 riding and blowing their horns, gathering in 
 noise and number in every village all along the 
 road and the lesser folk running a-foot, eager 
 as hounds on a fresh scent. 
 
 No, no. To run was little better than to tell 
 everything at once. The whole country would 
 be up, and he, driven to earth before another 
 sundown. Then, what good could it be to 
 plead or talk of innocence. 
 
 He stooped down again. Jacob, mayhap, 
 might not be dead after all but only stunned. 
 Well enough he knew better, yet the mere hope 
 for a moment brought him calm. He bent 
 quite close, his cheek near to the lifeless lips, 
 and listened, holding his breath the while. He 
 lifted the head. The hair was matted, wet 
 and warm. 
 
 His ear caught a sound that made him start.
 
 222 A Tangled Web 
 
 Somebody was coming up the road. He 
 turned and hearkened. Just as when Jacob 
 came, against the rough stones thrown down 
 to harden the way, there struck a hurrying 
 footfall drawing rapidly towards him. 
 
 In his excitement, he had heard nothing 
 thought of nothing but the horror he had done. 
 Unbeknown the wayfarer had drawn quite near 
 was almost upon him. There could be, as 
 it seemed, but one minute and all must be found 
 out. He sprang up. His thought was to get 
 away into the fields and then creep home un- 
 seen. He seemed to hear cries of "murder" 
 ringing through the quiet night as the traveller 
 ran to the nearest house to give the alarm. He 
 stopped. No. It was nothing nothing but 
 a wild frenzy of his heated brain. The dark- 
 ness was quite still. All but the steps louder 
 and clearer as they came beating on nearer by 
 a stride at every beat. 
 
 Not a moment was to be lost. He caught 
 up the dead, limp body in his arms, and, stag- 
 gering off the stoned road, on to the sward, laid 
 it down behind the trees. 
 
 Then again he stood and listened. All 
 sound of steps had ceased. There was no-
 
 The Wayfarer 223 
 
 body about ; no other noise but the howling of 
 the wind and pattering of the rain. Yet what 
 was that less than a score of yards away 
 there, where the black-thorn tree stood higher 
 than the rest ? The wayfarer must have heard 
 something astir, for he was standing still. 
 Against the deep gloom of the hedgerow, on 
 the other side, his dim figure could plainly 
 enough be made out. 
 
 A screech owl, on its silent wings, came 
 sweeping low, just over the hill-top. It 
 wheeled around the trees, only a few feet above 
 Jack's head and hissed, and swooped, as if to 
 fly in his very face. Then on it went, with 
 hideous screams, as if it saw and understood. 
 To hear it made the blood turn cold in his veins. 
 For the white owls that live in graveyards al- 
 ways knew and came, even to the window-pane, 
 where there was death within. So Bratton 
 people said, and had known it true many a time. 
 
 But at the noise the traveller took heart. 
 Like enough it was but the bird he had heard 
 before. Stealthily, he crept on a few steps 
 then stood again in doubt then slowly walked 
 close opposite the trees, and stopped, and 
 peered into the darker night under the branches.
 
 224 A Tangled Web 
 
 It seemed to Jack that the man was staring 
 openly upon his crime. 
 
 But presently, as all was still, the. stranger, 
 growing more content, started again upon his 
 way, and, gaining courage as he got free of this 
 dark spot, hurried on as at first, making the 
 best of his way along the road.
 
 An Hiding Place 225 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 AN HIDING PLACE 
 
 Jack White breathed again, as one to whom 
 a respite had been granted. 
 
 He stood quite still until the distant footsteps 
 died away beyond all reach of hearing, and the 
 night, again clouding over, grew dark and 
 lonely as at first. 
 
 His brain was in a ferment, but all thoughts 
 of flight had fled. His fears began to shape 
 themselves in other forms. The passing of 
 this man along the road left him panic- 
 stricken and with no power to weigh the hasty 
 impulses that came rushing pell-mell through 
 his mind. All that his terror could clearly see 
 was the village upon one hand and, in the valley 
 on the other side of the hill, the crowded houses 
 of the market town. This highway became a 
 busy thoroughfare. Folk might throng in 
 scores both ways at early morn. He must be 
 quick. He must hide what he had done. His
 
 226 A Tangled Web 
 
 life lay upon that chance. Anywhere, any- 
 where, just to get time, if only an hour or two, 
 before the crime was brought to light. Or if 
 it might be days there must be gain in that. 
 There was a man lost out of Bratton, once, and 
 never heard of since. At the time, people 
 talked of foul play. But now, he had made 
 away with himself so they said. Why might 
 not Jacob be put out of all sight, never to be 
 found ? But Ursula ! Could Ursie be brought 
 to think he had not fallen in with her father? 
 A pattering rain came pelting down, drenching 
 him through and through. So much the better 
 if it poured all night. Not even a dog would 
 be out of doors ; and the noise and clatter of it 
 drowned every other sound. There was blood 
 upon the road it would wash the stones white 
 and clean. Ay, and on the sod, too the wet 
 would soak it in. Everything would be hidden 
 and his guilt never brought home. 
 
 But where? 
 
 The gully against Winterhays, at its deepest, 
 was twelve feet down or more, overgrown 
 above with gorse and briars so thick that even 
 a spaniel dog could scarcely push between the 
 thorns his yelping way. That was the place.
 
 An Hiding Place 227 
 
 At the bottom, water had cut out a narrow rift 
 more secret than a grave. Nobody would ever 
 look there. Nobody had the right but himself 
 on one side and and Jacob. 
 
 He shuddered. It was so hard to under- 
 stand that Jacob Handsford lay there killed. 
 
 Hide it hide it away. Out of sight of to- 
 morrow morning and the eyes of men. At the 
 thought of this place he was in a fever to get 
 it done. Ay, and then, at daybreak, or the 
 first fitting time, carry a shovel by stealth, creep 
 up through the hollow from below, scoop a hole 
 in the bank or, better still, dig deep under the 
 gully bed and bury it. Pile stones into the 
 hole and bury it until doomsday out of the 
 light. 
 
 He bent over the corpse, groping with his 
 hands to lift it up. But it slipped out of his 
 grasp. Not from the weight, but it was so 
 limp and awkward. He tried to carry it in 
 his arms, as when he lifted it on to the wayside. 
 But it fell away. In his haste, he heaved it 
 roughly up across his shoulder and stepped out 
 upon the road. 
 
 He got into the fields the way by which he 
 had come and kept straight on, faster and
 
 228 A Tangled Web 
 
 faster as he went, now sliding down the slip- 
 pery, grassy hillside, now stumbling over a 
 rough tuft or stone, so that he was forced to 
 run to keep his feet. Yet, in spite of rain and 
 darkness, he safely found his way until he 
 reached the coombe behind Bratton and stood 
 upon the ground of Winterhays that Jacob had 
 so coveted with all his heart. 
 
 He hurried down to where the gully parted 
 the two farms. One field away his mother's 
 kitchen window gleamed like a lantern between 
 the orchard trees. She must by this time be in 
 wonder because he was not in. Down at the 
 other house, the door stood partly open and a 
 shaft of light glowed out, falling aslant across 
 the black faggot pile and the posts of the stalls. 
 Ursula must be out to gate watching for him to 
 come. The water, swollen by the rain, was 
 running in a flood. He could hear it moan 
 and gurgle deep below the dark hedge and 
 overgrowth that lay close before him and 
 blocked the way. 
 
 He stopped a moment, dazed and breathless, 
 not quite certain where he was. He stood in 
 doubt on the brink of the gully and tried to col- 
 lect his thoughts. How far had he come down
 
 An Hiding Place 229 
 
 the hill-side ? Was he above or below the only 
 gap by which he could get into the ditch? 
 With hasty steps, he began once more to climb 
 the hill, so close to the bushes that the sprawl- 
 ing brambles caught his feet. He stopped 
 again. He tried to peer through the night, but 
 nothing could his eyes clearly make out no 
 break in the line of the hedge. Fool ! It was 
 below. He was throwing away time. He 
 turned at once and hurried the other way. On 
 and on he went, but no place could he find. 
 The thorns and bushes everywhere were denser 
 than a wood. His heart failed him. He must 
 have been within a yard or so of the place be- 
 fore he turned. He laid the body down beside 
 the gorse. It was no good. He might just as 
 well give up at once. 
 
 There flashed upon him another plan. 
 
 At the bottom, in the lowest corner of the 
 field, was an open shallow, railed off so that the 
 beasts might go so far and drink. Of a night 
 as dark as pitch he could find that. There a 
 man, blind as a bat, could go and push his way 
 upwards through the hollow as far as he 
 would. 
 
 His courage returned. The thing was as
 
 230 A Tangled Web 
 
 good as done. Even this moment's pause had 
 rested him and brought him back his strength. 
 Again he lifted to his back his ghastly burden, 
 and went on. 
 
 The opening to the watering-place was flat, 
 and covered in stiff, firm mud. Even the rain 
 had not made it soft, and it clogged his steps so 
 that he almost fell forward. As he went on, 
 he sank into the mire knee-deep. He was 
 forced to lean upon the rail to lift himself free 
 and climb upon the gully-bank. 
 
 Then, as he paused, his fears, following close 
 upon him, caught him up. 
 
 God! if any man, chancing to pass hereby, 
 to-morrow, should see his track a track going 
 for no purpose where nobody could have need 
 what must he think ? How he would look ! 
 There was not one in Bratton no, nor else- 
 where but his eye must catch, at a glance, a 
 sign so strange. Not a soul but must wonder, 
 ay, and then go to pry. For by daylight it was 
 easy to climb around dryshod. There would 
 be footprints to the water's edge, and then 
 again along the sliding gully-bank. Every 
 hobnail upon the sole the round mark of the 
 heel left clear to tell the tale as plain as writ-
 
 An Hiding Place 231 
 
 ing on a page. They would track him track 
 him like a rabbit in winter snow. Then every- 
 thing, clear as noonday, must come out. 
 
 In sudden fright, he turned about, floun- 
 dered, stumbling and splashing, out of the pool, 
 and stood again on the firm grass of the field, 
 no better off than before. 
 
 He would get rid of the body, anywhere, and 
 go home. 
 
 In the middle of a ground next to his piece 
 of new-sown barley was a pit, deeper, so it was 
 said, than Bratton tower was high so deep 
 that never waggon-line could plumb the depth. 
 That was common talk in the village. Hap 
 what may, he would cast it there, and have 
 done with it. 
 
 The way was easy. He had only to follow 
 along the hedge to pass through a gate, at the 
 present time thrown open that the cattle might 
 be free to wander to and fro at will. Even in 
 the night he could find this ancient marlhole, 
 by the tall trees that grew around. Five min- 
 utes, and the thing was done. All gone, and 
 sunk, deep out of sight, in the still, black water 
 far below, where the sides were cut steep as 
 walls, and thorns and ivy grew thick together
 
 232 A Tangled Web 
 
 over the top. There it would be hidden from 
 all eyes, and never found. 
 
 And yet in three days a drowned man will 
 swim. There is no keeping him under after 
 that. And the boy, put in the barley to scare 
 rooks, was for ever and ever running across to 
 climb down to the moorhen's nest upon the 
 gnarled stump on the water' s-edge. 
 
 He stood upon the brink in doubt. The 
 black water seemed to catch a faint shimmer of 
 light even in the dark night. They looked 
 there he could remember them with poles and 
 crooks when the other man was lost. 
 
 What madness to have come here at all 
 here to the very door of Winterhays. Any but 
 a fool would have gone far away back to- 
 wards Wincanton anywhere, furthest from 
 his own ground. Why, Jacob lost would 
 be looked for high and low round his own 
 place. Better to have left him on the road. 
 Anyone might have robbed him on the high- 
 way. But here 
 
 He could go to the bottom of the hill, across 
 Three-hounds-waste, then by the lane back into 
 the road again. It was not possible to miss the 
 way. From corner to corner of that unen-
 
 An Hiding Place 233 
 
 closed tract ran a drove, hoof-trodden and 
 scored with deep ruts. There were gipsies 
 there the day before yesterday, but gone to-day. 
 He had only to push on to that and all was 
 straight. No sooner did this thought spring 
 in his mind than all his wavering ceased. 
 Caught and carried away by a fresh current too 
 powerful to resist, he hurried on. 
 
 The Three-hounds-waste lay just beyond the 
 piece of common at the foot of Jacob Hands- 
 ford's farm. It was not far, and he was quick- 
 ly there. The wind, that swept along the road 
 on the hill-top, came driving up the valley be- 
 hind him with all its might. At times, it was 
 as much as he could do to stand. The ground 
 was rough and uneven, sometimes wet and 
 soggy, broken with stiff tufts of reeds and 
 rushes, and then again in patches of low scrub 
 and last year's brash, which caught his feet so 
 that at every step he stumbled. Once he near- 
 ly fell. His nerve was shaken. He was al- 
 most done, and his knees trembled beneath him. 
 He was driven to lay the dead man on the 
 ground, and rest. 
 
 He was upon a piece of open turf. As he 
 
 bent down, the gale blew off his hat. Dis- 
 16
 
 234 A Tangled Web 
 
 mayed at the fear of losing it and leaving such 
 tell-tale proof of his presence, he strode for- 
 ward, on in the line of the wind, thrusting and 
 feeling on each side with his stick. As well 
 search for a needle in a bottle of hay. He was 
 hopeless ! He must give up, and all was ruined. 
 It could not have gone so far "not so far," he 
 kept saying to himself. Yet, with the words 
 upon his lips, he still pushed on. Then he 
 turned, knelt upon the grass, and groped with 
 his hands. At last, by sheer luck, his fingers 
 came upon the soft cloth, caught and hanging 
 against a small thorn bush. He seized it, set 
 it on his head, and stood upright. 
 
 This brief respite from the weight had given 
 him ease. His limbs were strong again, and 
 he, burning with eagerness to go forward, 
 tiirned hastily back towards the place where, 
 as it seemed to him, he had laid the body down. 
 
 A few steps and he found himself off the 
 grass, trampling once more against the rushes 
 and rough herbage. He had got wrong. He 
 stood puzzled, staring into the night, trying to 
 make out where he was. But the waste around 
 was one unbroken darkness. Neither bush nor 
 bog nor brash could he tell, one from another,
 
 An Hiding Place 235 
 
 t 
 
 to give him any clue. He must have borne 
 round to the right when he rose up. With this 
 thought he pushed hastily to the left. It was 
 no good. He had already overstepped the 
 mark, and was never the nearer to what he 
 looked for. Yet it must be close at hand. He 
 went back to the right then on again 
 hither thither in short, hasty journeys, al- 
 ways changing his mind. But everywhere was 
 wilderness, and his feet never came upon a bit 
 of sward. 
 
 At last, in very hopelessness, he stopped. 
 He no longer knew where he was. There was 
 no sense in anything he could do. He had lost 
 it lost it beyond all finding, in the blackness 
 of night 
 
 Then, like a ghastly vision, the whole picture 
 arose before his mind's eye. 
 
 He saw the corpse of little Jacob Handsford 
 whom he had murdered lying stiff and stark 
 upon the open ground, his face upturned to- 
 ward the sky, unhidden by so much as bush or 
 blade in the broad daylight of to-morrow morn.
 
 236 A Tangled Web 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 BACK TO URSIE 
 
 He began to feel a craving for help. The 
 shifts to which his fears had driven him proved 
 no better than mere foolishness, and worse. 
 Now no more was to be done, he found himself 
 bereft of all purpose and power to think. His 
 frenzy was over. He was calm with the dul- 
 ness of a feeble will worn out and benumbed. 
 
 He stood motionless in the wind and rain, 
 and looked towards Bratton. 
 
 Dotted down the hillside, the cottage win- 
 dows were still wide awake. After all, it could 
 not be late or the villagers would be a-bed. 
 Doubtless, Jacob had come home upon his time. 
 Only excitement and restlessness had made the 
 waiting seem so long. Since then, not a mo- 
 ment had been lost. From road to gully was 
 but a ground or two, with the pit hard by. 
 Now, if it were but daylight, he would be but a
 
 Back to Ursie 237 
 
 quarter of an hour from home. The dread of 
 being missed and asked for had made him be- 
 lieve the thing he feared. Come to reckon out 
 the hour by where he had been, he could be no 
 such terrible while behind; and Ursie, beyond 
 question, was waiting still, out of all patience 
 to know how things had gone, but yet with no 
 great wonder all the same. 
 
 He must go back to Ursie, come what may. 
 
