"I won't; I won't do it—'tis flat robbery, I tell you, an' you'd not care if I starved on the Moor all alone in my hovel without strength to lift a dying prayer. You are cruel devils—all of you, and I'll go back to the French folks, as have got hearts in their breasts. I'll——"
Then Stark, now alive to the fact that Lovey was only acting for the benefit of the sentry, interrupted with threats. But still Mrs. Lee argued, and only after much chatter, and a great deal of disgraceful language, she took back the eggs and gave the sailor six fresh ones in exchange.
"Now I must sell these to somebody else," she said, "or I shan't get bit or sup inside my lips to-day."
"Better eat 'em yourself, Missis," said the sentry. "Anyway, time's up now, so off you go."
A bell rang to clear the market, and the folk began to stream out of the prison.
"Here, Sam!" shouted Stark jubilantly. "Take these to the kitchen. I've near choked myself talking and swearing at that old witch; but I've won my way. She's taken the bad eggs and give me fresh ones instead."
Cuffee hurried forward.
"You was dam smart, sar. I dun fink nobody in de prison could hah git around dat party 'cept you."
And Lovey Lee, grumbling and whining to the last, took herself and her baskets back across the Moor; tramped home; entered her hovel, and then turned with greedy curiosity to the secret of the eggs. She was as safe from interruption in her lonely cabin by Siward's Cross as she had been in the desert of Sahara; yet caution and suspicion were a part of her; therefore she locked her door and covered up her little window with an apron before she turned to her basket. Then, one by one, she broke the eggs into a basin, and her mouth watered at the sight of such food, even while she mourned to see two pennyworth of marketable commodity wasted upon herself. The fifth egg weighed normally; but it was filled with dust, and, after all, Lovey made no rare meal, for she spoilt the mess in the basin by pouring the dust on top of it. A vital matter, however, she rescued, for in the dust was a little roll of paper, and upon the paper a message closely but clearly written.
"To mistress Lee, an offer of money in plenty if she will help Cecil Stark to escape from the War Prison at Prince Town. Let her sell two fowls next market day if she will serve him; let her sell two ducks if she will not serve him. But if she betray Cecil Stark, his friends will be revenged upon her."
To the young man from Vermont had fallen this first step in the plot. Lots were drawn as to who should get the message to Lovey Lee, for all agreed that one only need be inculpated until it was certain that she would assist them. Now, if she proved loyal to the authorities, Stark alone would suffer; but upon that score little anxiety was felt, for Lovey had often expressed sentiments much the reverse of patriotic, and had at all times made it clear that money was the only sovereign lord she acknowledged or served.
Upon the following market day two fine fat fowls were displayed at Mrs. Lee's stall. She sat behind them on her upturned barrel, and gave Stark an indifferent "good morning" as he strolled past with the Commodore and James Knapps.
"Here's a nice brace of chicks, your honour," said Lovey.
But Stark laughed and shook his head.
"No luxuries to-day, ma'am; we're not made of money, you know. They would look well upon Commandant Cottrell's table."
"I serve him, too," she answered. "But he likes his poultry stuffed wi' marjoram an' wild thyme."
"And these?"
"They be stuffed different."
"Well, we won't quarrel as to that. Hungry men don't criticise their sauces. What's the price?"
"You shall have 'em for half-a-crown."
"Lordy! Preserve us agin you greedy women!" cried Knapps. "I reckon you'd make soup out o' stones an' sell it for ten cents a pint if you dared."
"Come along, Commodore," said Stark, "we'll try Mrs. Luscombe at the next stall. Lovey Lee's too grasping."
At that moment William Burnham approached and saw the fowls.
"Just what I want," he exclaimed. "Poor Matthew Mercer is still alive; but he can't eat any victuals, so we'll make some chicken broth for him. What's your price, Mrs. Lee?"
Lovey glanced at Stark, and, seeing that he was not concerned, understood that she might sell safely.
"Half-a-crown, an' I'd sooner fling 'em into the Moor for the foxes than take a penny less," she said.
Commodore Miller turned to a sentry and asked the market value of fowls. The man did not know, but a turnkey passing at that moment answered him.
"Fowls are tenpence each—eighteen pence a pair to-day," he said.
Whereupon Lovey called down lightning upon his head, and behaved with such impropriety that the man turned round in a rage and threatened to have her removed out of the markets. Upon this she relapsed into sulky silence, and presently, after some haggling, took the money that was her due, and almost flung the fowls at Burnham.
Anon Mr. Cuffee departed with the poultry under his arm, and, guessing what to expect, he made a careful examination. A few words much to the point were scrawled upon paper and packed within one bird. Lovey Lee had written an answer to Stark's invitation.
"Right. Tell me what you want and what you'll give. Put message in a chaw of baccy next week."
