It was about seven o'clock when a tap came at Mr. Field's door."Is that you, Burns?" was the response from within. "I am not feeling very well this evening, so I shall not come downstairs to dinner. You can bring me up something on a tray.""Very good, sir," replied the butler, "but I wanted to ask you about master Julius. He has not been home all day, and we don't know where he's gone.""Not been home all day," exclaimed Mr. Field, unlocking the door. "Surely with a houseful of servants you might have looked better after the boy than that."Burns was relieved to find that his master appeared more like himself than when he had last encountered him, though still strangely perturbed, as if he had recently undergone some severe shock."Master Julius never turned up all the morning," answered Burns, "so we came to the conclusion that you must have met him as you were going down the drive, and taken him on with you to Westmarket. The chauffeur has only now returned with the car, and he says master Julius never accompanied you at all, so we thought it better to come and tell you at once."Messengers were sent out to make enquiries whether the lad had been seen by anyone during the day, but neither garden, stables, nor farm could contribute even the slightest clue to his movements.Mr. Field was standing in the hall making arrangements to send search-parties in other directions, when there was a ring at the bell, and a lady was ushered in. She was dripping wet, and the light veil over her head clung closely round her troubled and agitated face."I must apologize for intruding in this manner," she said, "but I am dreadfully anxious about my little boy. He and your son left me about two o'clock, and I have seen neither of them since. I hoped he might have taken shelter here from the storm, so I just came up to see.""It is Mrs. Power, sir, from Sea View Cottage," explained the butler, in answer to Mr. Field's mystified look. "I believe master Julius often goes to play with the young gentleman.""The impertinent rascal sets all my commands at defiance, it appears," was the angry reply. "It is directly against my wishes, madam, that Julius has made your acquaintance, and I have not the slightest notion where either of the two lads have gone. Your son is certainly not here, and neither is mine, for that matter.""It is a dreadful night for anybody to be out," said Mrs. Power. "I could scarcely battle against the wind and rain as I came along. The lightning has ceased, but there is a regular hurricane blowing from the sea. Robin would not willingly keep me in suspense, as he knows how disturbed I should be, and I can't help fearing some accident may have happened to them both."All at once Mr. Field's heart seemed to well up with a sudden rush of fatherly love, such as he had not experienced for years. He had allowed such a thick crust of ambition and avarice to overgrow the softer qualities of his character, that they had been well-nigh extinguished."What would all my wealth be without my little lad?" was the thought that flashed across him as Mrs. Power spoke, and an agony of apprehension filled his mind. "We must rouse the place at once," he said aloud, "and I will turn out all my men. Surely it can't be long before we discover the runaways."The wood was thoroughly searched first, but with no result, and every cottage in the village was applied to, but all in vain.Suddenly a sickening fear seized Mrs. Power. "Was it possible that they could have gone upon the beach?"A brawny fisherman shrugged his shoulders hopelessly as he heard her question."We've thought of that before," he replied, "but we didn't like to suggest it to you, m'am. Some of us have been along the top of the cliff already, to see if we could make out anything. They're beyond help now if they went there, poor little chaps.""Let us go to the shore," said Mrs. Power, but the men shook their heads as they accompanied her upon her fruitless errand.The long wall of cliff which extended for so many miles towards the south came to an abrupt termination near the hamlet, and a flat extent of coast reached thence to the next headland. A narrow lane at right angles to the sea, and bordered by high hedges, led direct to the beach at the point where the cliff ended. So long as the search-party kept within the comparative shelter of this lane, all went well, but when they emerged from it, they were met by the full strength of the gale.The rain was over now, though the wind still raged with tempestuous force. A full moon peeped out now and then through the rapidly driving clouds, lighting up the wild expanse of waters which heaved and surged in ceaseless turmoil as far as eye could reach."Could the boys have been caught between the cliff and the sea?" gasped Mrs. Power. "Shall we go a little way along the shore in case they may have taken refuge somewhere, and are afraid to move on?"For answer one of the men pointed silently in the direction she had indicated.It was enough--no words were needed to prove the impossibility of the task.The moon gave sufficient light to show up the long dark line, at the foot of which the yellow ribbon of sand was wont to lie. In its place now tumbled a white mass of foaming waves. Here and there great billows, lashed by the wind, would hurl themselves half-way up the steep incline, breaking with thunderous noise upon the rampart which barred their way, and sending up sheets of spray into the air, like the steam from a boiling cauldron.Mrs. Power covered her face with her hands."My boy!" she said. "Oh, my boy!"Unresisting, she allowed herself to be led back to the silent cottage, where all that long dreary night she sat, a pale and broken-hearted watcher, waiting with dread for the only tidings which it seemed possible could reach her now.To understand what had happened to the boys, we must follow Julius as he ran off to the wood on the morning of that long day. To do him justice he had really meant to be back in time to go with his father in the car; but an hour is short in the days of youth, and the time went all too rapidly.He had just passed the lodge gates on his return when he heard the motor approaching, and quick as thought he had hidden himself behind the laurels at the entrance of the drive. His heart beat as he meditated on the punishment which doubtless awaited him for his disobedience, but a reckless feeling soon intervened. "In for a penny, in for a pound." He knew his father was not to return till dusk, for he had heard him tell the butler so, therefore he might as well have a jolly day before the reckoning came."I'll go back to Robin," he said, "and see if I can't do something specially nice, as I needn't be home for ages."It was with rather forced merriment, however, that he joined in the games, for an uncomfortable feeling would obtrude itself even in the most exciting moments, that something was hanging over him which sooner or later must be faced.Mrs. Power had asked him to stay for lunch, hearing that his father was away for the day, and not knowing of the interdict which had been laid upon the boy."Let us go for a walk, Robin," said Julius afterwards, the restless mood increasing as the day wore on. "The tide is coming in strong, and I shouldn't wonder if we found some buckles and things washed up on the beach. You know the fishermen pick up lots of treasures along the shore.""Yes," answered Robin, "it is just like a fairy tale to hear of that ancient city which once stood where the ocean now rolls. Old Timothy has been telling me all about it--how there were churches, and streets, and battlements there in the days of old, but the waves gradually ate away the cliff, just as they are doing now, until one after another the buildings fell into the sea, and the whole town was buried beneath the water.""I know a man who got quite a number of things which had been washed up," remarked Julius, "seals, with people's names on them, and rings, and dear little bronze brooches, besides crowds of coins. Couldn't we go and have a hunt now?""I simply ache to find something," said Robin, "even if it is only an old pin, but I'm not sure whether mother would like me to go without her, as it is rather a dangerous beach when the tide is coming in.""We're not babies," answered Julius, "surely we can keep a look-out so as to get back in plenty of time. Besides, we needn't go far. The man told me that the best place to find the things is just under the ruined church, and it won't take us ten minutes to walk there.""Well, if we only go a very little way," said Robin, "and come back when the waves get at all near the cliff, I don't think there can be any harm. Mother has never forbidden me to go, and I should like awfully to find a brooch for her to wear."Did no friendly eye watch the two young figures as they wandered further and further along the treacherous shore? Time and tide were forgotten in the excitement of searching for the spoil. When at length the gloom of the coming storm caused them to look up, to their distress, they saw that the white line of breakers had almost closed the pathway of their return."Run, Julius," said Robin. "We may just do it, but the wind seems to be driving the waves in fast, and there is not a minute to lose."Their feet sank in the loose pebbles and sand! as they hurried along, impeding their progress so that the inflowing tide gained upon them every moment."I didn't know we had come so far," panted Julius. "I feel as if my legs were made of lead. I don't think I can run any more."They glanced up at the cliff, hoping against hope that some way might reveal itself by which they could scramble up its face, out of the danger zone below, but the sheer and crumbling surface offered no foothold.By this time some of the foremost waves were sweeping up in long cruel rushes right across their track. It was only by waiting till they sank back again and then making a dash before another came up, that the boys were able to get on at all. Even then they were overtaken again and again by the relentless waters, and had to wade as best they could through the surf, the strong receding current threatening to carry them off their feet into the sea.To add to their terror, the storm which had surprised Mr. Field, now burst above their heads, and the crash of thunder drowned even the roar of the breakers upon the beach. It suddenly grew so dark that they were unable to distinguish anything more than a few yards away, and the rain coming down in torrents soon completed the drenching which the waves had begun.Just as they were about to give up in despair, Robin caught sight of a feeble light glimmering upon the cliff above."I do believe it is Timothy's cottage," he exclaimed, "and if so, we must be quite near the stair. Yes, here it is, Julius, I am holding the railing in my hand."In another moment two woebegone little objects were standing before the old man's fire, too exhausted and miserable