 He had need of her. For months he had 
 leant upon her, been at her beck and call, and 
 wanted nothing better than to carry out all she 
 said. She found the nimbler wit that was 
 wanted to his courage and strength. Ay, only 
 Ursie in all the world could tell him what to do 
 now that their fine plan had gone awry. 
 
 If she would! 
 
 He must get back to her whether she would 
 or no. 
 
 Yes, Ursie would tell him how best to act. 
 Whether to come here again at early daybreak, 
 before folk were about, or to keep out of the 
 way. For Ursie loved him. She would not 
 change. How she loved him last night when 
 all was settled, after they had looked into the 
 book. And she hated her father. Many a
 
 238 A Tangled Web 
 
 time, in her anger, had she wished outright that 
 he were dead and in his grave. And meant it, 
 too. Ursie would never change to him in her 
 heart because the miserly old man had met with 
 his end. It was Ursie who had thought out 
 the plan. And they meant no harm. He must 
 tell her all, come what may. Go and tell her 
 at once, make a clean breast of it, and take 
 counsel how to keep things safe. 
 
 Yet he did not move. 
 
 Ursie, when she heard, would turn from him 
 never able to bear the sight of him again. 
 That was but nature. It was well enough to 
 wish her father dead. Such words were only 
 breath and nothing worth. She must stand 
 aghast at the horror of it. Ursie ! Ursie ! In 
 the depths of his heart he called her by name, as 
 if she could hear. If she broke away from him 
 for this, though it were hidden until doomsday, 
 he would rather tell all out and hang for it than 
 live. Yes, he must go back to her, come what 
 may. She was looking for him. It was Ursie 
 who had thought it all out. She would bear 
 that in mind. She must know, anyway if 
 not to-night, to-morrow. And they were in it 
 together. They were one already, like man
 
 Back to Ursie 239 
 
 and wife. Ursie would hold to him and tell 
 him what to do. 
 
 Leaning forward against the weather, he be- 
 gan to beat his way toward the village. 
 
 Having once started, on he trudged, no 
 longer in haste, but never wavering in intent. 
 He thought no more of what he was about, 
 feared no risk, had no dread of to-morrow, but 
 kept plodding on and on, head bent, like a 
 worn-out horse on his last mile, or a lost hound 
 on his homeward way. Keeping always to the 
 fields, he came by the back of Jacob Hands- 
 ford's barn, and stopped by the wall to peer 
 over into the barton. 
 
 The house was shut. This struck him as 
 strange. He had thought to see Ursie, restless 
 with long waiting, running forward at the first 
 sound out of the open dairy-door. But the 
 farm looked, as it might be, locked up for the 
 night. Could Ursie, under a strain of anxiety 
 drawn out beyond the utmost stretch, have 
 gone abroad to search for him and find out why 
 he stayed so long? It was not that. More 
 likely, when the storm came down so wild, she 
 dared not let the little maid bide out to gate. 
 She must have called Hannah in, or in five min-
 
 240 A Tangled Web 
 
 utes the child would have been drenched to the 
 skin. Then, she must stay indoors herself, as 
 if nothing were happening out of the way, ex- 
 cept, perhaps, to wonder why the master could 
 be so late. Ursie would be on the alert to hear 
 him come inside. 
 
 He went quietly across the court, gently 
 lifted the latch, and the door yielded under 
 pressure of his hand. The milk-house was 
 dark and empty. He stood and listened. There 
 was no one moving, and his ear could not 
 catch a sound. 
 
 He stepped inside and, feeling his way past 
 the cheese-tub, came into the passage unper- 
 ceived and without meeting a soul. At the 
 other end, beyond the flight of stairs, the 
 kitchen door stood open. Within, a blazing 
 fire w r as roaring up the chimney back, and the 
 flames lit up the place so that he could now see 
 well where he was going. 
 
 Amazed to find the house empty, for so it 
 seemed, he stood a moment in doubt. If Ursie 
 had gone out, Hannah might be sitting there 
 alone. He crept on a few steps, steadying 
 himself with a hand upon the banister to make 
 no noise. Suddenly he stopped clutched the
 
 Back to Ursie 241 
 
 slanting staircase, and stared into the kitchen, 
 trembling from head to foot in astonishment 
 and fear. 
 
 Through the frame of the open doorway he 
 could see the glowing hearth. 
 
 In front of the fire, but towards the further 
 side, in an oak chair of which the legs and arms 
 glistened in the light, sat Jacob Handsford. 
 The little man was merry to-night. He was 
 smiling, and rubbing his hands. For once he 
 had piled up sticks and logs without stint, and 
 he leaned over toward the warmth as if unwill- 
 ing to waste a ray of it. His worsted hose 
 were damp and steaming with the heat. He 
 rocked slightly to and fro. Then he bent 
 further forward and rubbed his scorching knees 
 with his lean hands. And he chuckled, not 
 loud, but deep down in his chest, and half 
 closed his little eyes in enjoyment of his inward 
 satisfaction and delight. 
 
 Ah ! Jacob had done well. He had carried 
 everything through that night, just as he 
 wished.
 
 242 A Tangled Web 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 URSIE'S COUNSEL 
 
 "Go back. He'll catch 'ee. How did 'ee 
 hap to miss un ?" 
 
 It was Ursula, upon the stairs, speaking in 
 a low whisper close above his ear. 
 
 "Go back," she said again, scarcely more 
 than moving her lips to shape the words, as she 
 waved him away with her hand and pointed 
 towards the milk-house door. 
 
 He obeyed like a frightened child. Without 
 noise, she followed close at his heels, and they 
 crept into the dairy out of all danger of being 
 found. 
 
 "How was it eh? Did he chance to come 
 home some other way ? Or what?" 
 
 She had waited long, and in her impatience 
 to know how things had fallen out, her voice 
 was sharp and quick. The candle she carried 
 in her left hand gave but a poor light; and, 
 more than that, so bitter was her disappoint- 
 ment at the failure of their plan that she had 
 no eyes to note how his limbs shook, or to see 
 the look of abject terror upon his face.
 
 Ursie's Counsel 243 
 
 "I I don't know, Ursie." 
 
 He could stammer out no more. His 
 tongue stuck fast and words failed. 
 
 " 'Twur our last an' only chance," she cried 
 in tones of reproach, without heeding him. 
 Then in her hopelessness she utterly broke 
 down. She burst into sobs, and for a while she 
 could not speak. At last with her arm she 
 brushed the tears from her cheeks and went on. 
 "There ! Winterhays is gone now, so sure as 
 the light. Your poor mother 'ull be turned 
 out. An' I be to blame for it. I do know I be. 
 'Tis no good. 'T'ull be put off an' put off first 
 one tale, then another. I shall never see the 
 colour o' my own money zo long as he's alive." 
 
 Only the one word money sounded clear 
 through the disorder of young Jack's mind. 
 He could not speak. He was too shaken and 
 helpless to find words. From his pocket he 
 drew the leathern bag and held it out to her. 
 
 "Then you did meet wi' un, Jack? Gie it 
 here. But how was it? How could he come 
 home so glad? Oh, Jack!" 
 
 As she eagerly stretched out her hand to lay 
 hold of her own money that she had wanted 
 for so long, for the first time she looked full at
 
 244 A Tangled Web' 
 
 him. His face frightened her ; it was so white 
 and changed. Her sudden gladness at sight of 
 the bag gave way to fear. She did not take it; 
 but drew back. 
 
 "What is it, Jack ? Why do 'ee stare so wild 
 as if you had a-zeed a ghost ? Oh, Jack ! Did 
 he know 'ee, Jack ? Did he find 'ee out under 
 all? An' is that why he've a-comed home so 
 well pleased? For all 'tis my own money, he 
 can bring 'ee to the gallows, Jack. Oh, Jack ! 
 He can bring 'ee to the gallows, Jack." 
 
 As she spoke out of love for him, she stepped 
 forward and threw her arm around his neck. 
 Yet at once she let go again. 
 
 "Take it off," she said to him. "Why, you 
 be soaking drough and drough wi' the rain." 
 
 She made as if to wipe her hand upon her 
 apron, for it was dripping wet. So doing, she 
 held it by the light, and lo ! she saw her fingers, 
 palm, and wrist, almost to the elbow, were 
 coloured crimson red. 
 
 She shuddered, for the sight of it made her 
 heart faint and sick. 
 
 " Tis blood !" she gasped. 
 
 But at once her horror was overcome by the 
 fear that Jack was badly hurt.
 
 Ursie's Counsel 245 
 
 "You mus' be half dead !" she cried, catching 
 hold of him again. "Where is it? How 
 could he sar 'ee zo ? Did he carr' anything in 
 the han' o' un, an' wound 'ee wi' it, or what? 
 Pull off the old coat, Jack. Let me zee for my- 
 zelf." And she nimbly began to unfasten the 
 buttons before the words were out of her 
 mouth. 
 
 But he held her hand. His wits, scattered 
 by that glimpse of Jacob sitting by the hearth, 
 began to come home, and he found a tongue. 
 
 "Let be, Ursie," he told her ; "I be sound in 
 body, but I've a-killed un! I've a-killed un, 
 Ursie, so sure as God's above ! I never went to 
 do it; I never had such thought or meaning; 
 but I heard his steps, an' saw un, too, as he 
 traipsed along the road. An' I went for to 
 stop un, but he turned an' stood up for hiszelf, 
 an' I knocked un down an' killed un, Ursie! 
 An' an' found the money hid inzide his shirt. 
 An' I tried to hide the body, Ursie ; an' when I 
 crope back to tell 'ee for tell 'ee I wur bound 
 to he wur there, there afore his own fire. 
 Ursie Ursie I thought he had a-comed back 
 there the ghost o' un to trouble me!" 
 
 He shivered. Even now he could not be-
 
 246 A Tangled Web 
 
 lieve that Jacob Handsford was alive and well. 
 He was so shaken that he almost cried. 
 
 "You've a-killed another," she sobbed, trem- 
 bling like a reed. "Mus' be somebody here- 
 about somebody wi' money, too, on his way 
 home from the same market, like enough. We 
 shall hear, to-morrow, that he's a-missed. 
 There'll be a outcry an' search a-made. 
 .Where have 'ee put it, Jack ?" 
 
 " Tis out out on Dree-hounds-waste," he 
 faltered; "cold and stiff by this time. An' 
 open for all to zee." 
 
 They stood in silence, staring blankly at each 
 other, dumbfounded in the presence of the aw- 
 ful terror which had overtaken them. He still 
 held the unopened bag of money in his hand, 
 but all thought of that had passed out of his 
 mind. 
 
 Presently they heard a noise of Jacob Hands- 
 ford moving about the house. By this time, 
 doubtless, he was dry and warm. He had be- 
 come his old self again, for he was setting back 
 the logs and spuddling abroad the ashes ready 
 for bed. 
 
 "I had better go afore he do call," began the 
 girl, aroused by the sound.
 
 Ursie's Counsel 247 
 
 She stepped forward and opened the outside 
 door. 
 
 "Quick, Jack. Run across and get into barn. 
 Take off the old coat, an' your own clothes un- 
 derneath be clean. Put it out o' the way, Jack, 
 behind the strow. Run home do as you 
 would. Zay you've a-bin wi' me. And when 
 all is still, come back again. I'll slip out to 'ee, 
 an' we'll think what to do, an' hide away every 
 sign." 
 
 Acting on her own counsel, as she spoke she 
 laid the candle on the floor, followed him as far 
 as the pump, washed away the stain, and wiped 
 her arm dry in the dark skirt of her frock. 
 Then, with a hasty wave of her hand, she sent 
 him away at once. 
 
 It was drawing near midnight when next 
 they met. They dared not strike a light. They 
 stood a yard apart in the darkness on the level 
 threshing-floor, and talked. There were no 
 endearments now. They did not touch each 
 other. There were no gestures, or, if so, noth- 
 ing could be seen; only two voices, very low 
 and secret, and Jack was hoarse.
 
 248 A Tangled Web 
 
 Ursula spoke very quickly. She had thought 
 it out. 
 
 "Had anybeddy a-bin into Winterhays who 
 could know you were out ?" she asked. 
 
 "No. An' my mother took it wi'out telling 
 that I wur wi' you." 
 
 "There's nobeddy 'ull think upon 'ee, Jack, 
 if you do but keep a good face." 
 
 "I can never bide to hear tell o' it when 'tis 
 found out." 
 
 "You mus'. 'Tis all in your own hands. 
 You mus' go about your work. I've a-thought 
 what you had best do. Persuade your mother 
 to zell stock. Zay you must go to fair an' zell 
 to pay the rent. 'T'ull be talked o' then, how 
 short the Whites be. 'Tis in everybeddy's 
 mouth now. If you should use this you've a- 
 tookt, 't'ull raise a doubt. Don't 'ee show a 
 penny o' it. Where is it, Jack ? Gie it to me 
 to keep. Don't 'ee have in your house even." 
 
 " 'Tis here, Ursie." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Here." 
 
 She felt for his hand and took the bag. He 
 was glad to be quit of it. 
 
 "I'll hide it away. I'll drow it into the pit.
 
 Ursie's Counsel 249 
 
 I sim, if we did use it, 't'ud draw down a curse 
 an' a judgment 'pon us. I sim, if we were a- 
 starving, I could never swallow a mouthful o' 
 victuals it bought. If 'twere but a crust o' 
 bread, 't'ud turn an' turn in the mouth o' me, 
 an' stick in my droat an' choke me." 
 
 "Put it out o' the way right out o' the way, 
 Ursie." 
 
 His voice quavered with anxiety to have it 
 gone. He was more eager than she to get no 
 good of it. 
 
 "You mus' zell at Wincanton fair." 
 
 "That's Easter Tuesday. Will Mother bring 
 her mind to gie consent zo zoon, do 'ee think ?" 
 
 "She mus'. There's no way else." 
 
 " 'Tis but in two days' time." 
 
 "Go there, Jack. Take the beasts there. 
 I'll come to-morrow an' zay the same." 
 
 " "Full be all voun' out by then, Ursie. 'T'ull 
 be in everybeddy's mouth, I tell 'ee, at such a 
 time and place," he moaned. 
 
 "You've only a-got to act like yourzelf." 
 
 "They'll vlock round me like vlies to learn 
 the rights o' it, I living so near the place." 
 
 "You mus' know just zo rnuch an' zo little as 
 the rest."
 
 250 A Tangled Web 
 
 "They'll look. They'll look, Ursie, to zee 
 me zo mum." 
 
 "They'll think 'tis the thought o' Winterhays 
 an' zelling your stock." 
 
 He heaved a sigh from the bottom of his 
 heart, but found no word to say. 
 
 "Why, there's nothing to point to 'ee," she 
 went on, gaining courage as she talked. "You 
 do owe no man a grudge an' no man you. You 
 be thought well o', Jack. They'll cast about in 
 the minds o' 'em for one who could know the 
 man had money about un. An' 't'ull never be 
 found out. Never." 
 
 "Could I do more, do 'ee think ?" 
 
 "Nothing. Nothing at all. Keep away 
 from the spot. Don't 'ee let your thoughts run 
 upon it. When we be married an' the noise o' 
 it is a-blowed over, we'll change our minds an' 
 go herevrom." 
 
 He stepped forward and caught her hold. 
 His weaker spirit clung to her for support. 
 
 "Do 'ee believe what you do say, Ursie 
 dear?" 
 
 "So true as God's in Heaven." 
 
 "That 'full never be found out?" 
 
 "Never."
 
 Ursie's Counsel 251 
 
 "An' you'll tell me what to do an' when I 
 do act foolish ?" 
 
 "I'll be up to Winterhays an' keep about by 
 'ee all day long. 'Tis but nat'ral now the banns 
 be in." 
 
 "I could keep in heart then." 
 
 "To be sure. For you never went to kill un 
 nor any man. Look at it as though you had 
 a-brokt his neck at the wrestling. Would that 
 ha' bin your fau't? For you never meant it, 
 Jack. Don't dwell upon it. Look at it like 
 that." 
 
 "I will, Ursie but the coat " 
 
 "Leave it all to me; and go home now while 
 'tis dead o' night, afore anybeddy is about." 
 
 "Oh Ursie, how I do love 'ee," he said. 
 
 She had already brought him to her way of 
 thinking that there was little to dread. He 
 felt as if she herself had drawn him out of dan- 
 ger. He was safe if only Ursula would tell 
 him what to do. He held fast to her, but she 
 pushed him aside and made him go at once. 
 
 But when he was gone she still waited in the 
 barn until, in the early morning light, she could 
 just see across the barton and make out the 
 stalls. The rain had ceased some hours ago.
 