It sometimes happened that at those hours when the guard was being changed, seconds and even minutes passed, during which a sentry-box might be empty and a section of the inner wall remain unguarded. It was proposed by the Seven to avail themselves of such a moment in the dusky evening hour before all prisoners were called upon to leave the exercise yard and pass behind locked doors. Between the inner and outer walls of the prison extended a space or patrol ground of ten yards in breadth; but while the inner wall offered no special difficulties, as the sentries' staircases were built into the side of it, the second wall presented a harder problem. By climbing upon each other's shoulders like acrobats it was hoped to scale it, but since the message from the miser, this plan was abandoned in favour of mechanical means.
For necessary apparatus the conspirators looked to Lovey Lee. Her businesslike reply to Stark promised well.
"We must give her more to help us out than the authorities would give her to reveal our plans," explained Commodore Miller. "She would get but three pounds a head for us if she turned traitor. Let her have ten pounds a head to free us and all will probably be done that she can do. Lovey Lee sells herself to the highest bidder. Her only steadfast principle is dollars."
"Suppose I was ter give her a tarnation fright, and let on as her life wouldn't be worth a chip if she rounded on us?" suggested David Leverett.
But Stark and Miller protested at such short-sighted policy.
"She won't be driven, and she won't be frightened," declared the Commodore. "Her friendship is vital now. We've got to submit terms, and they will need to be high."
"Best to offer a hundred pounds right off," said Burnham.
"The difficulty will be to get her to help us without the money in advance," declared Stark.
Then came the great business of the communication to Mrs. Lee. It was duly written and anon reached Lovey tight packed in a huge piece of tobacco. Knapps apparently cut the quid from a roll and handed it to her in exchange for a bundle of watercresses. The woman put it into her cheek at once, and kept it there until opportunity offered to hide it in her pocket. Then, as before, she hastened home upon the completion of market, locked her door, covered her window, and set to work to read.
"We want
Item. A map or picture of the road from Prince Town to the town of Ashburton.
Item. A letter to be delivered to the first prisoner on parole, who shall be seen walking by you along that road, within the measured mile from Ashburton.
Item. An answer to that letter acknowledging its receipt.
Item. A map or picture of the road from Prince Town to your Cottage, so that if one escapes he may lie hid with you, and thus be of service to his friends.
Item. Three hundred yards of thin copper wire in lengths that can be wound up inside a fowl or other bird.
Item. Twenty very large iron nails that may be driven between the stones of masonry.
We offer
One hundred English pounds. Ten will reach you from time to time on market days during the next three weeks. This will be placed between other moneys when we buy and you sell. Ten will reach you on the day that the last of the stipulated articles are received. Ten will reach you on the day that the first man of us gets clear of Prince Town. The balance will reach you when we are all free. There are seven of us. We can only promise by the God of Heaven to keep this contract. We place ourselves in your power, and you must trust us as we trust you."
Lovey Lee reflected long upon this communication. Then she put it aside and ate a meal of black bread and pickled snails. The snails were salted down in a barrel, and she forked them out of their shells and ate them with indifference. Her senses of taste and smell were alike faulty. She cared nothing for food and only drank tea made of wild herbs.
"'Tis a dreadful risk—an' me as never trusted a human soul since I was short-coated!" reflected the miser. "Yet nothing venture nothing have. A hundred would make up the thousand down along to Hangman's Hollow. An' it might fall out that after I'd got their money, 'twould be in my power to give 'em up to the prison people again. Seven of 'em. That would add up to twenty-one pound at three pound a head. There'll be ten pound anyway—clean profit afore I do anything. Then I'll make a journey, for I've got a bag full of small money waiting to go."
She referred to her secret treasure-house in the Moor. Money she never kept beside her, but conveyed to her hoard at such times as the moon shone after midnight and she could count upon creeping over the wilderness unseen.
Lovey Lee's answer was practical. Three days later she tramped to Ashburton and walked ten miles to that town and ten miles back again without weariness. Thus she killed two birds with one stone, for she purchased a hundred yards of thin copper wire, and she refreshed her mind as to the road and its nature. Mile by mile the old woman set down the track upon a sheet of paper bought at Ashburton for that purpose. She marked the features of the land upon it, wrote the names of the adjacent tors, and indicated bridges and rivers across which the highway passed. As for the wire, she purchased it ostensibly to make rabbit-snares, for which purpose it was chiefly sold. A few of the prisoners upon parole she also saw taking exercise, and knew them by their speech.
Upon the following market day, Lovey appeared at the Prison with full baskets, and her big teeth closed tightly under her lips as the turnkey, from some unusual prick of conscience or accession of zeal, stopped her and overhauled her basket.
"Hullo, missis, what's this, then?" he inquired, looking at a fine goose.
"Your brother," said Mrs. Lee promptly.
"Then best give him to me to bury decently, though 'twill be a cannibal act. You shall have a shilling for him."