even to explain what had brought them there in such a plight.CHAPTER XIIDeath and the TideThe grey dawn was creeping in through the windows of Sea View Cottage, eclipsing the yellow glow of the lamp which had burned all night in the little sitting-room.Madelaine rose from her chair and pulled up the blind. The wind had abated somewhat, though a stiff breeze still blew from the sea. Dead twigs and fallen leaves were littered over the lawn, and the plants in the border were bent and broken from the effects of the late gale. A great sheaf of white chrysanthemums lay prostrate on the ground just in front of where she stood, the pure blossoms all draggled and smirched."How Robin admired those flowers yesterday," she said to herself. "I think I can see him now as he stood beside them, looking back at me with his own bright, happy smile. Shall I never see him run to meet me again--my precious little son!"As she spoke, she heard the click of the garden gate, and there, right before her on the path, was Robin himself--a pale, rather dishevelled Robin, it is true, but there was no doubt about the reality of the sight.Madelaine felt almost delirious with joy as she held him in her arms, and showered kisses upon his cheeks, his hands, his hair. She could scarcely believe that the terrible dream of the night had passed away, and that her treasure had been restored to her again."Mother," he said, looking anxiously up into her face, "I wish you would go to Julius. I'm sure he is very ill, he looks so funny, and he is talking such nonsense too. I couldn't get him even to sit up.""Where is he, Robin, and what have you been doing with yourselves all this time?""I was afraid you'd be worrying about us," answered the boy. "I wanted to come on to you at once, after we had got rested a little in the cottage, but the wind was so bad, I really don't think I could have walked along the cliff by myself, even if it had been daylight. Then my clothes were so sopping wet, old Timothy made me take them off and get into his bed. I was dreadfully tired, mother, and I fell asleep in about a minute, and didn't wake up until it was morning.""Old Timothy!" repeated Mrs. Power. "Have you been in his house all night, then?""Yes," replied Robin, "but I don't think it's at all safe for him and Julius to be there now. A great piece of the wall fell down just as it began to get light. I rather fancy it was that which woke me. There is only one end of the cottage left, and a big hole came in the ceiling of the kitchen just as I was going out at the door."Mrs. Power rose to her feet."I must go to the village at once and rouse the men," she said. "The rest of the house may fall at any minute. Oh, Robin my boy, to think what you have escaped! It makes me shudder, even to imagine it!""It was nothing to the awful time we had upon the beach, before we got into shelter," answered the child, "but I'll tell you all about it, mother, after you come back. I do so want you to go and look at Julius."Leaving Robin to be fed and cared for by Mrs. Sheppard, Madelaine Power sallied forth without further delay.Only one or two were stirring in the hamlet at that early hour, but among these she gladly recognized Benjamin Green as he opportunely issued from "The Bull." He had wakened that morning with a strange feeling of guilt upon his conscience. It seemed to lie like a heavy burden, not to be easily shaken off. For a moment he was unable to account for such an unwonted sensation, when suddenly recollection returned to him, and leaping up, he hastily put on his clothes."I ought to have gone last night," he said. "Such a storm as it was, and poor old father all alone up there in that dangerous place!"Tardy thoughts of duty rose within his breast, and faint pulses of filial affection, long passed away, began once more to make themselves felt. He willingly joined Mrs. Power as with rapid steps she trod the narrow path which led along the top of the cliff.The storm had passed away, but the sea still flung itself sullenly upon the shore. As they neared the spot, Madelaine gave an exclamation of distress."Look what a huge piece of the crag has gone!" she said. "I thought Robin was exaggerating when he told me half the cottage had fallen down, but it is much worse than I expected.""It's a good thing the kitchen is at the landward end," remarked Ben. "I see it is standing yet."They were soon at the little garden gate, but though it was wide open, they found their way barred. It now hung uselessly over a great empty gap, its broken rails flapping drearily in the wind. A long crack down the middle of what remained of the house showed where the next slip would probably come. The portion next the cliff had already given way and the rafters were even now overhanging the edge. Some bricks from the chimney loosened as they approached, and they heard them clatter down the roof and fall with a dull thud on the beach below."Surely father will not be against leaving the place now!" said Ben. "If we get him out before the whole thing goes down, we shall be lucky."He vaulted over the low wall, and in a few strides had crossed the garden plot. Mrs. Power scrambled after him and reached the door almost as soon as he did. In spite of the peril and the ominous sounds of sliding and cracking which surrounded them on every hand their steps were arrested on the threshold.Old Timothy was lying asleep on his pillow as they entered, his white hair scarcely whiter than his face. No sign of fear was on it, and he seemed breathing as peacefully as a child upon its mother's arm. Beside him in the bed lay Julius, flushed and feverish, moving his head restlessly from side to side.As they stood, the first rays of the rising sun burst through the little latticed window and shone full on the old man's face. He felt the glow through his closed eyelids, and opened them with a startled glance. Springing up in his bed, he stretched out his arms to the light, apparently dazzled with the sudden brightness."It is the glory of God!" he cried--and to Madelaine his homely features seemed transfigured with a radiance that was divine. "It is the blessed Angel of Death, and he has come to bear me up to the city of gold."Folding his hands as if in prayer, he closed his eyes and reverently bowed his head."I'm waiting, old friend," he said. "I'm waiting, and I'm wholly ready to go."Suddenly the frail figure relaxed its tension and fell back upon the pillow."He's gone," whispered Ben.Madelaine went forward and gently smoothed his brow. "We can do no more for him now," she said."His poor body must not be left here," remarked Ben. "I shall take it to some safer resting-place than this. If I carried him, do you think that you would be able to manage the boy?""Easily," replied Madelaine, as she gathered up the lad in her strong motherly arms. Ben wrapped the still form of his father in a blanket and followed her out of the room.Some fishermen had by this time arrived at the cottage and were standing beside the garden fence. Gladly they relieved Mrs. Power and her companion of their burdens and bore them away from the dangerous spot.They had not proceeded many yards, when a low rumble, growing louder as they listened, caused them to turn quickly round in the direction whence the sound came.All at once a noise like thunder smote upon their ears, and to their horror they saw a long chasm yawn between them and the cottage wall. It widened as they gazed, until with a crash, a great slice of the cliff suddenly disappeared from before their eyes. Where the old house had so lately stood, the edge of the cliff now cut straight across the horizon--there was nothing to break the level line where earth joined sky."I'm glad father didn't see it go," said Ben. "It would have fairly broken his heart. Queer fancies he used to take about some things!""We need not mourn for him," replied Mrs. Power. "His faith has been rewarded, and he has now a more enduring dwelling-place above. He was quite right about his friends. The Tide has had its will in the end, but the Angel of Death came for him first. Old Timothy has been received into the eternal home, and has seen the glorious face of Him he called 'The Best Friend of all.' Truly we could not wish him back."CHAPTER XIIINear Death's DoorLeaving Ben and his comrades to continue their sad procession to the village, Mrs. Power and one of the men made their way straight to Farncourt, carrying little Julius with them. The boy was evidently very ill, and quite unconscious of what was passing around him.It grieved Madelaine sorely when she had to give up her charge at the door of the large comfortless house, where no mother awaited the child to give him the gentle care he so much needed."Of course he will have the best doctors and attendance in the kingdom, and everything that money can provide," she said to herself as she walked down the drive, "but something more is wanted than that. I can't bear to think of that poor little fellow with no loving woman's face bending over him to draw him back into life again."Certainly, as Madelaine had surmised, nothing was left untried which skill could suggest or riches procure. A famous London physician was summoned, regardless of cost, to the bedside of the child, and trained nurses watched unceasingly day and night, combating the fever that threatened to sap the strength from out the feeble frame.The horrors of that awful race against the tide, combined with the drenching sustained both from sea and rain, proved almost more than the boy's body and mind could withstand. Again and again he screamed aloud in his terror, calling out that the waves had got hold of him, and starting up in his bed, he would try to escape from the clutches of the monsters he seemed always to have before his eyes, ready to seize him in their deadly grasp.When at length the frenzy passed away and reason appeared to be returning once more to the overwrought brain, the efforts of his attendants were still baffled by a strange restlessness which took possession of the little invalid and which all their care could not dispel."He is always repeating the same words," said the nurse in charge, to Mr. Field, when he enquired anxiously for the boy. "I wonder whether you could give me a clue to what he means, so that we might know how to quiet him. Often in an illness of this sort the mind dwells on something that took place immediately before the fever came on.""What are the words?" asked Mr. Field."He is continually saying 'I want to make him my friend,'" answered the nurse. "All last night he did nothing but moan out this one sentence. It was quite pitiful to hear him, poor child."Mr. Field's heart smote him. "He was very disobedient the day of the catastrophe," he said. "Perhaps he is still thinking of it, and is afraid of my anger--I know I have sometimes been harsh with the boy. Do you suppose if I went to him and told him it was all right, that