 252 A Tangled Web 
 
 The storm had blown itself out or passed away. 
 Over all the valley and reaching half way up 
 the hills lay a dense mist, cold and grey, hiding 
 everything but a row of tall, black elm tops 
 that pierced it half way up the slope. The 
 barn-door cocks, not yet down from the cart- 
 house beams on which they roosted, set up to 
 crow. There were five. Their voices sounded 
 strange. One was sharp and shrill, and one, 
 hoarse and deep ; and they crowed against each 
 other as if they knew that it was Easter-day 
 or in the night had overheard something and 
 would tell it to all the world. Surely they had 
 never made such noise before. They would 
 wake her father and bring him down in fear 
 that he was being robbed. 
 
 Behind the house, within a high wall, was a 
 corner of the garden whereon no window 
 looked. It was overgrown with weeds and in 
 disorder, with fruit trees running wild and un- 
 pruned a waste of niggardliness for Jacob 
 begrudged the money to pay labour and did not 
 tend to it himself. Ursula found herself a 
 spade. There, out of sight, she dug a hole. 
 Then she fetched the coat, holding it from her 
 and dragging it along the ground, for the
 
 Ursie's Counsel 253 
 
 blood, in places, although clotted, was still wet, 
 and she could not bear to look at it. Then she 
 buried it, shovelled back the earth, and tram- 
 pled it down. There were flat coping-stones 
 close by, fallen from the top of the neglected 
 wall. She lifted them up and laid them down 
 upon the place. 
 
 She went back to shut up the barn's door and 
 make all straight. 
 
 Rats had gnawed a large hole upon one side 
 of the threshing floor. It caught her eye as 
 she passed and into it she threw the bag of 
 money. Upon the ground outside lay a spar- 
 gad, dropped by the thatcher some time ago 
 when he came to mend the roof. She picked it 
 up and pushed the bag away out of sight, far 
 as the stick would reach. 
 
 It was no good to them. There was danger 
 and death in it for all they knew. She dared 
 not even look to see the colour of the coins and 
 count how much there was.
 
 254 A Tangled Web 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 EASTER 
 
 The sun broke through the bank of fog and 
 April smiled again. Nothing could be more 
 sweet and gentle than that Easter morning 
 after the wild rain. There were primroses on 
 all the banks; and budding cowslips, pale and 
 stiff of stem but not yet out, lay sprinkled over 
 the home-field at Winterhays. The birds were 
 singing every one. The gorse shone yellow 
 by the gully-side, and all the valley and hills 
 looked glad and fresh and green. 
 
 But if the earth arrayed herself new-clad in 
 honour of the opening spring; so, on this day 
 of the rising again from the dead, did all the 
 people, too. 
 
 For any soul who did not put on something 
 new on Easter Sunday there could be no luck 
 all the year through. No matter what, a 
 thread or a tag there must be. Even little Han- 
 nah Peach had kept back one new pinney out of 
 two, that she sewed after work on the winter
 
 Easter 255 
 
 evenings, so as to be like the rest. The widow, 
 short of money as she was, had waited for full 
 an hour down to stile for the peddler and 
 bought herself a new lace. Ursula had a new 
 bodice and handkercher; and Jack, a coat 
 which, as folk said, would come in, as it now 
 turned out, just right for his wedding, too. 
 
 Only Jacob Handsford, in all the country 
 round, went as he was without change from 
 head to toe. "Ha! there's enough calls upon 
 your purse these days, sure enough," he 
 snarled, "wi'out a-putting your money out o' 
 pocket afore you do need." But he was angry. 
 On pain of paying a shilling to the poor, he had 
 to go to church ; and he knew how all the neigh- 
 bours would peep at him and then nod and 
 smile one to the other whilst he was forced to 
 sit still and listen to his daughter's banns. 
 
 So, when the bells rang out, up and down the 
 street from every farm and all the cottage 
 doors, young and old came out as gay as birds 
 new-feathered after a moult. All along the 
 road, in twos and threes, they sauntered ; slowly 
 up the tall flight of stonen steps leading to the 
 gravel pathway between the graves. All was 
 so bright this morn of Easter-day that a sun-
 
 256 A Tangled Web 
 
 light of golden hope shone on the headstones 
 and the grey, flat tombs. It gladdened even 
 the grassless, upturned earth that marked the 
 spot of last year's new-made sepulchre; and, 
 where fresh verdure covered ancient mounds 
 and raindrops hung like tears undried on every 
 blade, it lit them into gems. 
 
 The folk stood round the porch and talked. 
 They were merry, and everybody was there; 
 the men with tutties in their buttonholes, 
 bunches of yellow daffodils or primroses and 
 sweet violets both purple and white and the 
 women holding nosegays in their hands, such 
 garden flowers as they could get at the time of 
 year, and a slip or two of sweet-smelling herb, 
 for fear they should fall sleepy or drop faint in 
 sermon-time, the stems wrapt round wi' a bit 
 o' paper, and, over that, a clean, white hand- 
 kercher to cover all. 
 
 Great-uncle Tutchins and cousin Simon 
 Mogg forgetful, for the moment, of his pru- 
 dent resolve had strolled over to Bratton to 
 see for themselves whether it was really true 
 that young Jack White and Ursie had a-put in 
 the banns or not. After all, as cousin Simon 
 Mogg pointed out as they came across the fields
 
 Easter 257 
 
 together, the widow could never need to ask 
 help of her kin and not so very close kin 
 either when young Jack had a-married the 
 maid of a man so rich as a Jew. For his own 
 part, he must feel that now. Whatever he 
 might ha' felt called upon to do at one time, 
 young Jack's marriage had put an end to that. 
 Should the widow ever ope her lips to breathe 
 a sound of borrowing, he should tell her 
 straight out that though he would ha' helped 
 her once, seem' she was lone and left by ill-luck 
 a little in low water, now the young people 
 ought to look to Jacob, they really ought. 
 Cousin Mogg spoke with firmness, as a man 
 who, under fresh circumstances, had been 
 driven to change his mind. 
 
 So they were cordial when they found Riz- 
 pah by the church door. 
 
 "Well, Rizpah! And how's Rizpah White?" 
 they cried both together, pushing forward to 
 shake her by the hand. 
 
 The widow was flurried. The sight of them 
 for she knew well enough why they had 
 come made her self-conscious, but she smiled 
 upon both. 
 
 "Well in health, thank 'ee kindly, girt-uncle
 
 258 A Tangled Web 
 
 Tutchins. Well in health, cousin Simon 
 Mogg." 
 
 The stout little man chuckled, as was his 
 wont. Then he winked and looked slyly at the 
 widow. 
 
 "An' where's young Jack?" he asked. 
 
 "There, they be gone away together. I 
 didn' ax 'em what church they had it in mind to 
 walk to. For sure you wouldn't have 'em to 
 sit there to hear their names a-called over the 
 desk for folk to gape at. Would 'ee, girt- 
 uncle Tutchins ?" 
 
 "No, no. Better to walk away quiet. Then 
 they can courty, too, a bit 'pon the road." 
 
 Rizpah laughed, though her eyes wandered 
 around the familiar churchyard. Inwardly 
 she was wondering whether she should be at 
 Bratton, another Easter-day. That must be as 
 God willed, was the silent answer of her heart, 
 and the thought brought her comfort. For 
 the trouble and perplexity that lay upon her 
 that morning she turned for aid to great-uncle 
 Tutchins and cousin Simon Mogg. She had 
 never spoken to anyone of her distress before, 
 never whined, nor once allowed a murmur to 
 cross her lips. But to whom should she tell it
 
 Easter 259 
 
 if not to her own kin ? Perhaps, in her pride, 
 she had kept her own counsel too long already. 
 
 "You'll stroll back to Winterhays wi' me, 
 when church is out, girt-uncle Tutchins, won't 
 'ee now? An' eat a cake, an' drink a drop o' 
 wine or cider, whichever you do like," she said, 
 looking round at him with the ever ready wel- 
 come. 
 
 "I will, Rizpah White. An' zo I will then. 
 For I've zaid it afore an' heard others zay zo, 
 too an' I'll zay it again, zo I will. That 
 there's nar another 'ooman in all Zomerzet can 
 make a Easter-cake like Rizpah White." 
 
 Great-uncle Tutchins waxed quite boisterous 
 in his praise, and wagged his little, round head 
 bravely, let any man gainsay it who may. He 
 looked around and repeated himself in a loud 
 voice to the assembled parish, who had nothing 
 to do with it. 
 
 "No. Nor another for Easter-cake like Riz- 
 pah White, find her where you mid." 
 
 "An* you, too, cousin Simon Mogg?" she 
 simpered. 
 
 "To be sure, I will," heartily answered 
 cousin Simon Mogg, "an' drink a health to the 
 young couple that is to be that is to zay.
 
 260 A Tangled Web 
 
 For there's nobeddy I ever heard o' yet that do 
 make her wine better 'an what you do, Rizpah." 
 Cousin Simon Mogg, though not less genial, 
 was a trifle more dogmatic than great-uncle 
 Tutchins. 
 
 "An' zo do 'ee then," said the widow, pleas- 
 antly, glancing from one to the other. "I shall 
 look for 'ee both. Well, there, I've a-got some- 
 thing to ask o' 'ee. An' zo now 'tis out. For 
 who should I turn to, if not to you, girt-uncle 
 Tutchins, that were my mother's very own 
 uncle an' you, cousin Simon Mogg, that 
 everybody do look up to?" 
 
 Cousin Simon Mogg, in his modesty, raised 
 both hands, anxious to set aside any such claim 
 to the widow's regard. But at that moment 
 the parson came in sight, and so the talk, for 
 the time being, was brought to an end. The 
 village folk stood back in a line upon each side, 
 and then, like sheep following a shepherd, the 
 little flock passed slowly into church. The 
 door was shut, and neither on the hill, nor in 
 the vale, nor by the waste, was any left outside 
 to come or go. 
 
 When, at noon, the service was over, and the 
 street was full again, great-uncle Tutchins and
 
 Easter 26 1 
 
 cousin Simon Mogg walked with Rizpah up so 
 far as the little kiss-gate into the home-field. 
 
 There they stood and excused themselves. 
 
 " 'Pon my word then, Rizpah White, much 
 as I do feel tempted, I don't think we must 
 come in to-day," said great-uncle Tutchins, 
 dragging a fat silver watch from his fob as he 
 spoke. 
 
 Cousin Simon Mogg glanced at the sun. 
 " Tis too late," he said. "We'll come and zee 
 'ee another time. Pa'son were zo terr'ble long- 
 winded." 
 
 But the widow was not to be put off. 
 
 "Then I'll walk along b'ee a bit o' the ways," 
 she told them, when they would not give way. 
 "But I do feel most terr'ble vexed wi' 'ee, all 
 the zame." 
 
 "Oh! well, well, sooner than Rizpah should 
 be vexed." Now that she had outdone them, 
 they went with her at once. 
 
 "I suppose you do both know," she began, 
 sadly, "that we be none too well off?" 
 
 Great-uncle Tutchins became suddenly grave, 
 for though he was nothing but waggery on the 
 top-spit like, underneath lay a bed of solid wis- 
 dom as hard as a stone.
 
 262 A Tangled Web 
 
 "Ah !" he sighed, more in love of truth than 
 kindness. "Poor William were none too wise." 
 
 "That's a plain fac', Rizpah. He were too 
 free by half," echoed cousin Simon Mogg. 
 
 "I mus' zay it, he had no forethought, Riz- 
 pah ; none at all," went on great-uncle Tutchins, 
 determined to be sternly just. 
 
 "Ay, a man should make provision. He mid 
 be gone to-morrow. We be but grass, Rizpah. 
 None can tell when anybeddy mid be cut off," 
 said cousin Simon Mogg, for the sight of a 
 poor relative is enough to make a well-to-do 
 man serious. 
 
 The widow stopped just for a step or so, 
 there in the path, and looking them, first one 
 and then the other, straight in the face, an- 
 swered in her quick, sharp way 
 
 "He had more heart 'an headpiece an' may- 
 hap his goodness did outrun forethought. But 
 I won't listen to any harm o' un. He wur a 
 good-man to me all my life. But now he's 
 gone, I be oft-times hard put to it to know 
 what's best to be done. An' I thought to ax 'ee 
 for your advice " 
 
 "To be sure to be sure," cried great-uncle 
 Tutchins, with a sudden outburst of good-will,
 
 Easter 263 
 
 and waving his fat hand to show how greatly 
 he had been misunderstood. "I did but mean 
 'twur none o' your own fau't. Nobeddy 'pon 
 earth can blame you, Rizpah." 
 
 " 'Twur only for your comfort that girt- 
 uncle Tutchins spoke. Anything in reason, 
 sure, I'd do for 'ee, an' glad," echoed cousin 
 Simon Mogg. 
 
 Then, Rizpah, now all hope of hiding her 
 want was gone, took heart to open her whole 
 mind to them. How she had been unable, do 
 what she would, to make up the full rent. How 
 Ursula was to have her money at Midsummer 
 enough to keep on with if only they could 
 hold over to then. How young Jack, and 
 Ursula too, that morning had begged of her to 
 sell. And the thought o' that did trouble her 
 most terr'ble. An' could great-uncle Tutchins 
 or cousin Simon Mogg think of any better way 
 either by borrowing? 
 
 They both broke in together. They had 
 never known borrowing turn out well never 
 once in all their lives never in this world. 
 And stock was selling high at that present time 
 most wonderful high. Really Rizpah couldn' 
 do better than part wi' just enough. And as
 
 264 A Tangled Web 
 
 to the grass they looked around at the grow- 
 ing Spring-time, fresh and green why, either 
 great-uncle Tutchins or cousin Simon Mogg 
 would buy a bit o' keep to help the widow 
 through, and who but themselves was to guess 
 whose stock was there. 
 
 So, by the time they got to Winterhays, the 
 widow had settled that Jack should drive the 
 beasts on Tuesday to Wincanton fair. 
 
 But little sooner had she put out her cakes 
 and wine when he and Ursula came in to- 
 gether. 
 
 Great-uncle Tutchins had regained his good- 
 humour long ago. He must be joking give 
 him but half a chance and at sight of Ursula 
 he drew a face as long as a fiddle. Without a 
 word of welcome, he stepped forward to shake 
 hands with the maid. 
 
 "This is a terr'ble sad thing, Ursie, as have 
 fallen out," he said to her, gloomily shaking 
 his head, and still holding her fast by the 
 arm. 
 
 The girl's cheek grew pale. Then, with an 
 effort she nerved herself to listen to what she 
 and Jack had gone in dread of all day, and, 
 sooner or later, knew must come.
 
 Easter 265 
 
 "What's that?" she asked, quickly. 
 
 Young Jack turned his back upon the com- 
 pany, and standing by the oak bench, made as 
 if to break himself off a piece of one of the flat 
 Easter cakes that Rizpah had set out there upon 
 a wooden trencher. 
 ' "What, ha'n't you heard?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Not the terr'ble thing what have a-hap- 
 pened here in Bratton?" 
 
 "I don't know what you do mean," she an- 
 swered, trying in vain to get away. 
 
 "One 'ud think you did then, to see how your 
 colour do go. An' how you do trem'ley, my 
 maid." 
 
 The girl, with a sudden jerk, snatched away 
 her hand. She was telling Jack's secret. 
 They would all learn it from her frightened 
 look she knew they would. 
 
 But great-uncle Tutchins only burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 "Oh, 'tis true enough," he cried, shaking his 
 fat sides with delight to see the girl's concern. 
 "Mus' be true, for I heard pa'son zay it myself 
 out of his own mouth. That one Urs'la 
 
 Handsford, spinster, o' the parish o' Bratton, 
 18
 
 266 A Tangled Web 
 
 have a-got it in mind to make an end to her- 
 self." 
 
 So, he was only poking fun at her about the 
 banns. She breathed again. Then her cheek 
 reddened at the thought that she had been so 
 weak. 
 
 "Lawk, Ursie!" cried the old man. "To 
 look at 'ee one 'ud think 'twur a crime to get 
 married." He held up his glass, a tall, narrow 
 glass tapering to a point at the stem, and drank 
 to her. "Well, here's luck an' prosperity to 
 'ee. Ursie. A short life now to Ursie Hands- 
 ford, but long to live to Missus Urs'la White. 
 Ay! A dozen bwoys so clean-growed as 
 young Jack. A pack o' maidens zo neat an' 
 good-looking as yourself." Then he lowered 
 his voice and drunk again in earnest. "An wi' 
 all my heart I wish 'ee a long an' happy wedded 
 life." 
 