the fear would be allayed?""It may be that," replied the nurse, "at any rate it is worth trying. There, do you hear him?" she added, as they entered the darkened room and advanced towards the small tossing figure on the bed.Vainly did the poor father stand at his son's side and assure him of his love and forgiveness. The unnaturally bright eyes which were fixed upon him softened with no answering light, and to his distress, the weak voice took up once again its monotonous refrain."Whom can he mean?" pondered Mr. Field. "I wonder if he wants the lad who was with him that dreadful afternoon. I remember Burns told me they had often played together. I forbade Julius ever to speak to him, but if anyone could do my boy good, I should welcome him, even if he were a chimney sweep."A polite note was at once written to Mrs. Power, requesting that Robin might be allowed to come up to Farncourt, in the hope that his little companion's presence might satisfy the restless longings of the child.A faint smile played over Julius' features as Robin entered the room, and for a moment a gleam of recognition leapt into his eyes, but it soon faded away, and the pathetic moan recommenced--the feverish limbs moving wearily to and fro upon the couch."If he could only get some sleep he would do well," remarked the nurse, "but I fear his strength will not hold out if this goes on much longer.""We had hoped the sight of your little boy would have soothed Julius, but it seems to have done no good," said Mr. Field, as he led Robin back to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Power awaited his return. "We thought he missed his playfellow, for he never ceases speaking of someone he wants as his friend. If only we could find out what he desires, we might manage to bring peace to his mind.""I know what he means," replied Madelaine with a sudden inspiration. "If you will let me go up to him, I believe I shall be able to help."Gladly did the stricken father retrace his steps to the sick chamber, and as Mrs. Power followed, her heart was lifted up in prayer to God that she might be given the right words to say. Unhesitatingly she went up to the bed and knelt beside the child. Taking his burning hands in hers, she held them firmly as she looked into his face."I want to make him my friend," reiterated the boy."It is God Whom you want to make your Friend, is it not, little Julius?" asked Madelaine.A relieved expression flashed across the sufferer's countenance as the question seemed to reach him through the darkness of his delirium, and a look of intelligence dawned in the poor anxious eyes."Yes," he answered, "I want Him very much.""He is your Friend already, Julius," continued Mrs. Power. "He loved us so much that He sent His Son to die for us. He has been your Friend all along, Julius. It is you who have been running away from Him.""Do you mean God really wanted to be my Friend all along?" questioned the boy earnestly."Yes," replied Mrs. Power, "that is the comfort of it. Just say to yourself, 'God loves me,' and ask Him to wash away your sins, and to keep you for Jesus Christ's sake. Only a Friend can love, Julius, so you need not be afraid of Him.""God loves me," repeated the child. "God loves me. He was my Friend all along, only I didn't know."He closed his eyes contentedly, and nestled his head into the pillow. Mrs. Power held his hands in hers for a few minutes longer, and then gently laid them down upon the bed. "I think he is sleeping," she whispered, as she rose to her feet.The nurse nodded silently with a pleased smile, and Madelaine noiselessly left the room.Many an anxious hour was still to come as Julius slowly struggled back to health and strength, but as the doctor said, it was to that sleep the child owed his life. There were no more objections made by Mr. Field to the intercourse between Farncourt and the dwellers in Sea View Cottage. Every morning did Robin and his mother walk up to enquire for the invalid, and as often as not, one or both of them stayed with him for the rest of the day. Mr. Field indeed was not often present when Mrs. Power sat with his son, but he would constantly join the two boys as they played together, watching them as they made endless scrapbooks out of old illustrated papers, or constructed wonderful models with bits of wood and an unlimited supply of glue.The great London physician came no longer to look wisely over his gold-rimmed spectacles at the now convalescent lad, but the village doctor still made friendly visits, to the benefit of his patient as well as of his own pocket."We'll soon have you flying about as lively as ever," he said cheerily to Julius during one of these calls. "You've got on quicker than the other patient I was summoned to attend the same day that you got bowled over.""Who was that?" asked Mrs. Power, who was standing near. "I had not heard that any of the villagers were ill just now.""I know how good you are in going to see the sick ones," responded the doctor, "and I longed to ask you to minister to this poor fellow, but he's a queer self-contained mortal, and apparently prefers to be left to himself. He is a stranger here--arrived the night of the storm--and appeared, sopping wet and utterly tired out at Mrs. Potter's door, with no luggage but a knapsack, being apparently upon some sort of walking tour. She let him in out of pity, and he's been laid up at her house ever since. It's the Mrs. Potter who lives on the high road just beyond the wood. She's a good soul, and has done all she could for him, but it's been a close shave, his getting through at all."The boys exchanged glances."I expect it's the tramp," whispered Julius. "I'm glad he's got a real bed to sleep in, and that he didn't have to stay in the hut while he was ill.""Our nice house is all broken down now," replied Robin. "The rain of that night beat it to pieces. The roof fell in, and the wall gave way, and the moss floor got into a nasty sloppy mess. I looked for my text, but I couldn't find it anywhere. I think it must have been completely washed away.""I shouldn't be afraid of that text now," remarked Julius. "I have told father all about my going to make Peter's hutch, and our house in the wood, and our games and everything. He wasn't a bit angry, only sorry I had deceived him so often. I'm not going to do sneaky things again, but I'm jolly glad he doesn't mind me playing with you now, Robin."During the anguish of the first days of Julius' illness, Mr. Field's thoughts were concentrated wholly upon his suffering boy, but as the tension became relaxed and the child regained his vigour, the terrible time which he had spent in the wood came back with full force and vividness to his mind."Could I have been mad for the moment?" he would ask himself again and again. "First the words--and then the face! It was too awful. People used to have visions in the old days--is it possible that they sometimes come to men still?"He had never believed in ghosts, but he felt curiously nervous now as the dusk gathered round, and to Burn's astonishment, gave orders that the electric light was to be left on all night in the passages and hall. It had never been his custom to wander much alone even within the borders of his own property, but since that memorable evening he had taken exercise only upon the terrace in front of the house, and when obliged to go to Westmarket upon business, had motored in with the hood up and the blinds drawn."I have got bad neuralgia," he explained by way of excuse, "and the glare hurts my eyes.""I wonder why he wants such an illumination at night then?" remarked the butler. "I can't tell what's come to him lately. It seems almost as if he were going crazy."Do what he could, Mr. Field was unable to banish the unpleasant adventure from his thoughts. Night and day his mind was filled with strange and terrifying questionings, which he sought to meet by commonplace answers and logical explanations, but all in vain."It must just have been some fellow seeking shelter from the rain, as I was doing myself," he would argue. "There is no doubt there was an extraordinary likeness, but it cannot be anything more. Probably if I had seen the same face in broad daylight it would have had no effect upon me, but that night my nerves were completely unhinged by the storm. I wish I could get the dreadful death-look of those eyes out of my mind. There is only one other face that would be worse to see again, and I think I should go off my head altogether if that appeared to me in the same manner as this one did. It is bad enough to be obliged to meet it in my dreams."Once the thought crossed Mr. Field's brain that the apparition was some prank of Ben's, another practical joke, based upon some shrewd supposition, and perpetrated in order to extort more money out of the apparently bottomless coffers of his prey. Some judicious questioning, however, set his fears at rest in that quarter."If Ben did know all, it would be far too good a lever not to make use of against me, and he is not the man to hesitate to try it," Mr. Field decided. "If he hasn't played his trump-card by this time, I don't think he's got one in his hand at all. It's my belief that there is more bluff than anything else in what he says, and if so, why should I knuckle under to him every time he comes sponging on me as he does. I have been far too weak with him in the past. I shall see what effect a little firmness will have upon my gentleman. I don't so much mind having to pay for what he knows, but I do draw the line at giving anything for threats in the dark."CHAPTER XIVPin-pricks and PelletsThis change of front did not at all suit Benjamin Green, when he at last realized that the worm had turned, and that his visits to Farncourt did not produce the same golden results which they had been wont to do in the past. Afraid to press the blackmailing process too far in case he should find he was involved in unsuspected difficulties himself, his thoughts reverted to what remained of his father's property, and his ingenious mind set about devising means by which Mr. Field's ambition could be turned to account."There's a good piece of the land still left," he said, as he contemplated the scene, "and it will be many a long day till the waves claim it as they did the old house. I'll see what can be done in the meanwhile to squeeze out of the squire that same hundred pounds which he promised my father before he died."For a week or two after Timothy's cottage had disappeared it had been unmitigated satisfaction to Mr. Field to gaze upon the view from his dining-room windows. True, a portion of the coveted ground could still be discerned through the gap in the little wood which intervened between Farncourt and the shore--a gap which no amount of planting would fill up for many years to come--but at least the human habitation was away which had been such a vexation to the purse-proud man.There was nothing now to rouse his ire as he looked out upon the prospect before him. The sky and sea were certainly beyond his reach, but on earth, only the possessions of the master of Farncourt could be seen.His feelings of irritation and disgust therefore can be imagined when, one fine morning, on going as usual to the casement to enjoy the view, he became aware of a tall flagstaff planted on the edge of the cliff, just in the centre of the vista which he desired so much to ignore.It literally glittered in the glory of the whitest of white paint, and to add to its conspicuousness a brilliant scarlet flag fluttered tauntingly from it in the breeze."I suppose it's some maliciousness on the part of that wretched Ben Green," he exclaimed. "He threatened that he would get even with me somehow, when I refused to give him what he asked for last time he was here. This is even worse than the cottage! That flaring red thing catches your eye wherever you look. He's hoisted it half-mast high too! I wonder what he means by that? Sign of some misfortune of course, but I don't see how he expects to bring it about. I'd like to go to law, and take the fellow down a peg, but I daren't threaten him too much, or he might retaliate by stirring up things I would rather let alone."The evening post brought him a few lines from Ben, coolly placing the alternative before him of purchasing the land which he desired, but at double the price originally offered to old Timothy."The value of the property has risen since my father's death," wrote Ben, "as I am in treaty with someone for whom I intend to erect business premises thereon. This is absolutely the last chance for you to secure it at this figure, for from to-day the sum I shall ask must necessarily be considerably higher.""Ridiculous!" fumed Mr. Field. "I'm not going to be coerced into doing things against my will. Double the price, indeed! He may whistle for the two hundred pounds, but he'll not get them! As for the building scheme, of course it's only a ruse to force me into giving him the money. He can't bluff me into believing for a minute that anyone really means to build on that crumbling cliff."It was a distinct shock to the millionaire when, a day or two later, he noticed bricks of a particularly virulent hue being piled up beside the flagstaff in full sight of his window. Apparently Ben was in earnest this time, for almost before Mr. Field could realize the full extent of the calamity, foundations had been laid, and the walls of a house rose as if by magic upon the edge of the cliff.Such an erection too, as it was! Every morning he woke to find it even more appalling than he had dreamed of in the night. When it was finished, an ugly square dwelling stared him in the face. The bottom half was built of red bricks, dotted here and there with yellow ones. The top half consisted of yellow bricks, variegated with red. A couple of long, unsightly chimneys stood like rabbit's ears at each end of the roof, while two curtainless windows seemed to glare at him like bold, unblinking eyes from either side of the gaudy emerald-green door."Could anything be worse?" he groaned, as he went to bed one evening after a long and dismal survey of the eyesore from the top of the tower.But worse was still to come.On the morrow when he rose as usual, and, drawn by a strange fascination, went at once to gaze upon the torturing sight, he almost choked with the mortification and fury which filled his breast.On the long, sloping roof of shiny slates were painted in huge white letters the words--LAUNDRYWASHING DONE CHEAPIt was in vain for him to grind his teeth with rage; before the day was out, lines of fluttering garments stretched from side to side across the field, waving mocking hands, so it appeared to him as he gazed.As if this were not enough, a row of small wooden sheds presently sprang up next the fence which bounded Ben's property upon the side nearest to Farncourt."Is he going to set up a zoological garden?" enquired Mr. Field indignantly, as he watched while a pen of wire-netting was carefully erected in front of each little hut."No, sir, it's pigs," answered the butler solemnly. "A number of them are on their way from Westmarket, I believe, and will arrive to-day."There was no doubt when the occupants of the styes took possession of their new quarters. For two mortal hours did Mr. Field sit in misery, listening to the squeals of the rebellious porkers as they were driven into the meadow and hustled unceremoniously into their several dwellings. Each squeak seemed to go through him like a knife, and he shut himself up in his study, dreading to detect a smile upon the faces of the servants to whom he knew his humiliation must be matter of amusement, instead of the anguish which it certainly was to him."Anything come besides pigs?" he asked Burns, when the butler entered the room to enquire if there were letters for the post."They do say as Benjamin Green has bought the grocer's donkey, which he was parting with, owing to it's being such a nuisance to his neighbours, sir," replied Burns. "Never ceases braying all night, so I was told. I don't know if it's correct, but we'll soon find out for ourselves if there's any truth in the story."It was not long before the authenticity of the report was confirmed. That very evening the hours of darkness were made hideous by the melancholy voice of the disconsolate ass, as he poured forth his woes with discordant emphasis in the ears of the sympathetic pigs."I suppose Ben thinks he'll pile it on until he makes me give in," said Mr. Field to himself, as he paced up and down the terrace next morning. "Rather than do that I'll sell Farncourt and take another place. A good idea too! I wonder I never thought of it before. There is no doubt people about here have given me the cold shoulder--those I should care to meet, I mean--and I'm pretty well sick of it by this time. I shan't be sorry to be rid of that ramrod of an earl and his stuck-up friends. I saw there was a nice estate in Gloucestershire advertised for sale the other day. I'll take a run over and see what it's like. Julius is getting on well now, and I suppose I shall soon have to be thinking of sending him to some good public school. It seems the right thing to do, if he is to take his proper place in the world. I should be glad of a pleasant neighbour or two, when he is gone, who would join me in a shoot now and then, or come in sometimes to have a chat. It's rather monotonous always going about by myself, and things are apt to get on one's mind a bit."Mr. Field took a few more turns and then threw away his cigar. "I think I'll go and have a pot at the pheasants before lunch," he said. "At any rate, I'll get a little relief from the noise of that abominable donkey. He seems to have a throat of iron, the way he goes on making that everlasting row!"He went into the house and fetched his gun. He was rather proud of his pheasants, having introduced a rare and much-talked-of breed into his coverts. The worst was, that at present the birds were so tame they afforded little more sport than would be enjoyed by shooting hens in a farmyard. Accustomed as they were to the careful feeding and supervision of the keepers, they knew little as yet of the murderous power of the gun.On his way to the plantations, Mr. Field encountered his head man, whose countenance wore an unwonted expression of gloom."Hullo! What's the matter, Jones?" he enquired. "You look as if you'd just swallowed a dose of poison.""It's not poison as is troubling me, sir," replied the gamekeeper lugubriously. "It is nets as is doing the deadly work, and seeing they make no noise, and usually leave no traces, it's a difficult job to lay hands on him who spreads 'em.""What do you mean?" enquired his master. "Is anything wrong with the new pheasants?""That's just what it is, sir," was the reply. "I was on my way to tell you about it now. I've been noticing for some time past that they were disappearing, mysterious like, only I put it down to some of 'em having been enticed over to the earl's preserves in yonder copse, seeing his keeper is feeding his birds there too. But I found a bit of a net yesterday, hanging on a bush, and footsteps near by, what made me suspect there might be poachers about, doing business on their own account, when I'm out of the way.""You have seen no one hanging about, have you, Jones?" asked Mr. Field."No, sir," replied the man, "but they'd take good care to keep out of my sight. I expect they scatter food in likely places in the woods, and when the pheasants get to know where to come for it, they catch 'em in nets, the silly things being as tame as bantams. A good price they'll get for them too, seeing they're all the more valuable living than dead.""Well, Jones, it's your duty to look after the game, and if poachers can carry on their work under your very nose like that, it shows you're not worth your salt. Get more men if you need them, to watch the place, but don't let me hear of losses in this way again. I won't have my property calmly stolen from me like this, so put your best foot foremost and stop it at once.""Do you want me to come with you now, sir?" asked the crestfallen man. "I see you've got your gun.""No," replied Mr. Field, "if I shoot anything I'll leave it behind the wall near the gate, and you can send for it later. I'll probably only take a look round this morning and see how things are for myself.""Everyone seems to be conspiring against me," he said to himself as he continued his walk. "What's the use of so much money if I can't even enjoy my own house and recreations without being imposed upon and insulted by any impudent fellow who happens to come along."Meditating on his wrongs, Mr. Field entered the little copse, and wandered aimlessly about for a few minutes, hoping to find some clue to the mysterious thefts. Suddenly a great grey cat rushed across his path and disappeared in a thick tangle of undergrowth, only three or four yards away."There's the poacher, if I'm not much mistaken!" he exclaimed, as he raised his gun to his shoulder and hastily fired straight into the bushes. "Missed him!" he added, as he caught sight of the grey form fleeing madly away in the direction of the road. "Hope he got a little peppering though, that will teach him not to come here again in a hurry."Before long Mr. Field also left the shelter of the wood, and proceeded homewards, his mind full of the Gloucestershire estate, to which he inclined more and more as he pondered over its advantages.
It was about seven o'clock when a tap came at Mr. Field's door.
"Is that you, Burns?" was the response from within. "I am not feeling very well this evening, so I shall not come downstairs to dinner. You can bring me up something on a tray."
"Very good, sir," replied the butler, "but I wanted to ask you about master Julius. He has not been home all day, and we don't know where he's gone."