 "There do lef the poor maid alone wi' your 
 foolery, girt-uncle Tutchins," put in Rizpah, 
 with a laugh. "You did ought to know better 
 at your age, you did." 
 
 Then they fell a-talking of common things 
 of what a rain there had been only last night 
 and what a nipping wind o' Good Vriday ay,
 
 Easter 267 
 
 wonderful sharp for so late in the year. These 
 were the great matters that filled their simple 
 minds. For nothing had been found in Brat- 
 ton up to now, and not a soul was missing 
 round about so far as anybody knew.
 
 268 A Tangled Web 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 THE FUN o' THE FAIR 
 
 It was early morning, and the high-road 
 along the ridge of the hill was thronged with 
 folk and cattle, all with heads and faces turned 
 one way, making towards Wincanton Fair. 
 
 The widow was not going. She had given 
 her errands to Ursula for in those days, at the 
 fairs, people laid in their household stuffs and 
 bought their stores to last for months but, for 
 all that, as soon as milking was done, she 
 climbed the slope unseen and stood a little back 
 in the field by gap in the hedge to watch the 
 passing by. 
 
 Ever since daylight, the line of men and 
 women, horses, flocks, and herds of horned 
 stock, had never ceased, and still the broken 
 stream went by, a straggling pageant full of 
 change and colour. 
 
 Nobody knew the Whites had stock to sell, 
 except themselves, great-uncle Tutchins, and 
 cousin Simon Mogg. Rizpah, in her anxiety, 
 was bent in mind to learn what else was going
 
 The Fun o' the Fair 269 
 
 to fair that year. For the fulness of the fair, 
 when, as sometimes happened, there were more 
 sellers that buyers, oftentimes beat down the 
 price. And yet, for other things, not like her 
 own, the more the better, for that brought folk 
 there. So ever and again, as one thing passed 
 out of sight, the eyes of Rizpah turned in ex- 
 pectation to the distant bend of the road, wait- 
 ing in wonder to see what might come next. 
 
 There had been a slight white frost towards 
 the small hours of the night ; but except under 
 the long shadow of a tree, or here and there 
 where the glistening rime still clung to a mote 
 of straw or a dead twig lying in the road, the 
 sun had melted it away. And the larks sang 
 overhead for ever and ever, one more begin- 
 ning just as another dropped. It seemed to 
 soften Rizpah's sorrow, and give a promise of 
 better days to see the earth spring-clad and hear 
 all sound so sweet. 
 
 A herd of heifers went loitering on upon the 
 grass, sometimes stopping to pull a blade as 
 they passed. Rizpah took note they were poor 
 and thin and their red coats still ragged from 
 the winter cold. But lauk! Nobody would 
 know 'em again in a month's time.
 
 270 A Tangled Web 
 
 A little way behind followed a flock of ewes 
 and lambs. The whole place was filled with 
 bleating ; and, as they came overright, the slant- 
 ing light fell like an edge of silver upon the long 
 wool on the backs of the ewes. They were 
 panting. Their breath rose like a faint vapour, 
 scenting the morning air. The shepherd stood 
 awhile to rest, and the lambs wriggled their 
 tails and sucked. 
 
 Scarcely were these gone when a drove of 
 colts came galloping down the road. Suddenly 
 they stopped and would have turned back. But 
 a party of gipsies came in view, riding bare- 
 backed on nags as lean as rails, and, with shouts 
 and a great cracking of whips, drove them all 
 on again. 
 
 As the day drew on, people began to come 
 along, too, neighbours who lived handy travel- 
 ling afoot, and all sorts of remote Puckeridges 
 and Moggs whom Rizpah rarely saw. 
 
 There was a tinkling of bells; and then, 
 around the corner came a nodding team, all 
 trimmed with flowers, six of them, all tossing 
 their heads with pride, making the brass-fitted 
 harness glisten in the sun. The waggon be- 
 hind was trimmed up with laurel boughs, so
 
 The Fun o' the Fair 271 
 
 that it did really look like a bower or a walking 
 wood. And there was aunt Rebecca Eliza 
 Mogg so she was a-zot quite comfortable- 
 like 'pon a rush-bottomed chair, so large as life, 
 sure, an' all the vive around her looking most 
 wonderful well. 
 
 Rizpah had hoped to stand unnoticed, but 
 love of kin overcame her sorrow. She must 
 have one word with aunt Rebecca Eliza. To 
 let her pass so near and never to speak was so 
 bad as having a body to the house and never to 
 say "Zit down." She stepped out into the road. 
 
 "Whoa," shouted the carter. 
 
 The team stopped. 
 
 "Why 'tis never aunt Rebecca Eliza Mogg !" 
 cried Rizpah, holding up both arms. 
 
 "Why, 'tis never you, Rizpah White!" 
 echoed aunt Rebecca Eliza Mogg, clapping her 
 hands. 
 
 "Dear, dear, then." 
 
 "Well, well, now." 
 
 "This is good for sore eyes." 
 
 "An' zo 'tis. Do 'ee get up. Pull off your 
 apern an' get up. Such a beautiful day, an' 
 all," cried aunt Rebecca Eliza, all in one breath. 
 
 But Rizpah bethought herself. To be sure
 
 272 A Tangled Web 
 
 Jack must go with Ursula, and their wedding 
 so near ; and so she must bide at home. 
 
 So the whip cracked, the team went on again 
 with a jangling music like many distant chimes 
 going all at once. Yet only to set eyes on aunt 
 Rebecca Eliza Mogg, and call out in wonder 
 though, after all, her presence there was noth- 
 ing out of the way was a delight and helped 
 to lighten a sad heart. For such simple joys, 
 when there are many of them, make up the sum 
 of happy life. 
 
 "Come in on your way back," she shouted 
 after them. Aunt Rebecca Eliza Mogg waved 
 her hand and promised that, if there were time, 
 she would. 
 
 Then, before Rizpah could get back out of 
 the way, great-uncle Tutchins came along, too, 
 to be sure he did. 
 
 He rode slowly, on that upstanding grey 
 mare of his that many folk said was touched in 
 the wind. Anyway, there was not the leastest 
 sign of a cough about her to-day, so far as Riz- 
 pah could listen. And great-uncle Tutchins 
 laughed at the bare thought, and was ready to 
 swear the mare was as sound as a bell of brass. 
 He only wished he was so sound himself so
 
 The Fun o' the Fair 273 
 
 there. Not but what the old man really looked 
 wonderful well that morning, and carried a 
 countenance so fresh as a daisy ; and, for all his 
 wrinkles, having but just now shaved, he looked 
 as clear and as pink as any young maid. He 
 did really. Rizpah was bound to tell him so 
 outright, if 'twere the last words she had to 
 speak, for he smiled so merry and so twinkle- 
 eyed, too. But then, great-uncle Tutchins was 
 always a fair-skinned man afore he went grey, 
 and that, no doubt, did account for it, as Riz- 
 pah, not wishing to flatter or to seem for any 
 end of her own to be a-sucking-up, hastened in 
 all seriousness to add. The mare's tail was tied 
 up with a whisp of straw and a bit of red rib- 
 bon to show she was for sale. So great-uncle 
 Tutchins had no time to stay about, for he was 
 bent on business that day, if ever he was in all 
 his life. 
 
 "But look in as you do ride home," she asked 
 him for what could she do less ? And great- 
 uncle Tutchins answered that, please God, he 
 would. 
 
 At last Rizpah saw her own cows, seven in 
 all, and she knew them like so many friends. 
 
 In front came the two white-faced ones she
 
 274 A Tangled Web 
 
 always chose to milk herself, and then the big 
 sparked cow with the crumpled horn, and all 
 the other four were red. Leisurely they came, 
 close by the hedge-row under where she stood, 
 bringing with their full udders a sweet odour of 
 fresh milk. The widow sighed. Look at it 
 how she would, this was the best, the only, 
 thing to do. A little way behind were Jack and 
 Ursula, she in red hose and the new bodice put 
 on the day before yesterday. She carried a 
 stick, too, a switch of willow covered thick 
 with palms, picked up on the way. They were 
 close together, talking as they went, and had 
 not glimpsed the widow as yet. 
 
 "Keep a good face on it, Jack," the girl was 
 urging, in a low voice. "No man living can 
 be ever the wiser." 
 
 For all that, Jack looked most wofully down- 
 cast to think what he was about, and never once 
 raised his eyes from the ground. And what 
 sense, thought Rizpah, was it to talk like that. 
 Whether you buy or sell, every soul within ten 
 mile must know what you may hap to pay or 
 take before the day is out. 
 
 The widow was upon the point of calling to 
 him to get the most he could. Yet what good
 
 The Fun o' the Fair 275 
 
 could that do? Jack would stand out for the 
 last farthing for all their sakes. Without a 
 word, and unseen, but with a full heart and 
 tears in her eyes, Rizpah stepped back from the 
 hedge, watched them pass out of sight, and 
 then slowly turned home to Winterhays. She 
 stopped a moment before going indoors. How 
 could she bear to face the folk that would come 
 in to-night? 
 
 The quiet cows took no driving, and side by 
 side, young Jack and Ursula kept on at even 
 pace. 
 
 Sunday, yesterday, and to-day, that was all 
 her cry unless the dead could rise and tell, it 
 would never be found out. For now three 
 days had passed, and not a sound of alarm had 
 broken the peace of the quiet valley. Yester- 
 day, being Easter-Monday, was a holiday. 
 Folk came and went from far and near. There 
 were matches at ball-playing wherever a square 
 church-tower stood grey amongst the budding 
 trees, and bell-ringing wherever there was a 
 peal of bells. All the children were out about 
 a-primrosing, or after daffodils down by the 
 wet waste. Yet nothing had been found. And 
 when such folks as went a-visiting came home
 
 276 A Tangled Web 
 
 at night, they brought no word that anybody 
 was lost. Ursie had made him go out all day 
 and play fives, and do as the rest. 
 
 Only once for a minute did her courage sink. 
 Overright the trees, she glanced between the 
 trunks and narrowly scanned the grass as if 
 expecting to find some sign, something that 
 might tell tales after all. The thought made 
 her tremble, and she felt her voice fail. 
 
 "Is that the place ?" she asked, hoarsely. She 
 could not help herself. She was afraid to hear, 
 and yet the question would come. 
 
 He only nodded, bent his head, and turned 
 away. 
 
 "I shall never get away from the thought o' 
 it," he wailed, when they had passed; and he 
 put his hand over his eyes as if to shut out the 
 sight of something before his mind. 
 
 For a few steps they went on in silence. Ur- 
 sula was the first to find the courage to speak. 
 
 "Can be nobeddy o' these parts," she pres- 
 ently began in a low whisper. "Mus' be one o' 
 they that do take beastes to London, or some 
 girt place far away, a-hurrying across by night 
 mayhap to catch some other coach. He mus' 
 ha' met 'ee on his way from market or to fair.
 
 The Fun o' the Fair 277 
 
 Why, mid be weeks afore anything is a-found 
 out. Some o' that sort do bide away from 
 home a woful while. An' then, if he should be 
 found, their first thoughts 'ull be o' one aware 
 of his ways to lie in wait for un. 'Tis all safe, 
 Jack dear. I do know 'tis. I do feel in my 
 mind, like, that 'tis. An' then, as time do go, 
 the thought 'ull wear out." 
 
 So she tried to comfort him all the way, and 
 so much the better because she believed in every 
 word she said. 
 
 At last they came upon a brow, opposite 
 Wincanton where there were straggling cot- 
 tages along the road. They could look right 
 into the town, with a straight street running up 
 the steep hill, and low, thatched houses of all 
 heights and sizes, dim in a mist of pale blue 
 smoke, upon each side. Below, in the dip, was 
 a crowd of folk and cattle all in uproar and con- 
 fusion, as they had come in by different ways. 
 Such a blaring, such a bleating surely ears had 
 never heard. What with the bustle and shouts 
 of drovers, and every boy and hobble-de-hoy 
 blowing a cow's horn fit to burst, merely from 
 good spirits and a delight in noise, Jack felt his 
 heart come back.
 
 278 A Tangled Web 
 
 "You be right, Ursie," he cried, suddenly 
 looking her full in the face for the first time. 
 "I'll cast off care. What's done is done past 
 mending, an' gone a-past thinking about." 
 
 "An 5 zo do 'ee, Jack," she said, gladly. 
 "Come on. Make haste to get your business 
 done, an' zo'll I mine. An' then we'll meet an' 
 go about together. An' never let 'em zay you'll 
 prove a sorry bridegroom, Jack. Why, to look 
 at 'ee, they'll think you've a-lost heart to zee me 
 a-buying my wedding things." 
 
 His eye brightened. He held up his head 
 again with the old, devil-may-care look. 
 
 " 'Tis all I do care for," he cried, and caught 
 her hold and kissed her there in the road. 
 "Come on." 
 
 He gave the hindermost cow a whack upon 
 the back. As she ran forward the lazy beasts 
 in front bestirred themselves; so there was no 
 more time for talking, and he must needs run, 
 too, to keep up. So they parted. Ursula went 
 away up street, and he down into the thick of 
 the fair. 
 
 In the hubbub, the merriment, the jokes, and 
 the wrangling, Jack's spirits rose. 
 
 All around were people known to him, for
 
 The Fun o' the Fair 279 
 
 everybody went to fair in days gone by, and 
 those who had no dealing to do, at least found 
 plenty to laugh at. All up the street upon both 
 sides the lower windows, such as were in reach, 
 had been boarded up to save the panes; for 
 tradesmen's standings lined the road, leaving 
 only a narrow footway between them and the 
 houses. And, to begin with, was a fine to do, 
 for the sparked cow, unused to so much com- 
 pany, ran wild, and, in her blind fright, struck 
 against the corner of a stall and knocked it 
 down. The ground was strewed with cakes 
 and gingerbread. To see the folks scramble 
 would have cheered the heart of any man except 
 the owner of the stall. But he got angry, as 
 well he might, to find his wares all gone and 
 more trampled under foot than was picked up. 
 Out came he to the front and stood up before 
 young Jack with his fists clenched, and began to 
 shout and boast of what he would do. But, 
 after all, he thought twice about that ; and the 
 folks jeered when he quieted down and talked 
 about law, which, as all the world knows, is not 
 the same thing as a fair, stand-up fight. 
 
 Jack had great luck with the selling of his 
 beasts.
 
 280 A Tangled Web 
 
 Malachi Webb, who had heard about the tak- 
 ing of Winterhays, and had his knife into Jacob 
 Handsford, to be sure he had, fell in with a 
 young man from up the country who was look- 
 ing around to buy. Malachi just about cracked 
 the beasts up in the ear o' un like, and told him 
 the lowest price, too like a friend, as a favour. 
 So when Jack asked high, the man oped the 
 mouth o' un pretty widish like, and gave a 
 goodish bid in the first place. 
 
 "Vive poun', all roun'," cried Jack. 
 
 "Not a ha'penny more 'an vower poun' 
 a-piece," cried the man. 
 
 "Not a varden less, for I wouldn' bate 'pon 
 'em to my own brother." 
 
 "Not a varden more, so sure as I do stan' 
 here." 
 
 "Then 'tis little good to bide about," said 
 Jack, making as if to go. 
 
 "None at all," agreed the man. 
 
 But each one peeped over the shoulder of him 
 like, to see what the other was thinking about, 
 and so their eyes met. 
 
 Then the stranger stepped back and sprang 
 a crown a head, and Jack well Jack, after a 
 while he did bate the same, for all he had said
 
 The Fun o* the Fair 281 
 
 before. And then Malachi walked up between 
 them looking so knock-kneed and innocent 
 like, as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth 
 and put his nose in as folks said was always 
 the way of him. 
 
 "What is it ? What is it ?" cried he. "Split 
 the difference. A pity not to deal." And 
 Malachi shook his head sadly, feeling the 
 pathos of a likely business transaction cut off 
 in its prime. 
 
 So the man said he would spring another 
 crown if Jack would throw back a pound on 
 the deal. 
 
 "There now," shouted Malachi, and patted 
 Jack on the back. 
 
 But la ! in the twinkling of an eye Jack had 
 got the young man by the hand and cried: 
 "Done," with a sudden alacrity fit to make the 
 buyer jump. 
 
 The full money was solemnly counted out 
 there-right, solemnly paid, and the pound as 
 solemnly handed back. Without waiting a 
 minute, Jack hurried up to Lawyer Anstey and 
 settled the rent. Malachi Webb was waiting 
 at the door for him when he came out, and took 
 seven half-crowns for his trouble, as was noth- 
 
 19
 
 282 A Tangled Web 
 
 ing but right. For everything was turning out 
 well. No notice had been given. Winterhays 
 was safe for another year. They stood and 
 chuckled to think how mad little Jakey Hands- 
 ford would be to find himself outdone. 
 