"Not been home all day," exclaimed Mr. Field, unlocking the door. "Surely with a houseful of servants you might have looked better after the boy than that."
Burns was relieved to find that his master appeared more like himself than when he had last encountered him, though still strangely perturbed, as if he had recently undergone some severe shock.
"Master Julius never turned up all the morning," answered Burns, "so we came to the conclusion that you must have met him as you were going down the drive, and taken him on with you to Westmarket. The chauffeur has only now returned with the car, and he says master Julius never accompanied you at all, so we thought it better to come and tell you at once."
Messengers were sent out to make enquiries whether the lad had been seen by anyone during the day, but neither garden, stables, nor farm could contribute even the slightest clue to his movements.
Mr. Field was standing in the hall making arrangements to send search-parties in other directions, when there was a ring at the bell, and a lady was ushered in. She was dripping wet, and the light veil over her head clung closely round her troubled and agitated face.
"I must apologize for intruding in this manner," she said, "but I am dreadfully anxious about my little boy. He and your son left me about two o'clock, and I have seen neither of them since. I hoped he might have taken shelter here from the storm, so I just came up to see."
"It is Mrs. Power, sir, from Sea View Cottage," explained the butler, in answer to Mr. Field's mystified look. "I believe master Julius often goes to play with the young gentleman."
"The impertinent rascal sets all my commands at defiance, it appears," was the angry reply. "It is directly against my wishes, madam, that Julius has made your acquaintance, and I have not the slightest notion where either of the two lads have gone. Your son is certainly not here, and neither is mine, for that matter."
"It is a dreadful night for anybody to be out," said Mrs. Power. "I could scarcely battle against the wind and rain as I came along. The lightning has ceased, but there is a regular hurricane blowing from the sea. Robin would not willingly keep me in suspense, as he knows how disturbed I should be, and I can't help fearing some accident may have happened to them both."
All at once Mr. Field's heart seemed to well up with a sudden rush of fatherly love, such as he had not experienced for years. He had allowed such a thick crust of ambition and avarice to overgrow the softer qualities of his character, that they had been well-nigh extinguished.
"What would all my wealth be without my little lad?" was the thought that flashed across him as Mrs. Power spoke, and an agony of apprehension filled his mind. "We must rouse the place at once," he said aloud, "and I will turn out all my men. Surely it can't be long before we discover the runaways."
The wood was thoroughly searched first, but with no result, and every cottage in the village was applied to, but all in vain.
Suddenly a sickening fear seized Mrs. Power. "Was it possible that they could have gone upon the beach?"
A brawny fisherman shrugged his shoulders hopelessly as he heard her question.
"We've thought of that before," he replied, "but we didn't like to suggest it to you, m'am. Some of us have been along the top of the cliff already, to see if we could make out anything. They're beyond help now if they went there, poor little chaps."
"Let us go to the shore," said Mrs. Power, but the men shook their heads as they accompanied her upon her fruitless errand.
The long wall of cliff which extended for so many miles towards the south came to an abrupt termination near the hamlet, and a flat extent of coast reached thence to the next headland. A narrow lane at right angles to the sea, and bordered by high hedges, led direct to the beach at the point where the cliff ended. So long as the search-party kept within the comparative shelter of this lane, all went well, but when they emerged from it, they were met by the full strength of the gale.
The rain was over now, though the wind still raged with tempestuous force. A full moon peeped out now and then through the rapidly driving clouds, lighting up the wild expanse of waters which heaved and surged in ceaseless turmoil as far as eye could reach.
"Could the boys have been caught between the cliff and the sea?" gasped Mrs. Power. "Shall we go a little way along the shore in case they may have taken refuge somewhere, and are afraid to move on?"
For answer one of the men pointed silently in the direction she had indicated.
It was enough--no words were needed to prove the impossibility of the task.
The moon gave sufficient light to show up the long dark line, at the foot of which the yellow ribbon of sand was wont to lie. In its place now tumbled a white mass of foaming waves. Here and there great billows, lashed by the wind, would hurl themselves half-way up the steep incline, breaking with thunderous noise upon the rampart which barred their way, and sending up sheets of spray into the air, like the steam from a boiling cauldron.
Mrs. Power covered her face with her hands.
"My boy!" she said. "Oh, my boy!"
Unresisting, she allowed herself to be led back to the silent cottage, where all that long dreary night she sat, a pale and broken-hearted watcher, waiting with dread for the only tidings which it seemed possible could reach her now.
To understand what had happened to the boys, we must follow Julius as he ran off to the wood on the morning of that long day. To do him justice he had really meant to be back in time to go with his father in the car; but an hour is short in the days of youth, and the time went all too rapidly.
He had just passed the lodge gates on his return when he heard the motor approaching, and quick as thought he had hidden himself behind the laurels at the entrance of the drive. His heart beat as he meditated on the punishment which doubtless awaited him for his disobedience, but a reckless feeling soon intervened. "In for a penny, in for a pound." He knew his father was not to return till dusk, for he had heard him tell the butler so, therefore he might as well have a jolly day before the reckoning came.
"I'll go back to Robin," he said, "and see if I can't do something specially nice, as I needn't be home for ages."
It was with rather forced merriment, however, that he joined in the games, for an uncomfortable feeling would obtrude itself even in the most exciting moments, that something was hanging over him which sooner or later must be faced.
Mrs. Power had asked him to stay for lunch, hearing that his father was away for the day, and not knowing of the interdict which had been laid upon the boy.
"Let us go for a walk, Robin," said Julius afterwards, the restless mood increasing as the day wore on. "The tide is coming in strong, and I shouldn't wonder if we found some buckles and things washed up on the beach. You know the fishermen pick up lots of treasures along the shore."
"Yes," answered Robin, "it is just like a fairy tale to hear of that ancient city which once stood where the ocean now rolls. Old Timothy has been telling me all about it--how there were churches, and streets, and battlements there in the days of old, but the waves gradually ate away the cliff, just as they are doing now, until one after another the buildings fell into the sea, and the whole town was buried beneath the water."
"I know a man who got quite a number of things which had been washed up," remarked Julius, "seals, with people's names on them, and rings, and dear little bronze brooches, besides crowds of coins. Couldn't we go and have a hunt now?"
"I simply ache to find something," said Robin, "even if it is only an old pin, but I'm not sure whether mother would like me to go without her, as it is rather a dangerous beach when the tide is coming in."
"We're not babies," answered Julius, "surely we can keep a look-out so as to get back in plenty of time. Besides, we needn't go far. The man told me that the best place to find the things is just under the ruined church, and it won't take us ten minutes to walk there."
"Well, if we only go a very little way," said Robin, "and come back when the waves get at all near the cliff, I don't think there can be any harm. Mother has never forbidden me to go, and I should like awfully to find a brooch for her to wear."
Did no friendly eye watch the two young figures as they wandered further and further along the treacherous shore? Time and tide were forgotten in the excitement of searching for the spoil. When at length the gloom of the coming storm caused them to look up, to their distress, they saw that the white line of breakers had almost closed the pathway of their return.
"Run, Julius," said Robin. "We may just do it, but the wind seems to be driving the waves in fast, and there is not a minute to lose."
Their feet sank in the loose pebbles and sand! as they hurried along, impeding their progress so that the inflowing tide gained upon them every moment.
"I didn't know we had come so far," panted Julius. "I feel as if my legs were made of lead. I don't think I can run any more."
They glanced up at the cliff, hoping against hope that some way might reveal itself by which they could scramble up its face, out of the danger zone below, but the sheer and crumbling surface offered no foothold.
By this time some of the foremost waves were sweeping up in long cruel rushes right across their track. It was only by waiting till they sank back again and then making a dash before another came up, that the boys were able to get on at all. Even then they were overtaken again and again by the relentless waters, and had to wade as best they could through the surf, the strong receding current threatening to carry them off their feet into the sea.
To add to their terror, the storm which had surprised Mr. Field, now burst above their heads, and the crash of thunder drowned even the roar of the breakers upon the beach. It suddenly grew so dark that they were unable to distinguish anything more than a few yards away, and the rain coming down in torrents soon completed the drenching which the waves had begun.
Just as they were about to give up in despair, Robin caught sight of a feeble light glimmering upon the cliff above.
"I do believe it is Timothy's cottage," he exclaimed, "and if so, we must be quite near the stair. Yes, here it is, Julius, I am holding the railing in my hand."
In another moment two woebegone little objects were standing before the old man's fire, too exhausted and miserable even to explain what had brought them there in such a plight.
CHAPTER XII
Death and the Tide
The grey dawn was creeping in through the windows of Sea View Cottage, eclipsing the yellow glow of the lamp which had burned all night in the little sitting-room.
Madelaine rose from her chair and pulled up the blind. The wind had abated somewhat, though a stiff breeze still blew from the sea. Dead twigs and fallen leaves were littered over the lawn, and the plants in the border were bent and broken from the effects of the late gale. A great sheaf of white chrysanthemums lay prostrate on the ground just in front of where she stood, the pure blossoms all draggled and smirched.
"How Robin admired those flowers yesterday," she said to herself. "I think I can see him now as he stood beside them, looking back at me with his own bright, happy smile. Shall I never see him run to meet me again--my precious little son!"
As she spoke, she heard the click of the garden gate, and there, right before her on the path, was Robin himself--a pale, rather dishevelled Robin, it is true, but there was no doubt about the reality of the sight.
Madelaine felt almost delirious with joy as she held him in her arms, and showered kisses upon his cheeks, his hands, his hair. She could scarcely believe that the terrible dream of the night had passed away, and that her treasure had been restored to her again.
"Mother," he said, looking anxiously up into her face, "I wish you would go to Julius. I'm sure he is very ill, he looks so funny, and he is talking such nonsense too. I couldn't get him even to sit up."
"Where is he, Robin, and what have you been doing with yourselves all this time?"
"I was afraid you'd be worrying about us," answered the boy. "I wanted to come on to you at once, after we had got rested a little in the cottage, but the wind was so bad, I really don't think I could have walked along the cliff by myself, even if it had been daylight. Then my clothes were so sopping wet, old Timothy made me take them off and get into his bed. I was dreadfully tired, mother, and I fell asleep in about a minute, and didn't wake up until it was morning."
"Old Timothy!" repeated Mrs. Power. "Have you been in his house all night, then?"
"Yes," replied Robin, "but I don't think it's at all safe for him and Julius to be there now. A great piece of the wall fell down just as it began to get light. I rather fancy it was that which woke me. There is only one end of the cottage left, and a big hole came in the ceiling of the kitchen just as I was going out at the door."
Mrs. Power rose to her feet.
"I must go to the village at once and rouse the men," she said. "The rest of the house may fall at any minute. Oh, Robin my boy, to think what you have escaped! It makes me shudder, even to imagine it!"
"It was nothing to the awful time we had upon the beach, before we got into shelter," answered the child, "but I'll tell you all about it, mother, after you come back. I do so want you to go and look at Julius."
Leaving Robin to be fed and cared for by Mrs. Sheppard, Madelaine Power sallied forth without further delay.
Only one or two were stirring in the hamlet at that early hour, but among these she gladly recognized Benjamin Green as he opportunely issued from "The Bull." He had wakened that morning with a strange feeling of guilt upon his conscience. It seemed to lie like a heavy burden, not to be easily shaken off. For a moment he was unable to account for such an unwonted sensation, when suddenly recollection returned to him, and leaping up, he hastily put on his clothes.
"I ought to have gone last night," he said. "Such a storm as it was, and poor old father all alone up there in that dangerous place!"
Tardy thoughts of duty rose within his breast, and faint pulses of filial affection, long passed away, began once more to make themselves felt. He willingly joined Mrs. Power as with rapid steps she trod the narrow path which led along the top of the cliff.
The storm had passed away, but the sea still flung itself sullenly upon the shore. As they neared the spot, Madelaine gave an exclamation of distress.
"Look what a huge piece of the crag has gone!" she said. "I thought Robin was exaggerating when he told me half the cottage had fallen down, but it is much worse than I expected."
"It's a good thing the kitchen is at the landward end," remarked Ben. "I see it is standing yet."
They were soon at the little garden gate, but though it was wide open, they found their way barred. It now hung uselessly over a great empty gap, its broken rails flapping drearily in the wind. A long crack down the middle of what remained of the house showed where the next slip would probably come. The portion next the cliff had already given way and the rafters were even now overhanging the edge. Some bricks from the chimney loosened as they approached, and they heard them clatter down the roof and fall with a dull thud on the beach below.
"Surely father will not be against leaving the place now!" said Ben. "If we get him out before the whole thing goes down, we shall be lucky."
He vaulted over the low wall, and in a few strides had crossed the garden plot. Mrs. Power scrambled after him and reached the door almost as soon as he did. In spite of the peril and the ominous sounds of sliding and cracking which surrounded them on every hand their steps were arrested on the threshold.
Old Timothy was lying asleep on his pillow as they entered, his white hair scarcely whiter than his face. No sign of fear was on it, and he seemed breathing as peacefully as a child upon its mother's arm. Beside him in the bed lay Julius, flushed and feverish, moving his head restlessly from side to side.
As they stood, the first rays of the rising sun burst through the little latticed window and shone full on the old man's face. He felt the glow through his closed eyelids, and opened them with a startled glance. Springing up in his bed, he stretched out his arms to the light, apparently dazzled with the sudden brightness.
"It is the glory of God!" he cried--and to Madelaine his homely features seemed transfigured with a radiance that was divine. "It is the blessed Angel of Death, and he has come to bear me up to the city of gold."
Folding his hands as if in prayer, he closed his eyes and reverently bowed his head.
"I'm waiting, old friend," he said. "I'm waiting, and I'm wholly ready to go."
Suddenly the frail figure relaxed its tension and fell back upon the pillow.
"He's gone," whispered Ben.
Madelaine went forward and gently smoothed his brow. "We can do no more for him now," she said.
"His poor body must not be left here," remarked Ben. "I shall take it to some safer resting-place than this. If I carried him, do you think that you would be able to manage the boy?"
"Easily," replied Madelaine, as she gathered up the lad in her strong motherly arms. Ben wrapped the still form of his father in a blanket and followed her out of the room.
Some fishermen had by this time arrived at the cottage and were standing beside the garden fence. Gladly they relieved Mrs. Power and her companion of their burdens and bore them away from the dangerous spot.
They had not proceeded many yards, when a low rumble, growing louder as they listened, caused them to turn quickly round in the direction whence the sound came.
All at once a noise like thunder smote upon their ears, and to their horror they saw a long chasm yawn between them and the cottage wall. It widened as they gazed, until with a crash, a great slice of the cliff suddenly disappeared from before their eyes. Where the old house had so lately stood, the edge of the cliff now cut straight across the horizon--there was nothing to break the level line where earth joined sky.
"I'm glad father didn't see it go," said Ben. "It would have fairly broken his heart. Queer fancies he used to take about some things!"
"We need not mourn for him," replied Mrs. Power. "His faith has been rewarded, and he has now a more enduring dwelling-place above. He was quite right about his friends. The Tide has had its will in the end, but the Angel of Death came for him first. Old Timothy has been received into the eternal home, and has seen the glorious face of Him he called 'The Best Friend of all.' Truly we could not wish him back."
CHAPTER XIII
Near Death's Door
Leaving Ben and his comrades to continue their sad procession to the village, Mrs. Power and one of the men made their way straight to Farncourt, carrying little Julius with them. The boy was evidently very ill, and quite unconscious of what was passing around him.
It grieved Madelaine sorely when she had to give up her charge at the door of the large comfortless house, where no mother awaited the child to give him the gentle care he so much needed.
"Of course he will have the best doctors and attendance in the kingdom, and everything that money can provide," she said to herself as she walked down the drive, "but something more is wanted than that. I can't bear to think of that poor little fellow with no loving woman's face bending over him to draw him back into life again."
Certainly, as Madelaine had surmised, nothing was left untried which skill could suggest or riches procure. A famous London physician was summoned, regardless of cost, to the bedside of the child, and trained nurses watched unceasingly day and night, combating the fever that threatened to sap the strength from out the feeble frame.
The horrors of that awful race against the tide, combined with the drenching sustained both from sea and rain, proved almost more than the boy's body and mind could withstand. Again and again he screamed aloud in his terror, calling out that the waves had got hold of him, and starting up in his bed, he would try to escape from the clutches of the monsters he seemed always to have before his eyes, ready to seize him in their deadly grasp.
When at length the frenzy passed away and reason appeared to be returning once more to the overwrought brain, the efforts of his attendants were still baffled by a strange restlessness which took possession of the little invalid and which all their care could not dispel.
"He is always repeating the same words," said the nurse in charge, to Mr. Field, when he enquired anxiously for the boy. "I wonder whether you could give me a clue to what he means, so that we might know how to quiet him. Often in an illness of this sort the mind dwells on something that took place immediately before the fever came on."
"What are the words?" asked Mr. Field.
"He is continually saying 'I want to make him my friend,'" answered the nurse. "All last night he did nothing but moan out this one sentence. It was quite pitiful to hear him, poor child."
Mr. Field's heart smote him. "He was very disobedient the day of the catastrophe," he said. "Perhaps he is still thinking of it, and is afraid of my anger--I know I have sometimes been harsh with the boy. Do you suppose if I went to him and told him it was all right, that the fear would be allayed?"