 To crown all, who should chance to come 
 toddling by but great-uncle Tutchins, with a 
 
 saddle in one hand and a bridle in the other. 
 
 1 
 
 He was wonderful pleased with himself, and 
 smiled, as they say, all over the face o' un. He 
 had sold his upstanding mare ay sure! sold 
 her to a gips}' and then they all laughed to 
 think how that gipsy had been proper a- 
 sucked in. 
 
 "Come on, come on," cried the little man, 
 and they went into "The Bear" to drink a cup 
 for luck. And there, over the ale, well, it did 
 leak out, like, that the mare was bad in her 
 bellows. Only great-uncle Tutchins had oiled 
 her up for the day so well that, verily and truly, 
 she could never ha' knowed her own self, like, 
 for she never wheezed once in five hours nor 
 gave the leastest bit of a cough. And she 
 looked as pretty as a picture, she did. If she 
 had a-bin but sound, mind, great-uncle Tutch- 
 ins swore he would ha' turned away from twice
 
 The Fun o' the Fair 283 
 
 the money. Not but what the gipsy would do 
 well with her, too, for sure she'd be a wonderful 
 mare to sell. Why a man wi' no tongue in the 
 head o' un in a manner o' speaking could 
 sell that mare. 
 
 So everybody was doing well and as merry 
 as May. And when four out of five are mak- 
 ing money, what else would you look for? 
 
 It was hard upon noon when Jack went up to 
 meet Ursula, but they had all the rest of the day 
 before them until dusk. What with the noise, 
 the beating of drums, and the shouting upon 
 all sides, his gloom was driven away. And 
 sure there was a shilling or two to spare when 
 he had sold the cows so well. And Ursie must 
 have a fairing. He would treat her to any- 
 thing she liked. He was a true White so long 
 as he had a penny in his pocket, and he hurried 
 her on from sight to sight, never resting long in 
 one place, sometimes scarcely time enough to 
 see the show out. 
 
 An excitement and a wildness had got hold 
 of him; an eagerness to be doing, so that he 
 might not stop to think. 
 
 There was a fire-eater who swallowed live 
 coals ; and a black man in a booth who fought
 
 284 A Tangled Web 
 
 with a mastiff. Always, as they came to some 
 new wonder or delight, they met with friends 
 who stopped to ask if they had fixed the day and 
 to wish them luck with all their hearts. Ur- 
 sula's cheeks blushed like roses. It was plain 
 to see young Jack did not trouble, so they 
 said. 
 
 So far from being downcast, she had much 
 ado now to keep him within bounds. 
 
 Close by the churchyard wall, there was 
 cudgel-playing for ten shillings and a gold- 
 laced hat. Two cider-butts had been brought 
 out and set two feet apart; and perched, one 
 upon each, without chance of stepping back, 
 two gamesters belaboured each other with short 
 staves about half the thickness of a man's hand- 
 wrist. One of them, beaten, and with blood 
 streaming down his forehead, came slowly 
 down the ladder as they drew near. In a mo- 
 ment Jack was for going up. To hear the 
 clatter of the sticks, and now the cheers of the 
 crowd, had fired him with ambition. But Ursie 
 held him back. 
 
 "Let me go, Ursie," so he cried, "an' you 
 shall see me knock un off the cask." 
 
 "Bide where you be," she told him. "For
 
 The Fun o' the Fair 285 
 
 I'll never stan' up in church bezide 'ee, wi' your 
 hair a-cut short, an' a patch o' plaster the shape 
 of a Chris-cross 'pon the crown o' 'ee." 
 
 So he needs must listen, for she held such 
 power over him that he never could go against 
 Ursie, want what he would. And everywhere 
 they went, something or other called up a talk 
 of their wedding, and that put him in such 
 heart that for the time it seemed that he had 
 never a care. 
 
 At a corner where the roads ran together was 
 an open space, and there a travelling doctor, 
 with a Merry-Andrew by his side, who gri- 
 maced and tumbled to draw a crowd and make 
 the people laugh, had set up his stage. The 
 fantastic dress of the fellow, in a red robe edged 
 with fur, caught the eye of young Jack. The 
 mountebank was shouting at the top of his 
 voice giving away powders to cure aches 
 head-ache, tooth-ache, stomach-ache, heart- 
 ache giving them away for a groat a-piece to 
 cover the cost of mixing and the paper. 
 
 "And why do I come here to-day without pay 
 or profit?" he was asking. "Why do I offer, 
 three for a shilling in this place only, a remedy 
 that the best half-guinea ever coined cannot pay
 
 286 A Tangled Web 
 
 for ? It is because of my love for Wincanton- 
 town, that I offer this boon to the poor of 
 Wincanton. And should the affluent be dis- 
 honourable enough to avail themselves of my 
 generosity, I can ask no man his means. For, 
 ladies and gentlemen, there is no man, woman 
 or child, who does not need my remedy. You 
 cannot be in health without my remedy. For 
 the humours of the body are at work breeding a 
 wurrum a malignant wurrum thank you." 
 
 Young Jack had stepped forward and handed 
 up his groat, though he had never had an ache 
 in his life. It was not that he believed the fel- 
 low or hearkened to his talk, but something 
 within would not let him rest. And the man 
 held up the little paper packet between finger 
 and thumb, looked Jack straight in the face, 
 and said, in a tone as serious as if he had been 
 telling Gospel-truth in church : 
 
 "There is a powder of such strength that, 
 given to a dead man, if you can but get him to 
 swallow it, will save his life." 
 
 All the crowd set up a laugh. The country 
 folk of those days never failed to find the wit 
 in a saving "if." But young Jack grew red in 
 the wattle. He did feel most terr'ble mad, so
 
 The Fun o' the Fair 287 
 
 people thought, that the man should talk to him 
 as if he were a fool. 
 
 Ursie was wild with him, too, for parting 
 with his groat. 
 
 "How can 'ee be such a fool? "Tis but a 
 half of a pennyweight o' chalk-dust !" she cried, 
 in a tear, as she opened the paper to find a pinch 
 of white dust. 
 
 Just then a voice close behind them spoke in 
 a quiet drawl : 
 
 " T'ud be something, then, if you could 
 bring back the murdered man that they've 
 a-found to Bratton, zo 'tis zaid." 
 
 They started and turned round. Peering 
 over their shoulders and between their bent 
 heads was cousin Simon Mogg. 
 
 But Ursula, though her cheek turned pale 
 and her breath came panting between her parted 
 lips, quick as thought recovered her wits. 
 
 "Lauk! How you do galley a body, Si- 
 mon Mogg wi' your nonsense," she cried, 
 angrily. 
 
 " 'Tis true as the light," he said, laughing to 
 see how she was shaking with the fright. Then 
 his voice sank into an awesome whisper : "Some 
 o' they run-about gentry 'pon the way to fair
 
 288 A Tangled Web 
 
 have a-picked up a dead man close below your 
 place." 
 
 "Whereto?" 
 
 "Down there in the bottom." 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 " 'Tis a foreigner, zo they do zay." By this, 
 cousin Simon Mogg only meant a man un- 
 known in Bratton or close around. "But the 
 constable do think 'tis one they've a-had word 
 about from up the country that have a-bin miss- 
 ing for a week. Brought there by the gipsies, 
 like enough. They do mean to bring 'un into 
 iWincanton, and send for his friends to own 'un 
 leastways, that's the talk here in the fair." 
 Cousin Simon Mogg had gradually dropped 
 back into a careless manner of speaking, but 
 now again he fell into dead earnest : 
 
 "Girt-uncle Tutchins have a-bought hisself a 
 wonderful nag," he said. "Just about a pretty 
 chestnut nag." And with that he turned about 
 and went off, elbowing and shoving his way 
 through the crowd. 
 
 After all, he had spoken as of a matter of 
 small account. It might have sounded but 
 mere gossip, likely enough to prove untrue, if 
 they had not known. Yet the words fell upon
 
 The Fun o' the Fair 289 
 
 them like a blow, losing no weight because this 
 had been looked for and, sooner or later, needs 
 must come. Their hearts sank within them, 
 cold and numb. Not from the fear of being 
 found out. What cousin Simon Mogg had let 
 drop was what the constable and all the rest 
 were sure to think. Already suspicion had 
 started upon a false track. Yet, though it could 
 never come to light, something within the soul 
 of each shuddered at the thought of what they 
 alone knew. 
 
 They could stay no longer in the crowd. 
 They could not bear the laughter and the voices 
 upon every side. 
 
 Of one mind, they left the corner with its 
 blaring mountebank and noise, and, along the 
 narrow pavement between the standings and 
 the fronts of houses, made their way to the bot- 
 tom of the town. Ursula went in front and 
 Jack followed close at her heels. All the people 
 known to them were out in mid-street, and they 
 did not speak a word until they came to the 
 town's end at the beginning of the open road. 
 
 It was already well on in the afternoon. 
 Frugal folk, who came to fair only for business, 
 began to be setting out for home. Hard by
 
 290 A Tangled Web 
 
 stood an old inn with a broad archway leading 
 into a square yard. From the open window of 
 a room above came the sound of music the 
 scraping of fiddles with the drumming upon a 
 bare floor of dancing feet. The eldest of Aunt 
 Rebecca Mogg's five popped her head out of the 
 lattice, with a knot of red ribbons for a fairing 
 tied up in her hair, and called to them. 
 
 "Come on in, Ursie. Come on, Jack. "Pis 
 but a shilling for the two, an' there's lots o' us 
 here." 
 
 "We've a-got to go a-milking," answered 
 Ursula, quite pat. 
 
 "Mother do mean to stop at Winterhays on 
 her way back," cried the girl. Her voice qua- 
 vered with excitement, and, unwilling to waste 
 more time, she drew in her head. 
 
 Malachi Webb came riding out a-horseback, 
 bending to pass under the arch. 
 
 "Hello ! What's this then they do tell up ?" 
 he shouted across the road to young Jack. "I 
 had half a mind to ride round by Winterhays, 
 for 'tis little out o' my way." 
 
 So there was like to be no peace, no place out 
 o' hearing of the talk of it, even when they 
 should get home from fair.
 
 The Fun o' the Fair 291 
 
 For the best part of a mile they were forced 
 to keep along the road. Now that the stock 
 was gone they could do as they liked, and they 
 turned off by a footpath into the quiet fields, 
 and hurried away, out of sight and call of the 
 passers-by. Yet they were afraid to go home. 
 As they drew near the village, at every gate and 
 stile they loitered. All the early spring, with 
 the quietude of eventide, broke into full song 
 the blackbird hidden in the dark orchard, and 
 the thrush upon the hedge-row elm. From the 
 ridge came the distant halloing of drovers 
 merry with drink, and singing, too, as they 
 went, slowly driving cattle away from fair. 
 Jack and Ursula leaned against an upright slab 
 of blue stone set in the hedge-row, within view 
 of the house. They looked like lovers who can- 
 not find it in their hearts to part. But they did 
 not talk. They stood side by side, yet apart, 
 never speaking a word, until, at last, when only 
 half the rim of the setting sun peered red above 
 the far west, and the first gloom of coming 
 darkness fell upon the wood, Ursula said she 
 would go home. 
 
 "Come up to house wi' me first," he begged 
 of her, and caught her hold by the arm.
 
 292 A Tangled Web 
 
 "I had better to get back," she faltered, for 
 her heart was falling to think of what was be- 
 fore them. 
 
 "No, Ursie. No, I can't go up alone. I 
 shall do something or say something or act 
 like a fool I do know I shall. Come, Ursie ! 
 Come!" 
 
 In their fears and excitement all thoughts of 
 love had been forgotten. They had not so 
 much as looked at each other, and now, as Ur- 
 sula glanced up into Jack's face, she saw that 
 his eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks flushed. 
 He bore the appearance of one who had been 
 revelling at a fair. Already visitors in twos 
 and threes had crossed the home-field to Win- 
 terhays. Quite a company must have gathered 
 there by now. She could not leave him to face 
 it out alone. All the while she was not there, 
 she would go in fear of what he might have 
 done. 
 
 "I'll walk up wi' 'ee," she said, loosening his 
 hold and standing up from the stile, firm of 
 mind again. "But, Jack, be yourself. If we 
 had no knowledge o' it, we should talk, an' be 
 as hot to learn as the rest." 
 
 They had got as far as the garden-hatch, or
 
 The Fun o' the Fair 293 
 
 very near, when, suddenly, out of the home- 
 stead, pell-mell, one upon the other's heels, the 
 folk came running into the home-ground. 
 Somebody through the window had chanced to 
 eye great-uncle Tutchins, jogging in upon his 
 new mare. So they all rushed out to have a 
 look. And, la ! there she was, a picture to be 
 sure. And so was great-uncle Tutchins, too. 
 She was a silver-maned chestnut, with a beau- 
 tiful, long, swish tail that had never been 
 docked, and great-uncle Tutchins was wonder- 
 ful pleased with himself. It made him proud 
 as Punch to see the folk come round. His face, 
 ruddy in the evening light, shone like a pippin. 
 He had made a wonderful deal. Great-uncle 
 Tutchins knew he had. The mare, there, she 
 was so dappled as a deer, she really was; and 
 when great-uncle Tutchins drew rein she 
 arched her neck and the mane glistened like 
 silk. 
 
 "Lauk! Girt-uncle Tutchins, then!" cried 
 one and all. "Why, you must ha' bin in luck 
 to ha' picked her up." 
 
 "Now, all o' 'ee then, try to pick a fau't in 
 her," cried the old man, glancing round so red 
 in the cheek and so proud as a turkey-cock. "I
 
 294 A Tangled Web 
 
 can't pick a fau't in her to save my life. Be 
 dalled if she didn' come on jus' the very same 
 as if she knowed my ways." 
 
 Now, just as great-uncle Tutchins had 
 reached the height of his joy, that mare gave a 
 cough. It was but slight, and in the outburst 
 of general admiration passed unmarked. But 
 great-uncle Tutchins heard it a quiet, confi- 
 dential, familiar, hacking, little cough. Some- 
 thing like it he had known before. At once, 
 great-uncle Tutchins became the victim of a 
 most terrible distrust. Some rascally rogue 
 might have oiled up this smart young mare, 
 and mended her broken wind for an hour or so, 
 as could be done, so great-uncle Tutchins had 
 before now heard tell. It took him all his time 
 to keep his countenance and shout again with a 
 good heart 
 
 "Come then, Malachi Webb. Come then, 
 Simon Mogg. Come all o' 'ee. Pick a fau't 
 in her, if you can." 
 
 Nobody could. They looked at her from the 
 front they spied at her end-ways side-ways 
 slant-ways every way that the wit of horse- 
 dealing man has ever devised or thought of. 
 They looked cunning, too, and sly, and wise all
 
 The Fun o' the Fair 295 
 
 at the same time. Simon croupied down and 
 squinted. So did Malachi Webb. "Was she 
 a leetle just a leetle ?" Without wait- 
 ing to hear what, Malachi, always wishing to 
 stand well with everybody, shouted "Not a 
 bit, not a bit," so promptly that cousin Simon 
 Mogg gave the point up at once, saying, "No, 
 no. No more she is. No more she is." 
 
 "Come now," laughed great-uncle Tutchins, 
 again in the best of spirits, "there is noth- 
 ing 'pon earth wi'out some fau't or blemish. 
 For you be knock-kneed, Malachi Webb an' 
 Simon, when his hat's off, is so bald as a blad- 
 der o' lard." 
 
 But neither philosophy nor good-humour 
 could do any good. The truth about that mare 
 might never have been brought to light, and 
 would certainly have been kept a secret from 
 the good folk of Bratton, if Simon, in making 
 closer and more intimate examination of her 
 near hind leg, to steady himself whilst stooping, 
 had not laid his right hand upon her tail. 
 
 She did not kick. The sweetness of that 
 mare's temper was a credit to her sex. She 
 stood there as still as an angel among friends. 
 But just as Simon, leaning a little heavier, may-
 
 296 A Tangled Web 
 
 hap, carried his fingers down and down to- 
 wards the hoof, the tail came off. Simon fell 
 backwards, and all the folks laughed. An' la ! 
 sure then, all the stump that was left to the mare 
 had been shaved so close, it was a deal balder 
 than Simon's crown. 
 
 " 'Pon my life, then," cried Malachi, slowly 
 knitting his brows in perplexity and half afraid 
 to speak, "if I don't think Mr. Tutchins have 
 a-bought back his very own mare for I do sim 
 I do know her an' zo I do, too, when I do look 
 again." 
 