"It may be that," replied the nurse, "at any rate it is worth trying. There, do you hear him?" she added, as they entered the darkened room and advanced towards the small tossing figure on the bed.
Vainly did the poor father stand at his son's side and assure him of his love and forgiveness. The unnaturally bright eyes which were fixed upon him softened with no answering light, and to his distress, the weak voice took up once again its monotonous refrain.
"Whom can he mean?" pondered Mr. Field. "I wonder if he wants the lad who was with him that dreadful afternoon. I remember Burns told me they had often played together. I forbade Julius ever to speak to him, but if anyone could do my boy good, I should welcome him, even if he were a chimney sweep."
A polite note was at once written to Mrs. Power, requesting that Robin might be allowed to come up to Farncourt, in the hope that his little companion's presence might satisfy the restless longings of the child.
A faint smile played over Julius' features as Robin entered the room, and for a moment a gleam of recognition leapt into his eyes, but it soon faded away, and the pathetic moan recommenced--the feverish limbs moving wearily to and fro upon the couch.
"If he could only get some sleep he would do well," remarked the nurse, "but I fear his strength will not hold out if this goes on much longer."
"We had hoped the sight of your little boy would have soothed Julius, but it seems to have done no good," said Mr. Field, as he led Robin back to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Power awaited his return. "We thought he missed his playfellow, for he never ceases speaking of someone he wants as his friend. If only we could find out what he desires, we might manage to bring peace to his mind."
"I know what he means," replied Madelaine with a sudden inspiration. "If you will let me go up to him, I believe I shall be able to help."
Gladly did the stricken father retrace his steps to the sick chamber, and as Mrs. Power followed, her heart was lifted up in prayer to God that she might be given the right words to say. Unhesitatingly she went up to the bed and knelt beside the child. Taking his burning hands in hers, she held them firmly as she looked into his face.
"I want to make him my friend," reiterated the boy.
"It is God Whom you want to make your Friend, is it not, little Julius?" asked Madelaine.
A relieved expression flashed across the sufferer's countenance as the question seemed to reach him through the darkness of his delirium, and a look of intelligence dawned in the poor anxious eyes.
"Yes," he answered, "I want Him very much."
"He is your Friend already, Julius," continued Mrs. Power. "He loved us so much that He sent His Son to die for us. He has been your Friend all along, Julius. It is you who have been running away from Him."
"Do you mean God really wanted to be my Friend all along?" questioned the boy earnestly.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Power, "that is the comfort of it. Just say to yourself, 'God loves me,' and ask Him to wash away your sins, and to keep you for Jesus Christ's sake. Only a Friend can love, Julius, so you need not be afraid of Him."
"God loves me," repeated the child. "God loves me. He was my Friend all along, only I didn't know."
He closed his eyes contentedly, and nestled his head into the pillow. Mrs. Power held his hands in hers for a few minutes longer, and then gently laid them down upon the bed. "I think he is sleeping," she whispered, as she rose to her feet.
The nurse nodded silently with a pleased smile, and Madelaine noiselessly left the room.
Many an anxious hour was still to come as Julius slowly struggled back to health and strength, but as the doctor said, it was to that sleep the child owed his life. There were no more objections made by Mr. Field to the intercourse between Farncourt and the dwellers in Sea View Cottage. Every morning did Robin and his mother walk up to enquire for the invalid, and as often as not, one or both of them stayed with him for the rest of the day. Mr. Field indeed was not often present when Mrs. Power sat with his son, but he would constantly join the two boys as they played together, watching them as they made endless scrapbooks out of old illustrated papers, or constructed wonderful models with bits of wood and an unlimited supply of glue.
The great London physician came no longer to look wisely over his gold-rimmed spectacles at the now convalescent lad, but the village doctor still made friendly visits, to the benefit of his patient as well as of his own pocket.
"We'll soon have you flying about as lively as ever," he said cheerily to Julius during one of these calls. "You've got on quicker than the other patient I was summoned to attend the same day that you got bowled over."
"Who was that?" asked Mrs. Power, who was standing near. "I had not heard that any of the villagers were ill just now."
"I know how good you are in going to see the sick ones," responded the doctor, "and I longed to ask you to minister to this poor fellow, but he's a queer self-contained mortal, and apparently prefers to be left to himself. He is a stranger here--arrived the night of the storm--and appeared, sopping wet and utterly tired out at Mrs. Potter's door, with no luggage but a knapsack, being apparently upon some sort of walking tour. She let him in out of pity, and he's been laid up at her house ever since. It's the Mrs. Potter who lives on the high road just beyond the wood. She's a good soul, and has done all she could for him, but it's been a close shave, his getting through at all."
The boys exchanged glances.
"I expect it's the tramp," whispered Julius. "I'm glad he's got a real bed to sleep in, and that he didn't have to stay in the hut while he was ill."
"Our nice house is all broken down now," replied Robin. "The rain of that night beat it to pieces. The roof fell in, and the wall gave way, and the moss floor got into a nasty sloppy mess. I looked for my text, but I couldn't find it anywhere. I think it must have been completely washed away."
"I shouldn't be afraid of that text now," remarked Julius. "I have told father all about my going to make Peter's hutch, and our house in the wood, and our games and everything. He wasn't a bit angry, only sorry I had deceived him so often. I'm not going to do sneaky things again, but I'm jolly glad he doesn't mind me playing with you now, Robin."
During the anguish of the first days of Julius' illness, Mr. Field's thoughts were concentrated wholly upon his suffering boy, but as the tension became relaxed and the child regained his vigour, the terrible time which he had spent in the wood came back with full force and vividness to his mind.
"Could I have been mad for the moment?" he would ask himself again and again. "First the words--and then the face! It was too awful. People used to have visions in the old days--is it possible that they sometimes come to men still?"
He had never believed in ghosts, but he felt curiously nervous now as the dusk gathered round, and to Burn's astonishment, gave orders that the electric light was to be left on all night in the passages and hall. It had never been his custom to wander much alone even within the borders of his own property, but since that memorable evening he had taken exercise only upon the terrace in front of the house, and when obliged to go to Westmarket upon business, had motored in with the hood up and the blinds drawn.
"I have got bad neuralgia," he explained by way of excuse, "and the glare hurts my eyes."
"I wonder why he wants such an illumination at night then?" remarked the butler. "I can't tell what's come to him lately. It seems almost as if he were going crazy."
Do what he could, Mr. Field was unable to banish the unpleasant adventure from his thoughts. Night and day his mind was filled with strange and terrifying questionings, which he sought to meet by commonplace answers and logical explanations, but all in vain.
"It must just have been some fellow seeking shelter from the rain, as I was doing myself," he would argue. "There is no doubt there was an extraordinary likeness, but it cannot be anything more. Probably if I had seen the same face in broad daylight it would have had no effect upon me, but that night my nerves were completely unhinged by the storm. I wish I could get the dreadful death-look of those eyes out of my mind. There is only one other face that would be worse to see again, and I think I should go off my head altogether if that appeared to me in the same manner as this one did. It is bad enough to be obliged to meet it in my dreams."
Once the thought crossed Mr. Field's brain that the apparition was some prank of Ben's, another practical joke, based upon some shrewd supposition, and perpetrated in order to extort more money out of the apparently bottomless coffers of his prey. Some judicious questioning, however, set his fears at rest in that quarter.
"If Ben did know all, it would be far too good a lever not to make use of against me, and he is not the man to hesitate to try it," Mr. Field decided. "If he hasn't played his trump-card by this time, I don't think he's got one in his hand at all. It's my belief that there is more bluff than anything else in what he says, and if so, why should I knuckle under to him every time he comes sponging on me as he does. I have been far too weak with him in the past. I shall see what effect a little firmness will have upon my gentleman. I don't so much mind having to pay for what he knows, but I do draw the line at giving anything for threats in the dark."
CHAPTER XIV
Pin-pricks and Pellets
This change of front did not at all suit Benjamin Green, when he at last realized that the worm had turned, and that his visits to Farncourt did not produce the same golden results which they had been wont to do in the past. Afraid to press the blackmailing process too far in case he should find he was involved in unsuspected difficulties himself, his thoughts reverted to what remained of his father's property, and his ingenious mind set about devising means by which Mr. Field's ambition could be turned to account.
"There's a good piece of the land still left," he said, as he contemplated the scene, "and it will be many a long day till the waves claim it as they did the old house. I'll see what can be done in the meanwhile to squeeze out of the squire that same hundred pounds which he promised my father before he died."
For a week or two after Timothy's cottage had disappeared it had been unmitigated satisfaction to Mr. Field to gaze upon the view from his dining-room windows. True, a portion of the coveted ground could still be discerned through the gap in the little wood which intervened between Farncourt and the shore--a gap which no amount of planting would fill up for many years to come--but at least the human habitation was away which had been such a vexation to the purse-proud man.