 "Why and zo he have then." 
 
 Now that the word was spoken, everybody 
 knew her at once. As well indeed they might, 
 for there was no such fine, upstanding mare 
 within ten miles. 
 
 "Heart alive!" 
 
 "Well now!" 
 
 "Dear, dear!" 
 
 "That great-uncle Tutchins, wi' all his years 
 an' wit, should ha' been a-tookt in like that." 
 
 In a twinkling the little man was down, 
 stamping, swearing, using all the words, as 
 Rizpah afterwards said, that he could lay his 
 tongue to. But it was no good. Malachi spat
 
 The Fun o' the Fair 297 
 
 in his hand and rubbed the chestnut dye off on 
 his own palm. Why, as he said, if you did but 
 pat her, you could knock out dust like beating a 
 door-mat. 
 
 " Tis they thieving, lying fellers o' gipsies. 
 That's who 'tis," cried great-uncle Tutchins. 
 "They did ought to be all hanged an' should 
 if I had my way. Why they do do one half 
 the crime in the country, they do." 
 
 "But who did 'ee buy her o', girt-uncle 
 Tutchins ? Who did 'ee buy her o' then ?" 
 
 "I took the young chap for a gen'leman's 
 servant." 
 
 "There, she wur a wonderful easy mare to 
 zell," said Malachi Webb, in a tone of comfort, 
 "though, to be sure, to be short of a tail do take 
 away some little from her looks." 
 
 "Ah! 'tis they same murdering, run-about 
 rogues, here to-day and gone to-morrow, that 
 killed the poor man they've a-found in Dree- 
 hounds-waste," roared the little man, pacing 
 up and down and round the mare. "That's 
 who 'tis. They gipsy robbers wi' no house to 
 their heads, that brought that corpse a hundred 
 mile or more, ari' dapped tin down here in Brat- 
 ton, to trouble honest folk." 
 20
 
 298 A Tangled Web 
 
 And that idea gained ground. Who could 
 doubt it ? For, after all, the rascals who would 
 dye up a grey mare so well as to suck in a man 
 like great-uncle Tutchins, could be guilty of 
 anything.
 
 The Ordeal 299 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 THE ORDEAL 
 
 "I can't never do it, Ursie. I won't go 
 anighst the place. I be afeard o' my life to think 
 o' it let alone to go. I tell 'ee, my heart 'ud 
 fail me to touch it, or to zo much as creep up an' 
 cast my eyes 'pon it. For they do say that 
 when you do but draw nigh the blood 'ull flow." 
 
 "For God's sake, hush," she warned him, in 
 a quick, frightened whisper. "Don't 'ee talk 
 so loud, Jack, or folk 'ull overhear an' vind out 
 all." 
 
 They were on the footpath leading across the 
 same ploughed ground where last harvest they 
 sat and talked behind the sheaves. To all ap- 
 pearance they did but walk out round together 
 as lovers should. For Sunday was come once 
 more, with its rest from work and a sound of 
 church-bells rising and falling upon the wind. 
 Already, though it was full early, folk were 
 making their way along the road up the hill. 
 
 Ever and again they glanced at the little
 
 300 A Tangled Web 
 
 graveyard on the knoll in expectation and in 
 fear. 
 
 They had not long to wait. Presently, a 
 small procession began to slowly climb the 
 flight of stone steps up the steep. Like a fu- 
 neral it looked of some poor body who has left 
 no mourners. In front walked the parson, and 
 with him one from Wincanton who was a 
 Justice of the Peace. Then followed a coffin, 
 carried on a bier, but covered by a pall that hid 
 the heads of the bearers too. But all the folk 
 who watched were held back for the time being 
 outside the gate. 
 
 Young Jack shuddered at the sight. He him- 
 self was pale as death; and so was Ursie, too, 
 though she gave no other sign of weakness, but 
 stood firm and did not even tremble or so much 
 as falter in her speech. 
 
 " 'Tis no good for 'ee to talk, Ursie/' he 
 cried, again, waving his hands in helplessness 
 and despair. "I can't. I tell 'ee I can't. I'll 
 run away out o' all reach." And he turned his 
 face from Bratton, and took some steps along 
 the path, as if to suit the deed to the word. 
 
 "Ah," she sighed. "An' that's how things 
 afore now have a-bin brought to light, when
 
 The Ordeal 301 
 
 they mid ha' bin kep' dark till doomsday. I 
 tell 'ee, Jack, 'tis nothing but jus' to go an' lay 
 your vinger on the hand o' un. "Pis no truth 
 in what they do tell up. An' when 'tis done, 
 they'll bury un, an' all 'ull be forgot." 
 
 That was true. In the afternoon they were 
 to bury the unclaimed dead, and so the talk 
 about it all would end. 
 
 The friends of him who was missing up the 
 country had been down to Wincanton to find 
 only a stranger never before seen. Not the 
 slightest clue had the constables got hold of to 
 guide them to the discovery of the crime. The 
 dead body, so great-uncle Tutchins had said, 
 might have been carried a "hunderd mile for all 
 anybeddy could tell." There was nothing, no 
 writing in any of the pockets, no sign of any- 
 thing with a word upon it, to tell them where 
 to ask or make their search. The clothes were 
 new a jacket, breeches, and hose of sheep-grey 
 yarn, such as were worn by yeomen and the 
 better class of husbandmen fresh bought with 
 the creases scarcely worn away, but with no 
 name of the tailor by whom the seams were 
 sewn. For craftsmen lived out of their neigh- 
 bours of those days, and little thought of send-
 
 302 A Tangled Web 
 
 ing their names far abroad to bring in work. 
 In the fob was a silver watch but that was 
 made in France. It only added another doubt 
 by seeming to show that robbery was not at the 
 bottom of the crime. 
 
 So, after all said and done, there was no more 
 left to do but to lay these relics upon one side in 
 readiness for some other proof which would 
 never come, and lay the body underground. In 
 Bratton parish it had been found, and to Brat- 
 ton it must be brought back to be buried. 
 There was but one small chance; and that, as 
 everybody felt, could but make it clear that no 
 guilt lay upon Bratton folk. As to bringing 
 home the murder to him who did it, nobody so 
 much as dreamt of that. It could never be 
 found out, so everybody said. 
 
 There was an old, lingering belief some- 
 what fallen into disuse of late, but still firmly 
 held in far-off parts of the country that, at the 
 touch of the murderer, or even in his presence, 
 the wounds of a murdered man would break 
 out and bleed afresh. Great beads of sweat had 
 been known to rise upon the dead man's fore- 
 head, ay, and run down upon his brow, so many 
 a ballad song and chap-book set down in print.
 
 The Ordeal 303 
 
 Quite a number, even of the bettermost people, 
 believed this still; so that, although some 
 thought the Queen's judges would not take it 
 for proof in law, many more stuck out that it 
 ought to be done. It was God's way, so Riz- 
 pah had said overnight, to bring the hidden ill- 
 doer to justice ; and then she spoke the text that 
 "whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his 
 blood be shed." Jacob Handsford was the only 
 one in Bratton to sneer when yesterday the 
 word had been sent round that every male 
 above sixteen should undergo this ordeal as he 
 passed on Sunday morning into the village 
 church. It must be the devil then, sure enough, 
 he scoffed, for more than once a corpse had bled 
 anew at touch of one who had never been near 
 the place. "Ay, an' one time at the pa'son his- 
 zelf he ! he ! when he reached out his han' to 
 lift off the cloth." 
 
 " "Tis but this," the girl went on, with grow- 
 ing eagerness, "an' then all 'ull be done wi' an' 
 safe. Look, they've a'most a-got it ready there 
 by the porch, close handy to the path. Jack, 
 I tell 'ee 't 'ull be tookt note o' that we do bide 
 away so long. 'Tis out o' all reason for 
 everybeddy is there an' some from other places,
 
 304 A Tangled Web 
 
 too. They'll suspect something, Jack; I know 
 they will. Come on ; you ought to ha' been the 
 first." 
 
 In her anxiety she caught hold of him, as if 
 to drag him along the path. Half yielding to 
 this new fear, but half out of his habit of trust- 
 ing to Ursula, he suffered her to lead him 
 back towards the village. Then he stopped. 
 
 "Ursie, I can never look upon un," he 
 moaned. 
 
 "There's no need. You have but to put out 
 your han' as you do pass by." 
 
 " 'Twere so dark," he faltered in a low voice, 
 "that I've never a-zeed un. He'll draw my 
 eyes to un, Ursie, though I could scarce dare to 
 look." 
 
 " 'Tis but a minute," she went on, pleading 
 at first, but growing impatient that he should be 
 so weak, "an' then all the trouble over for good. 
 An' what can this be after what you have 
 a-done afore ? Why, you carried un whilst he 
 wur still warm, an' now he's cold more 'an a 
 week. Would 'ee be such a eoward that you 
 can't so much as lay finger-tip to un ?" 
 
 He winced as she called him that, and once 
 more thev walked on.
 
 The Ordeal 305 
 
 "But what if the blood should run ?" he pres- 
 ently gasped. That was real dread, and at 
 thought of it all his strength fled, his knees 
 bent, and his hands shook. 
 
 "I tell 'ee 'tis but a trap to catch a guilty 
 heart wi' fear that have a-bin gied up in most 
 parts years agone," she said, quietly, to give 
 him courage. "Be a man, Jack. Why, what 
 is it a-told up about Master Babb, o' Chard, that 
 killed the widow-ooman? He ran away an* 
 zo it all came out. An' what o' he in the zong, 
 then, that shook an' trembled like a leaf, an', 
 sooner 'an touch the body, fell down an' told 
 all there-right. 'Tis but to keep up a good 
 heart for a minute, Jack just to talk to the 
 folk as you do pass, an' hurry in the virst an' 
 out again. For there's no need to go to church. 
 Nobeddy 'ull expect it. An' we'll come out in 
 the fields, Jack, happy to think that there's no 
 more to be thought o'. Come afore we be 
 missed ; there's no time to spare." 
 
 "I'll do it, Ursie, come what may," he cried, 
 with sudden boldness. But though her words 
 had brought him to the point, his spirit still 
 quailed within. He paused a moment. Then 
 he looked blankly into her face. There came a
 
 306 A Tangled Web 
 
 hopelessness into his eyes as again he put his 
 fear into words : "An' if they do mark anything 
 in my countenance or gait, zo it mus' be." 
 
 In a twinkling he had again cast fear aside, 
 and was ready to go on ready with the reck- 
 less courage that belonged to his nature. But 
 his weakness and uncertainty of mind in pres- 
 ence of the rites that went beyond things living, 
 as it were, into the other world filled her with 
 alarm. In her heart also was a doubt. But 
 the outcome and the upshot of not going stood 
 clear before her brain. He would be missed 
 sent for brought, after all, and watched 
 watched with a narrowness of expectation that 
 could see even more than there was. 
 
 "I tell 'ee what, Jack dear," she said, moved 
 by a sudden impulse of pity and love, "if 't 'ull 
 do 'ee any good I'll go along wi' 'ee. I'll walk 
 straight up an' stand there by your zide. "Full 
 be only as if I went out o' cur'osity an' there's 
 a-many women-folk 'ull do that. An' I'll just 
 speak a word to 'ee, quiet like, as you do step 
 on to the grass." 
 
 "If you 'ull but do it, Ursie, I'll go at once," 
 he cried, eagerly, seizing upon her offer almost 
 before the words were out of her mouth. "I'd
 
 The Ordeal 307 
 
 never back out, nor turn tail, if you was by, but 
 go on, whatever mid hap. I've a-got that trust 
 in 'ee, Ursie, that what you do say is right. An' 
 you don't believe in it yourself, do 'ee? Nor 
 your vather, Ursie ? Zo you said " 
 
 She stopped him in his anxious talk and 
 stepped in front to look at him. 
 
 "You be all in a zweat," she said, "wi' the 
 thought o' it. Here, let I wipe your forehead 
 an' your cheeks with the corner o' my necker- 
 cher, afore we do meet wi' a soul. An' look up 
 cheerful like. For anyway, no harm can come. 
 If nothing should hap, that's a proof. An' if 
 it should, why, stand bold. For it can but show 
 false in the minds o' all no reason an' no link 
 to hold 'ee to it, as mid zay. There's nothing 
 'pon earth can hurt 'ee, Jack, but yourself, for 
 certain sure. Come, look-y-zee, they've a-oped 
 the gate for folks to go up." 
 
 "Come on then, Ursie," he said, his mind 
 now fully made up. "When all's said an' done, 
 there's none 'ull take note o' we any more than 
 the rest." 
 
 They hurried along the path towards the vil- 
 lage street. Even to be late, when everybody 
 was so full of wonder and eagerness to see,
 
 308 A Tangled Web 
 
 might look strange and call for some comment, 
 if only in joke. By the time they came down 
 into the road all the people had slowly filed 
 up into the church-yard, and were standing 
 in groups upon the path. So much the bet- 
 ter after all. The moment was too solemn for 
 shaking hands and talk. Nobody had so much 
 as a word or a look for Ursie and young Jack, 
 but all stood there in silence, the men bare- 
 headed, the women with parted lips and pale, 
 watching as one after another stepped forward 
 in his turn. 
 
 The bier had been placed upon the grass close 
 by the church-door; and the corpse, wrapped in 
 woollen cloth, lay in an uncovered coffin with its 
 face and hands open to the light. The parson, 
 the Justice of the Peace, and the constable, 
 stood upon one side by the head and watched. 
 One after another the villagers lightly touched 
 the murdered man, and, passing on, waited by 
 the entrance to the porch. And slowly the cir- 
 cle of the people who came only to see the sight, 
 overcoming their awe of death, drew closer and 
 closer until they blocked the way, and now and 
 again had to be told in a loud voice to stand 
 back.
 
 The Ordeal 309 
 
 For a minute Jack and Ursula waited upon 
 the outskirts of the throng. 
 
 She glanced at him. His lips were set firm 
 with the dogged look she had seen at times be- 
 fore, when, at cudgel-playing or wrestling, he 
 stood up before a man he knew to be as good 
 or better than himself. In the deed itself, the 
 thing seemed easier than when only thought 
 upon and pictured in the mind. She touched 
 him on the elbow. Intent on what he saw he 
 gave no heed. She pulled him by the sleeve, 
 and beckoned with her finger. Then they 
 pushed a way between the folk and came to the 
 very front. 
 
 His turn had come, but still he did not move. 
 
 He was staring upon the face of the unknown 
 man whom he had killed. It had a fascination 
 for him, just as he had feared, lying there in its 
 cerecloth with closed eyes, ashy white. On the 
 brow, full in sight, was the wound with blood 
 about it still, but dark and black. The cheek- 
 bones and the thin nose were pitted deep with 
 the small-pox, but the cheeks, and mouth, and 
 jaw, were hidden in a moustache and beard 
 clipped short and close. 
 
 He stood like one spell-bound, though the
 
 310 A Tangled Web 
 
 Justice made a sign to him to come. He looked 
 dazed and perplexed, as if scarcely knowing 
 what he did, where he was, or what he looked 
 upon. 
 
 Was he going to break down, now, at the 
 last ? Ursula's heart sank. She spoke to him, 
 quickly, in a whisper : 
 
 "Now Jack 'tis you." 
 
 At the sound of her voice he started, and 
 stepped sullenly towards the bier. 
 
 An awful fear gripped her around the heart. 
 God ! If what folk said was true, and the blood 
 should flow ! Her breath came fast. She felt 
 like to fall; but she pressed one hand tight 
 against her side, and followed him only a pace 
 or so behind. Her eyes were fixed upon the 
 wound. Already it looked to her to moisten 
 as they drew near. 
 
 Now that he was brought to the pinch, Jack 
 White, without wavering, stretched out his arm 
 to touch. 
 
 The air was still and soft. There was neither 
 sound nor movement in the crowd as he quickly 
 stretched forth his hand with less of care than 
 any of the rest, and tapped with his fingers on 
 the white, shining knuckles of the dead.
 
 The Ordeal 311 
 
 t- 
 
 Suddenly, close by his shoulder, arose a 
 shriek. 
 
 Then it was all true ! The blood had come 
 afresh ! The dead had told his tale and every- 
 thing was found out. 
 
 He staggered back. He turned, and would 
 have run, but Ursula was already clinging to 
 him; though her face, turned from him, still 
 stared upon the bier. 
 
 " 'Tis William," she screamed, her voice wild 
 with terror. "Poor William on his way home 
 unbeknown that you have a-killed." 
 
 At once, there was an upstore everywhere. 
 "What, William It can't be William White 
 Though 'tis his hair an' height an' fore- 
 head " Some laid hands upon young Jack. 
 Some ran to Ursula, who had fallen, sobbing 
 and wringing her hands, upon the ground. 
 And some cried out to fetch Rizpah, who, sure 
 enough, must know her own son, and was com- 
 ing at that moment, book in hand, across the 
 field. 
 
 But the truth, once spoken, stood beyond all 
 doubt. Malachi Webb, always the foremost, 
 stepped up to look. Below the cheek-bone, but 
 hidden now under the new-grown hair, was the
 
 312 A Tangled Web 
 
 scar brought back from an earlier voyage. And 
 though the face was thin with illness and the 
 features out of all knowledge disfigured and 
 changed, pitted thick and deep with the small- 
 pox there was not one of Bratton who could 
 not say without doubt that this was William 
 White. 
 
 Ay, and it was clear to see, too, why William 
 White had stayed away with no word sent. 
 Lying at death's door, like enough, for weeks, 
 and laid aside for months, how was he to write 
 or send? Illness had made him another man. 
 Even his own mother would scarce know him 
 now. And Rizpah, who had stayed away from 
 the grim sight-seeing, was hard by on her way 
 to church. Make room for Rizpah break it 
 to her gently, sure. Poor woman little bet- 
 ter than twelve months a widow and to have 
 such sorrow wi' her sons. 
 
 And all the while, above the hum and buzz of 
 voices, arose the moan of Ursula, sometimes 
 growing into a shriek, that it was William, and 
 then sinking into a wail as she cried and sobbed 
 for young Jack. 
 
 She had found him courage to come there 
 and face the ordeal, to fail him at the last.
 
 BOOK III
 
 BOOK III 
 
 RlZPAH 
 
 A year and more had passed, and sad changes 
 had fallen upon Winterhays. 
 
 Again it was near midsummer, the very day 
 o' the month upon which, at early daybreak, 
 William had set out to sea, two years agone. It 
 was the hour of twilight, too, but not as then 
 of dewy dawn. The west above the hill was 
 broken into fierce rifts. Crimson light ran up 
 into the sky, pierced the walls of purple cloud, 
 and cast a blood-red glow upon the masses over- 
 head. It was the last clutching after life of a 
 long and passionate day. 
 
 Again there was hay in the pook in the home- 
 field and also in the meadow at the back of 
 Jacob Handsford's barn. There had been a 
 heavy tempest during the afternoon that had 
 brought all work to a standstill, and spoilt the
 
 316 A Tangled Web 
 
 greater part already done. Early in the day, 
 huge, threatening mountains of leaden cloud, 
 sun-capped against the pale blue sky, arose 
 above the hill-tops, so that there was much ado 
 to rake the grass together before the coming 
 storm should break. For hours the jagged 
 lightning played and thunder rattled all along 
 the ridge, with scarce a breath o' wind or drop 
 o' rain to cool the sultry air. Then a whirlwind, 
 chilly and cold, came rushing down the open 
 space by the cross-roads and swept the valley 
 round. The clouds burst. A sudden torrent 
 poured that drenched the running work-folk to 
 the skin. And so by eventide the storm wore 
 out its strength and passed into a moaning rum- 
 ble far away. 
 
 Then everybody ran out o' house to look 
 about and eye out what harm was done; for 
 here and there a chimney-tun had been blown 
 down or the thatch torn away at a pointing-end. 
 
 Jacob, as fast as he could set foot to ground, 
 went shuffling up to Winterhays alone. He 
 was always alone since Ursula was gone; for 
 folk, one and all, had made up their minds to 
 have nothing to do with such a thing of a fel- 
 low. Not a neighbour, young or old, would
 
 Rizpah 3 1 7 
 
 so mucfi as pass the time o' day with the man as 
 he went down street. Children, who could little 
 more than lisp, called "skin-flint" to his face, 
 and boys, just big enough to run, thought it a 
 good deed to throw a stone after little Jakey 
 Handsford so soon as ever his back was turned. 
 So there was no comfort in it, though he had 
 won what he craved. 
 
 There is nothing so slow to grow, but noth- 
 ing so deep of root and long in dying out, as the 
 ill-will of a village. Jacob felt very sad at 
 heart as he hurried up the hill. For great- 
 uncle Tutchins and Malachi Webb were stand- 
 ing below the churchyard as he turned into the 
 field. He could see by their looks that some- 
 thing had gone awry, and his quick ear caught 
 the sound of their laughter just as he slammed 
 back the little kiss-gate and stepped in upon 
 the path. "Ha!" muttered Jacob to himself, 
 "there's no such thing as good-fellowship left 
 'pon the face o' the earth, I do declare." No 
 matter what damage might be done, well 
 enough he knew that nobody would lend him a 
 helping hand. And he able to buy up both o' 
 the fellows and then look round for more. 
 
 He had got hold of the farm that he cov-
 
 318 A Tangled Web 
 
 eted after all; but so far it had brought him 
 nothing but trouble. Rizpah went out at 
 Milemas last, and ever since then the house 
 lay empty. What good was the land to 
 her with William killed and laid to rest, 
 and young Jack where they had put him at 
 the cross-roads just on the brow of the ridge, 
 for all the world to see? Glad enough was 
 she to give it up and creep into the little cot- 
 tage hard by the high-road. "For certain sure, 
 she had money a plenty now," so great-uncle 
 Tutchins and cousin Simon Mogg agreed. She 
 could never want so much as a penny-piece of 
 any living soul, not if she did live to a hunderd. 
 No, no. For wi' what belonged to both o' the 
 boys, so well as her own share, she was so sure 
 o' to-morrow's bread as she was o' to-morrow's 
 daylight. "Jus' the very same," said great- 
 uncle Tutchins. " 'T'ud be nothing but a 
 friendly act and kind and prudent to get the 
 poor ooman to choose executors and draw up 
 a bit of a will," suggested thoughtful cousin 
 Simon Mogg. "An' la! she do really want 
 some near relative to take her money to use an' 
 pay the interest regular-like, wi' no thought or 
 trouble to herself like." That was the sort of
 
 Rizpah 319 
 
 gossip that took place when Rizpah went out 
 and Jacob came into Winterhays and a good 
 job, too. 
 
 But Ursula was alive at that time, for it was 
 not until the new year that she was taken, and 
 Jacob had been driven to his wits' end to know 
 what to do since then. 
 
 He hurried across the field and stood before 
 the tenantless homestead. No matter how 
 little he asked, he could get no one to take the 
 house without the land, and no one to live in it 
 and work for him. They would not take it at 
 a gift to be under Jacob, so folk said. And 
 morning, noon, and night, it worrited him most 
 wonderful to know the place empty, day after 
 day, and week after week, when it ought to be 
 bringing in a few shillings, if only, as he grum- 
 bled to himself, to pay the outs. For keep it up 
 he must. That he was bound to do in black 
 and white. "Ha ! an' things out o' use do run 
 to disrepair more than they do wear out wi' 
 hard usage," daily he kept snarling to himself. 
 But when he first clapped eyes upon Winter- 
 hays, to-night, he stopped and raised his hands 
 and looked aghast. 
 
 The old place had stood right in the stroke
 
 320 A Tangled Web 
 
 of the wind. Some weeks ago, the mischiev- 
 ous toads of boys had unhung and carried away 
 the garden hatch and broken all the window- 
 panes with stones ; and now came the tempest 
 and all the roof was a ruin. For the gale had 
 got under the broad eaves and stripped off the 
 thatch, leaving the rafters bare as bones. The 
 chimneys at the gable ends were carried away 
 and red bricks lay strewn and broken all across 
 the garden plot. The old pear tree in the cor- 
 ner was blown down and had fallen against the 
 wall. The old home of Winterhays that had 
 covered the Whites for so many generations 
 looked no better than a wreck. 
 
 Little Jacob Handsford stamped his feet and 
 tore his hair. 
 
 Then he fell to raving. 
 "God's life ! but a pretty penny it must cost 
 to put all straight an' that's good money after 
 bad, wi' not so much as a varden to be got out 
 o' it all, whatever mid be spent. Ha! sure 
 enough, there's work an' pay for the thatcher, 
 an' the mason, an' the glazier an' all out o' 
 one pocket, too all out o' Jacob Handsford's. 
 An' the place a-bought so dear as vire, too so 
 dear as vire so dear as vire."
 
 Rizpah 321 
 
 In his excitement, still repeating these words, 
 he began to wander aimlessly around the dis- 
 mantled house. He crossed behind the cow- 
 stalls towards the orchard, but it was only to 
 pass from one damage to another. More than 
 a score of apple trees, thick in leaf and heavy- 
 laden with green, new-kerned fruit, had been 
 blown down and then to see the hurt they had 
 done, tearing and breaking the limbs of others 
 in their fall. Three tall elm trees that grew in 
 the bank of a hedge-row ditch, torn up by the 
 roots, had fallen, crashing into a piece of wheat. 
 "Ha ! How be they to be got at ? How be they 
 to be got at ?" Jacob asked the question again 
 and again, but could find no answer. 
 
 He stayed there until dusk was falling, and 
 homestead, trees, and orchard became wrapped 
 in gloom. He could do no good no good at 
 all. He would be out o' pocket out o' pocket 
 after all his pains. Jacob Handsford pitied 
 himself with all his heart. After the way he 
 had thought, and schemed, and worked, and 
 saved, that everything he had put hand to 
 should go so much awry. Ah ! all this trouble 
 was the only reward he got for being so prudent 
 and thrifty. He might just as well get home at
 
 322 A Tangled Web 
 
 once and see what Hannah Peach was about. 
 He got his village news from Hannah, too ; for 
 she was the only soul he had to speak to since 
 Ursula died at the turn of the new year. 
 
 But what was that Hannah was telling up the 
 other night ? Once or twice of late, in his per- 
 plexity, his mind had run upon Rizpah White. 
 Sure, when her trouble had passed over awhile, 
 she would be looking for something to do. If 
 he could get a staid woman like that, and honest 
 and respectable, to come and manage for him, 
 it would pay to give her good money rather 
 than things should go so much to waste. But 
 Hannah had brought in strange stories about 
 Rizpah White. Jacob stopped in the path and 
 thought. There came upon him a curiosity to 
 pry out and learn whether the things said were 
 true. 
 
 He climbed quietly up the hill-side, towards 
 the cross-roads, close by the gate where Rizpah 
 sat down to rest and think that Monday when 
 she had been to Wincanton about the rent. 
 
 It was lighter on the hill than down below. 
 The air was still and calm. Long strips of 
 cloud, broken up and left behind in the wake of 
 the storm, stretched above the horizon, one over
 
 Rizpah 323 
 
 the other, ragged-edged, blood-red and livid, 
 with shafts of golden light bursting between 
 and spreading up into the sky. 
 
 He stood and peered through a gap in the 
 hedge. 
 
 Upon the top of the little grassy knoll stood 
 a gibbet; and from the out-stretched arm 
 hung a shapeless burden, black and motionless 
 against the brilliant glory of the passing day. 
 The post, upon one side, was all aglow with the 
 red light, and glistening too. For higher than 
 the tallest man could reach it was studded thick 
 with nails, driven so close together that never 
 the point of a knife could get between. Above 
 that it had been bound with iron bands. Sure 
 enough, it was put there to stand, maybe a hun- 
 dred years, till wind and wet had eaten all its 
 strength away. Nobody could cut it down, or 
 even whittle off so much as a splinter to carry 
 about as a charm against toothache. Thus they 
 had hung Jack White, on the tree that bears no 
 leaves, a warning to others, for all the world to 
 see. 
 
 Without a shudder Jacob had seen this grue- 
 some sight before, even in broad day, had heard 
 the chains creak, and watched the body swing
 
 324 A Tangled Web 
 
 in the wind ; but, to-night, in the growing dark- 
 ness, it made his flesh creep to look. 
 
 At the foot of the gallows crouched a dark 
 figure, almost lost in the shadow of the further 
 hedge. His eyes could not clearly make out 
 the shape, but well he knew it could be none 
 other but Rizpah White. To and fro she 
 moved, a step at a time, bent down and stooping 
 like aged poverty under the bare trees gather- 
 ing dead sticks for firewood after a winter gale. 
 She went peering amongst the rank nettles, and 
 feeling with her fingers in the wet grass. She 
 still wore her long apron which she held to- 
 gether in her left hand. Once she picked some- 
 thing up one of the dead sticks that the wind 
 shakes from the gibbet tree and dropped it 
 within the folds. Then she went on again, 
 more eager than before, along the close sward 
 on the edge of the highway. 
 
 Jacob Handsford saw and understood. It 
 was just as Hannah had brought in word, 
 only the maid had not heard all. Folk said 
 that Rizpah sat there all day long, watching 
 to keep the carrion-crows away, and at night 
 crept down into the churchyard and knelt an 
 hour beside the spot where William lay.
 
 Rizpah 325 
 
 "Ha!" said Jacob to himself. "What! 
 Ha'n't Bratton people got wit, then, to zee what 
 the ooman is about ?" He did not understand 
 that the neighbours did not want to see. That 
 churchwardens, constables, even the pa'son 
 
 himself said "Let her be." What harm if the 
 
 t 
 
 bones of the brothers lay together in one grave ? 
 They must both rise before God at the Judg- 
 ment Day. And nobody had any need to know 
 what Rizpah was doing, for nobody had any 
 call to look. 
 
 But the prying into any secret thing had a 
 fascination for Jacob. The better to watch, he 
 caught hold of a hazel stick to drag himself 
 higher into the hedge. With a sharp sound the 
 twig snapped off in his hand. 
 
 In a moment Rizpah stood upright, looked 
 eagerly around her, turned her head and 
 glanced over her shoulder down the road be- 
 hind her back. Nobody did she see. She 
 hastily hid away the one bone she had found 
 under the neckercher upon her bosom. Then 
 she let fall the apron, pulled her knitting from 
 her pocket, and, as if she had no purpose in 
 being there, humbly set to work. But it was 
 quite late. Kites and crows had flown home
 
 326 A Tangled Web 
 
 to their rocks and roosting trees. There was 
 no more that night for Rizpah to wait for, and 
 she presently stepped off the sward and took her 
 way slowly down the village. 
 
 As she came to the gap her eye fell upon 
 Jacob Handsford. She stopped mid-road and 
 stared, not able, in the gloom, to make out who 
 was there. She took two steps toward him 
 and craned forward with her head. Then, 
 though he had been prying all his life, some- 
 thing crept over Jacob that made him feel un- 
 easy, if not ashamed. He crept noiselessly 
 down the bank and stole homewards under 
 cover of the hedge. Presently, Rizpah also 
 went on her way, not knowing who had 
 watched her, and half in doubt whether he 
 had seen. 
 
 But when Jacob came opposite the church- 
 yard steps he loitered. 
 
 "Ha ! 'Tis a wonder," he muttered to him- 
 self, "that nobody do look into what the ooman 
 is about. Or where's the good o' living honest ? 
 Where's the good o' law an' example, if the 
 ooman is to do as she do like, an' the rogue to 
 rest wi' the Christian after all? There's they 
 about don't think much o' their duty to let it go
 
 Rizpah 327 
 
 on. For 'tis plain as a pike-staff to any but a 
 fool. Ha! ha! Tis, sure." Yet, after all, 
 what did it matter to him, and if Rizpah could 
 be got to keep house after a while, when 
 
 His ear caught a sound at the churchyard 
 gate. Then there was silence ; and then Rizpah 
 went stealthily creeping up the stone steps. At 
 the top she waited awhile, glanced down the 
 village street, and listened. All the earth was 
 sweet and fragrant, and folk were glad to be 
 out of doors, after the rain. From below came 
 a chorus of children's voices singing to their 
 game. At the nearest cottage a boy was sitting 
 on the threshold playing upon a pipe. A dog 
 was barking and there were voices and laughter 
 far away. But in all this was nothing to make 
 Rizpah afraid. Bratton was but enjoying its 
 leisure evening hour of talk and merriment be- 
 fore going to rest. 
 
 She went upon the sward and passed between 
 the headstones. Then by William's grave she 
 stopped again. 
 
 In the mind of Jacob was no thought of doing 
 her harm. All the same it was not right and 
 ought not to be allowed ; for there could be no 
 security for property if the law were not to be
 
 328 A Tangled Web 
 
 carried out. But there were they whose place 
 and duty it was to look to that. It did not fall 
 upon him. Oh no ! Jacob was bent in mind 
 only to see all, and then, for his own ends, to 
 hold his tongue. 
 