There was nothing now to rouse his ire as he looked out upon the prospect before him. The sky and sea were certainly beyond his reach, but on earth, only the possessions of the master of Farncourt could be seen.
His feelings of irritation and disgust therefore can be imagined when, one fine morning, on going as usual to the casement to enjoy the view, he became aware of a tall flagstaff planted on the edge of the cliff, just in the centre of the vista which he desired so much to ignore.
It literally glittered in the glory of the whitest of white paint, and to add to its conspicuousness a brilliant scarlet flag fluttered tauntingly from it in the breeze.
"I suppose it's some maliciousness on the part of that wretched Ben Green," he exclaimed. "He threatened that he would get even with me somehow, when I refused to give him what he asked for last time he was here. This is even worse than the cottage! That flaring red thing catches your eye wherever you look. He's hoisted it half-mast high too! I wonder what he means by that? Sign of some misfortune of course, but I don't see how he expects to bring it about. I'd like to go to law, and take the fellow down a peg, but I daren't threaten him too much, or he might retaliate by stirring up things I would rather let alone."
The evening post brought him a few lines from Ben, coolly placing the alternative before him of purchasing the land which he desired, but at double the price originally offered to old Timothy.
"The value of the property has risen since my father's death," wrote Ben, "as I am in treaty with someone for whom I intend to erect business premises thereon. This is absolutely the last chance for you to secure it at this figure, for from to-day the sum I shall ask must necessarily be considerably higher."
"Ridiculous!" fumed Mr. Field. "I'm not going to be coerced into doing things against my will. Double the price, indeed! He may whistle for the two hundred pounds, but he'll not get them! As for the building scheme, of course it's only a ruse to force me into giving him the money. He can't bluff me into believing for a minute that anyone really means to build on that crumbling cliff."
It was a distinct shock to the millionaire when, a day or two later, he noticed bricks of a particularly virulent hue being piled up beside the flagstaff in full sight of his window. Apparently Ben was in earnest this time, for almost before Mr. Field could realize the full extent of the calamity, foundations had been laid, and the walls of a house rose as if by magic upon the edge of the cliff.
Such an erection too, as it was! Every morning he woke to find it even more appalling than he had dreamed of in the night. When it was finished, an ugly square dwelling stared him in the face. The bottom half was built of red bricks, dotted here and there with yellow ones. The top half consisted of yellow bricks, variegated with red. A couple of long, unsightly chimneys stood like rabbit's ears at each end of the roof, while two curtainless windows seemed to glare at him like bold, unblinking eyes from either side of the gaudy emerald-green door.
"Could anything be worse?" he groaned, as he went to bed one evening after a long and dismal survey of the eyesore from the top of the tower.
But worse was still to come.
On the morrow when he rose as usual, and, drawn by a strange fascination, went at once to gaze upon the torturing sight, he almost choked with the mortification and fury which filled his breast.
On the long, sloping roof of shiny slates were painted in huge white letters the words--
LAUNDRYWASHING DONE CHEAP
It was in vain for him to grind his teeth with rage; before the day was out, lines of fluttering garments stretched from side to side across the field, waving mocking hands, so it appeared to him as he gazed.
As if this were not enough, a row of small wooden sheds presently sprang up next the fence which bounded Ben's property upon the side nearest to Farncourt.
"Is he going to set up a zoological garden?" enquired Mr. Field indignantly, as he watched while a pen of wire-netting was carefully erected in front of each little hut.
"No, sir, it's pigs," answered the butler solemnly. "A number of them are on their way from Westmarket, I believe, and will arrive to-day."
There was no doubt when the occupants of the styes took possession of their new quarters. For two mortal hours did Mr. Field sit in misery, listening to the squeals of the rebellious porkers as they were driven into the meadow and hustled unceremoniously into their several dwellings. Each squeak seemed to go through him like a knife, and he shut himself up in his study, dreading to detect a smile upon the faces of the servants to whom he knew his humiliation must be matter of amusement, instead of the anguish which it certainly was to him.
"Anything come besides pigs?" he asked Burns, when the butler entered the room to enquire if there were letters for the post.
"They do say as Benjamin Green has bought the grocer's donkey, which he was parting with, owing to it's being such a nuisance to his neighbours, sir," replied Burns. "Never ceases braying all night, so I was told. I don't know if it's correct, but we'll soon find out for ourselves if there's any truth in the story."
It was not long before the authenticity of the report was confirmed. That very evening the hours of darkness were made hideous by the melancholy voice of the disconsolate ass, as he poured forth his woes with discordant emphasis in the ears of the sympathetic pigs.
"I suppose Ben thinks he'll pile it on until he makes me give in," said Mr. Field to himself, as he paced up and down the terrace next morning. "Rather than do that I'll sell Farncourt and take another place. A good idea too! I wonder I never thought of it before. There is no doubt people about here have given me the cold shoulder--those I should care to meet, I mean--and I'm pretty well sick of it by this time. I shan't be sorry to be rid of that ramrod of an earl and his stuck-up friends. I saw there was a nice estate in Gloucestershire advertised for sale the other day. I'll take a run over and see what it's like. Julius is getting on well now, and I suppose I shall soon have to be thinking of sending him to some good public school. It seems the right thing to do, if he is to take his proper place in the world. I should be glad of a pleasant neighbour or two, when he is gone, who would join me in a shoot now and then, or come in sometimes to have a chat. It's rather monotonous always going about by myself, and things are apt to get on one's mind a bit."
Mr. Field took a few more turns and then threw away his cigar. "I think I'll go and have a pot at the pheasants before lunch," he said. "At any rate, I'll get a little relief from the noise of that abominable donkey. He seems to have a throat of iron, the way he goes on making that everlasting row!"
He went into the house and fetched his gun. He was rather proud of his pheasants, having introduced a rare and much-talked-of breed into his coverts. The worst was, that at present the birds were so tame they afforded little more sport than would be enjoyed by shooting hens in a farmyard. Accustomed as they were to the careful feeding and supervision of the keepers, they knew little as yet of the murderous power of the gun.
On his way to the plantations, Mr. Field encountered his head man, whose countenance wore an unwonted expression of gloom.
"Hullo! What's the matter, Jones?" he enquired. "You look as if you'd just swallowed a dose of poison."
"It's not poison as is troubling me, sir," replied the gamekeeper lugubriously. "It is nets as is doing the deadly work, and seeing they make no noise, and usually leave no traces, it's a difficult job to lay hands on him who spreads 'em."
"What do you mean?" enquired his master. "Is anything wrong with the new pheasants?"
"That's just what it is, sir," was the reply. "I was on my way to tell you about it now. I've been noticing for some time past that they were disappearing, mysterious like, only I put it down to some of 'em having been enticed over to the earl's preserves in yonder copse, seeing his keeper is feeding his birds there too. But I found a bit of a net yesterday, hanging on a bush, and footsteps near by, what made me suspect there might be poachers about, doing business on their own account, when I'm out of the way."
"You have seen no one hanging about, have you, Jones?" asked Mr. Field.
"No, sir," replied the man, "but they'd take good care to keep out of my sight. I expect they scatter food in likely places in the woods, and when the pheasants get to know where to come for it, they catch 'em in nets, the silly things being as tame as bantams. A good price they'll get for them too, seeing they're all the more valuable living than dead."
"Well, Jones, it's your duty to look after the game, and if poachers can carry on their work under your very nose like that, it shows you're not worth your salt. Get more men if you need them, to watch the place, but don't let me hear of losses in this way again. I won't have my property calmly stolen from me like this, so put your best foot foremost and stop it at once."
"Do you want me to come with you now, sir?" asked the crestfallen man. "I see you've got your gun."
"No," replied Mr. Field, "if I shoot anything I'll leave it behind the wall near the gate, and you can send for it later. I'll probably only take a look round this morning and see how things are for myself."
"Everyone seems to be conspiring against me," he said to himself as he continued his walk. "What's the use of so much money if I can't even enjoy my own house and recreations without being imposed upon and insulted by any impudent fellow who happens to come along."
Meditating on his wrongs, Mr. Field entered the little copse, and wandered aimlessly about for a few minutes, hoping to find some clue to the mysterious thefts. Suddenly a great grey cat rushed across his path and disappeared in a thick tangle of undergrowth, only three or four yards away.
"There's the poacher, if I'm not much mistaken!" he exclaimed, as he raised his gun to his shoulder and hastily fired straight into the bushes. "Missed him!" he added, as he caught sight of the grey form fleeing madly away in the direction of the road. "Hope he got a little peppering though, that will teach him not to come here again in a hurry."
Before long Mr. Field also left the shelter of the wood, and proceeded homewards, his mind full of the Gloucestershire estate, to which he inclined more and more as he pondered over its advantages.