 "Who's that?" 
 
 Rizpah had seen him. And again in a hoarse 
 whisper, half anger and half alarm, she called 
 across the road. 
 
 "Who's that ? What then, is it come to this, 
 that a poor lone body can't creep away to spend 
 a minute in peace beside her own dead, but one 
 or another mus' come poking roun' to stan' an' 
 pry upon her grief ?" 
 
 Jacob made no answer. He had nothing to 
 say. Yet he was doing no harm there in the 
 field, his own field now that he had got Win- 
 terhays. Heart alive! Things had come to 
 something then, if a man might not stand at 
 will in his own field. 
 
 The widow strode forward to the church 
 wall. Only the narrow road lay between 
 them, and now she could make out the little 
 pinched figure and short stature of Jacob. 
 Nobody else in Bratton was so small as he. 
 
 The memory of all the anxious heart-burn-
 
 Rizpah 329 
 
 ing and striving doubt that she had suffered 
 during the last two years came back upon her: 
 And everywhere, underneath it all, like a warp 
 upon which the sorrows of her life had been 
 woven, ran the strands of Jacob Handsford's 
 avarice and craft. He had done it all he, 
 with his holding-back and under-creeping. 
 And now he came to peep at her perhaps to 
 tell. 
 
 Her tongue was loosened. The brooding 
 misery of the months that she had watched, 
 and sat in solitude, and wept at the foot of the 
 gibbet-post found utterance. The words came 
 quick and fast, she knew not whence. She 
 had never even thought clearly the things she 
 now said, though they had long lain unbe- 
 known in her heart. 
 
 "But there's no need to ask 'who's that,' " 
 she cried, and, as she raised her voice, it rang 
 sharp and loud across the quiet valley. "For 
 there is but one in Bratton, or in all the length 
 an' breadth o' the whole land for that, that 'ud 
 come to look at a poor soul in trouble, as if mid 
 be a show. An' that's Jacob Handsford lit- 
 tle Jakey Handsford wi' a heart that never 
 harboured a kind thought for a neighbour out
 
 330 A Tangled Web 
 
 o' luck; an' never brought so much as a stale 
 crust to gi'e to the hungry poor ; an' never paid 
 a penny-piece well owed 'ithout a groan to 
 think that they mus' part." 
 
 For a moment she paused. The cottage boy 
 had ceased to blow his pipe, and was stealing 
 unseen on tiptoe up the road. The village 
 gossip and the laughter, too, were stilled. It 
 was as if the whole hillside had hushed to 
 listen. 
 
 "But He whose eye do look through all 
 things, an' can zee the truth that do underlie the 
 outside show, He do know all the ill that do lie 
 at your door, Jacob Handsford. An' as you've 
 a-lived for yourzelf, so He'll lef 'ee to die alone, 
 when you ha'n't a-got so much as the sweet 
 memory of a friend under the sod. The maid 
 that wur yours you cast away for the sake of a 
 few pounds. You've a-had never a thought o' 
 any good in your life but saving, Jacob Hands- 
 ford ; till now you ha'n't a-got so much as a soul 
 to save. For you've a-zold yourzelf, morning, 
 noon, an' night, for money. You've never a- 
 had no soul above money all the days o' your 
 grown-up life. Never so much as vive min- 
 utes free to yourzelf an' they around 'ee. An*
 
 Rizpah 331 
 
 you'll live to be more lonesome, for want o' 
 what you've a-let slip, than I that have a-had 
 all I ever loved a-snatched away." 
 
 Again there was silence. Great-uncle Tutch- 
 ins and Malachi Webb had fallen in with cousin 
 Simon Mogg down in the village, and they, all 
 three, hearing such unwonted flow of words, 
 had crept up also and stood in the road below. 
 Jacob they could not see; and the widow also, 
 high above them, was beyond their view. It 
 could be none other but she. Though it was 
 not like Rizpah, who found scarcely a word for 
 anybody this twelve-months back. It was like 
 a strange voice speaking from the tombs. 
 
 "Ay, an' then all the death an' sorrow that 
 you've a-brought about 'ull come home to 'ee. 
 For 'tis you that have done it all you, Jacob 
 Handsford that have murdered William an' 
 brought young Jack to the gallis an' laid Ur- 
 sula in her shroud when she might ha' bin a 
 mother, happy to feel the babe upon her breast. 
 For if you had but helped her she would ha' 
 wed wi' William ; or if you had but gi'ed her 
 her own, there need ha' been no call to wait, and 
 he had a-bin here living an' well-to-do to-day. 
 Look at it how you will, at the root o' it 'twere
 
 332 A Tangled Web 
 
 you. For then she would ha' married wi* Jack, 
 and her own rightful money were enough to 
 find 'em a home, an' they'd a-loved one another 
 an' lived happy an' honest as the open day, an' 
 thought no hurt to any 'pon earth, nor wished 
 no harm. For they only thought to take what 
 belonged to 'em, that you couldn't a-bear to let 
 out o' your hands. You an' your money. 
 You've a-done it all. You've a-builded the 
 gibbet at the four cross-roads, an' digged the 
 grave for poor Ursula that broke her heart. 
 'Tis you 'tis you only you, yourzelf. An' 
 now you do come to walk round an' look upon 
 your work. You do come to pry upon me, as 
 if I had no right to bide by day wi' my boy 
 they've a-killed or to creep at dark to beg an' 
 pray o' the Almighty to gi'e me strength to 
 bear it." 
 
 However wild and out of all common-sense 
 such words might be, they made Jacob feel ill 
 at ease. That he had held back Ursula's money 
 was well known, and Hannah Peach had more 
 than once brought home to his ears what the 
 neighbours had said about that. He himself 
 set her to listen and let him know. It was a 
 good thing there was nobody about to-night
 
 Rizpah 333 
 
 to hear all this that Rizpah had bawled out 
 so loud. It would be well to make haste in out 
 of the way now, whilst she had stopped, like 
 enough only to draw breath and begin again. 
 If he were gone, she would say no more. 
 
 He hurried to the stile hard-by, leading down 
 the road. But as he passed through, in his 
 haste to be gone, he ran "full-but," as they say, 
 into the very arms, as it were, of great-uncle 
 Tutchins and Malachi Webb. Cousin Simon 
 Mogg was there, too, and quite a crowd be- 
 sides, for everybody within hearing had run up, 
 taking all care not to make the very "leastest 
 sound," as great-uncle Tutchins, in a whisper, 
 warned each as he drew nigh. 
 
 To find, unlocked for, so many people, Jacob 
 stood aghast. They stood between him and his 
 house. There were no two ways, and he must 
 face it out. It would never do to let them see 
 that he took to heart such mad talking as this. 
 He had not of his own will wasted breath to 
 talk to a neighbour for years, but now he put 
 on a bold front and stepped up to Malachi 
 Webb. 
 
 "The poor ooman is beside herzelf. Her 
 head's a-turned. 'Tis scand'lous how she do
 
 334 A Tangled Web 
 
 act, to my mind. She did ought to be put 
 away/' he said, in a low, confidential whisper. 
 
 But Malachi Webb answered aloud 
 
 "If all they that do act scand'lous were put 
 away, Mr. Handsford, Bratton would ha' lost 
 sight o' you years ago," he said, with all the 
 dignity of a man who, having owed money, 
 has paid it off. Then he turned upon his heel. 
 
 But Jacob was not so easily to be put off, 
 particularly by a twopenny-ha'penny sort of a 
 fellow like Malachi, who had found it a pretty 
 tough job to hold his head above water for more 
 than ten years past, and with another stroke 
 o' bad luck might go to the wall any day o* 
 the week. He shuffled forward to great-uncle 
 Tutchins and cousin Simon Mogg, who stood 
 together close by, both sound, saving house- 
 holders, not likely to be led away by foolish talk. 
 
 "How d'ee do, Mr. Tutchins? And how's 
 Mr. Tutchins ?" he said, trying to appear at ease 
 and holding out his hand. 
 
 Great-uncle Tutchins did not move. He did 
 not, according to all accounts afterwards given 
 in Bratton, so much as offer to shake hands. 
 But still, the night was almost dark and he 
 might not have seen.
 
 Rizpah 335 
 
 "Howd'eedo, Mr. Mogg?" 
 
 Simon, on the best authority, is said to have 
 given a bit of a snort and to have tossed his 
 head with a sniff. But he said nothing. 
 
 Jacob went on, speaking to neither in par- 
 ticular but to both at once. 
 
 "I say the ooman is not right," he said, in his 
 old, sharp rnanner. "Do vail to her kin to look 
 a'ter her, an' if any harm should hap to vail 
 't'ull be all their own faults, an' only they to 
 blame. I zay for a man to be hollared at when 
 he's only standing so quiet as a mouse on his 
 own groun' is a thing that ought not to be 
 'lowed. She's mad. The ooman's mad. Stark, 
 staring mad. That's what she is; for all her 
 words do show it. "Pis well enough for fools 
 to run up here an' listen, an' then go home an' 
 laugh. 'Tis but a step from words like that to 
 deeds. Did ought to be looked into by they 
 that do belong to her afore harm do come an' 
 'tis too late. She's mad." 
 
 "She's more in her right mind than you have 
 ever a-bin, Jacob Handsford, clever as you be. 
 I do hold wi' more 'an half she said, an' more 
 'an dree-quarters, too. Let her be, I zay. 
 Poor thing, she've a-suffered enough. Let her
 
 336 A Tangled Web 
 
 come an' go in peace," said great-uncle Tutch- 
 ins, and a murmur ran round the little group 
 of bystanders : "Ay, let Rizpah come and go in 
 peace." 
 
 "She do bring down the bones o' young Jack 
 to bury " cried Jacob, his shrill pipe of a 
 voice rising into the shriek that used of old to 
 make poor Ursula so angry. 
 
 But the villagers broke in upon his words. 
 They would hear none of this, and least of 
 all from Jacob. " 'Tis a lie," muttered one. 
 "There's none have a-zeed it done," shouted 
 another; and Jacob found himself pushed aside 
 and jostled from behind, he could not, for the 
 life of him, say by whom. 
 
 Then somebody took up the phrase that had 
 fallen from the lips of Rizpah, and from all 
 sides the folk yelled at him: "No soul above 
 money." "No soul above money." So that 
 he felt there was never a friend in the whole 
 crowd, and then his heart quailed. 
 
 Then cousin Simon Mogg said the last word. 
 
 "You'd better to get home, Jacob Handsford, 
 out o' the sight of honest folk. I for one shall 
 never like 'ee nor listen to 'ee, so long as I do 
 live. For a trust is a trust, mind, a-left by one
 
 Rizpah 337 
 
 of they that's gone. An' a man that do fail to 
 carry un out, every jot an' tittle, do wrong 
 dead an' living both alike. So I for one shall 
 think bad o' 'ee for Ursula's trust money so 
 long as I do live. An' you'd better to take 
 care o' the chile, so there I do tell 'ee you'd 
 better to take care o' the chile. For there's eyes 
 enough upon 'ee, Jacob Handsford, an' some 
 that do know your ways be ready to think more 
 'an they can zee." 
 
 There had been talk amongst the neighbours 
 about the child that Ursula scarcely lived to see, 
 and many a woman had said she would rear the 
 boy herself and glad, sure enough, rather than 
 the poor mite should grow up under the same 
 roof as that old screw. 
 
 The taunt stung Jacob. He could stand no 
 more, and pushing his way between great-uncle 
 Tutchins and cousin Simon Mogg, with head 
 bent and trembling in every limb, he went 
 homeward down the road. 
 
 A dim glimmer of light broke in upon his 
 mind. He had always thought of himself as 
 the most prudent man alive, whilst all the rest 
 were fools. He had pitied himself to think 
 such weight of trouble should fall upon one so
 
 338 A Tangled Web 
 
 wise, who had worked and saved, worked and 
 saved, every day alike, from morn till night. 
 He but followed a blind instinct to get wealth, 
 and hitherto his conscience commended him in 
 all he did. But now a doubt crept into his 
 brain. He held back Ursula's money for her 
 good for her own good he kept saying to 
 himself, in anger too, as if he were contradict- 
 ing Simon Mogg. But yet it was true. If he 
 had given the maid her own, none of this sor- 
 row would have befallen. 
 
 Then a sense of his helplessness fell upon 
 him two farms on his hands, and not a soul, 
 man or woman, to help in anything, except 
 Hannah, who had her hands full, half her time, 
 with the motherless child. Ah ! if he had but 
 Ursula now, wed to either William or Jack, 
 with the other up to Winterhays, good friend 
 and neighbour to turn in at busy times. Why ! 
 not the revelling of ten years could bring about 
 the waste of the last six months. Yet he acted 
 all for her good all for her good, as he 
 thought. Though it was hers by law. And 
 he lied to her to hold it back. And would have 
 kept it if he could. 
 
 So, as he plodded home, this doubt, new and
 
 Rizpah 339 
 
 strange, that he had brought all the loneliness 
 and sorrow upon himself, kept working in his 
 brain. Argue as he would, back it came, and 
 he could not shake it off. 
 
 As he reached hard by his barton-gate, his 
 hobnails struck with a sharp clink against some- 
 thing lying in the road. 
 
 He stopped and looked upon the ground at 
 his feet. He was not so swallow r ed up in 
 thought but he must stoop down and search 
 around him. There, shining dimly upon the 
 wet road, he found a horseshoe and picked it 
 up. Iron was scarce in those days, and it was 
 worth a penny of the smith. 
 
 He crossed the farmyard and went into the 
 garden, carrying it in his hand. There was a 
 nail in the wall by the kitchen window, and to 
 keep it safe he would hang it upon that. The 
 outside shutters were as yet unclosed, for day 
 was only just gone and Hannah, so far, had not 
 found a moment to go out. He stepped for- 
 ward to shut them up. Faithful to the habit of 
 his life, he glanced in through the window. 
 Then he stayed to watch. 
 
 Upon the hearth blazed a small fire, for 
 Hannah had just laid on a handful of sticks.
 
 340 A Tangled Web 
 
 Jacob could hear the crackling as the flames 
 leapt up. The maid had something to warm. 
 She had set on the skillet. And now she was 
 sitting back on the little, four-legged, oaken 
 stool, but just in the glow of the blaze, a bright 
 picture against the gloom of the square kitchen 
 behind, in which no candle burnt. 
 
 On her lap was Ursula's child, a boy getting 
 on for six months old, and the maid's face was 
 bent down close over the face of the baby. Arid 
 they talked and laughed, these two love chil- 
 dren, as though there could be no ill in life. 
 For Hannah looked like a little mother and 
 happy as the day, and the warmth fell on the 
 young limbs of the child, and that for the pres- 
 ent was enough, for it crowed, and jerked, and 
 kicked, and laughed again. 
 
 Jacob stood awhile to look. The sight held 
 him, he knew not why. Yet it made him rest- 
 less, and uncomfortable, too, as if there might 
 be something uncanny in seeing these two 
 things, with nothing whatever in the world, 
 so glad. 
 
 At last, he closed the windows and went in- 
 doors. 
 
 He sat down in the corner in silence. But
 
 Rizpah 341 
 
 all the joy and laughter had fled, and Hannah 
 wore only the old, wistful look upon her face. 
 
 The thought of Simon Mogg's warning came 
 into his mind, and presently Jacob spoke : 
 
 "Take care o' un, Hannah," he said, quickly, 
 in a low voice, craning forward so that his thin 
 face came close to the little workhouse maid. 
 "Ha ! zee you do look a'ter un well. Don't 'ee 
 stint un don't 'ee let un want, whatever it do 
 cost. Bring un up to be a man. Look to it 
 that he do thrive an' do well, an' do have all he 
 do want. An' if he do get on, I'll I'll mind 
 'ee one o' these days." 
 
 The little workhouse maid looked up a 
 sharp, wondering glance to learn what this 
 might mean. 
 
 Jacob had never looked more in earnest in 
 his life. 
 
 Presently he drew back into the gloom of 
 the chimney corner muttering to himself. 
 
 "Ay, they Tutchinses an' Moggses an' 
 thik trumpery Malachi Webb. I'll bring un up 
 to buy 'em all up. Zo I will. The whole pack 
 o' 'em. He! he! The fools!" 
 
 Then the little, new-born waif, with all its 
 journey before it, by ways unknown to regions
 
 342 A Tangled Web 
 
 unexplored and undreamt of, kicked, and 
 laughed, and crowed again. 
 
 But the strange life of that man-child, with 
 what he wrought for Jacob and what Jacob did 
 for him, is a story which has yet to be told. 
 
 THE END.
 
 A 000107580 3