"A shilling! Look at the market rates? Geese be paid according to weight—an' this ere bird's nine pound if it's a grain. But ban't for you. I promised young Cecil Stark as he should have a goose to his birthday."
"And so he shall then," said the turnkey. "Mr. Stark's a gentleman. He made me a toy for my child last week. 'Twas a clever little thing, fashioned like a windmill, out of mutton bones. I lay he'll do summat with the skeleton of that goose."
The Americans greeted Lovey with their usual heartiness, but she refused to sell her bird until young Stark and his friends approached. Then, before he could make any remark, she lifted up her voice to him.
"I've kep' my promise, young man, an' here's your birthday feast, though you may think yourself lucky it have reached you, for Mr. Turnkey there was terrible set upon it."
"Thank you, Mrs. Lee; and the price?"
"Half-a-crown, though a grasping party might ax three shilling."
"You shall have three."
"'Tis but just. All the same, it ban't a very young bird—rather old, in truth. An' I haven't drawn it, for their insidesbe a bit wirywhen they come to full growth."
"So much the better for our teeth," said Burnham.
"For that matter, we shall hev plenty of time to eat him," declared Knapps.
"Well, lads, to-morrow night we'll pick his bones, and if Mrs. Lee can manage to get a bottle of brandy past our friend there——"
The turnkey winked.
"If 'tis for physic——" he said.
"Certainly, certainly. Don't you wherrit about that. A jorum o' drink for the sick folk. Narry a one on us would displeasure you ter drink it ourselves, I'm sure," declared Leverett.
"And a noggin hot—for you yourself," said Stark. Then he handed silver coins to Lovey Lee; and, feeling between them in her pocket as she slipped them down, the old woman knew that a half-sovereign had come also.
From that moment she conducted her business with most unusual amiability. She jested with Burnham and Cecil Stark; she cleared her baskets, and in a fit of reckless generosity presented Leverett with a green apple, which remained when all else was sold.
"Can't eat it," said the sailor. "My stomach have struck work; but this here nig will let it down, no doubt."
"You'd do better to keep it for a love token," said the miser; but Mr. Cuffee had already taken the fruit.
"Don't eat it; treasure it," she said. "Then you can tell your black maidens when you go home-along that you had a sweetheart in England who loved you so bad that her hair growed white for you."
"I lub you too, ma'am. I lub anybody who gib me apples," said Sam. "You's de boofullest young ting I ebber see, and I dun fink about no udder gal no more. And I marry you when dey let me out ob dis dam bowray, I swar!"
At the same moment Mr. Cuffee opened his huge mouth and the apple was gone. Mrs. Lee looked fixedly at him and laughed a curious laugh.
"You clunk apples like a dog do swallow bones," she said. "There's the bell; an' I shan't come no more for a week belike, for I've got to get in my peat now, because winter will be knocking at the door again afore long. Then we must have heat about us, for once let the marrow freeze in your bones 'pon Dartymoor, an' you'm dead."
She departed, and within the hour Mr. Cuffee made a careful search upon the goose. Two skeins of wire were concealed therein, and a scrap of paper, whose laconic message Stark presently deciphered.
"I'll trust you since I must. Fifty yards wire along with this. And in the apple I shall give to Leverett you'll find a map of the road. Have your letter ready for they Ashburton chaps next time I come."
Samuel Cuffee wept when he learned what he had done, and vowed to atone for his greediness if only the Lord would offer him an opportunity to do so; but the error was righted at Mrs. Lee's next visit. On this occasion she brought a big red apple for Stark. She also carried more wire concealed in a sucking pig, and she took home with her a letter which the Americans furnished. It was carefully hidden in a gift.
They had made Lovey Lee a new pipe with a piece of hard wood for its bowl and a mouthpiece of goose-bone. Packed within this hollow bone was a missive for a friend of Stark—a gentleman who dwelt upon parole with an Ashburton farmer.
So, day by day and week by week the intercourse was continued, until Lovey Lee found herself the richer by ten pounds, and the plotters possessed maps, nails, wire, and certain communications from their distant accomplices. These objects reached them in pats of butter, in carrots or turnips, in ducks and fowls. Once, when a sentry commented upon the fondness of the Americans for poultry, Lovey Lee affected a furious indignation, accused the man of paltering with her character, and insisted upon disembowelling a bird under the public eye, that her innocence might be established.
At length all preliminaries for their attempt were completed, and only an opportunity and a twilight of grey weather remained to wait for. But each day augmented their difficulties, for the vigilance of Commandant Cottrell increased. Others beside Cecil Stark and his friends had not only prepared but executed remarkable escapes. Several men safely cleared the prison precincts only to be recaptured; several were found drowned in the rivers, whose crystal floods deceived them by their seeming shallowness; a few vanished never again to be seen or heard of; others made successful escapes, and finally reaching Tor Quay or Dartmouth, got clear to France, and so home again. One young man from Cecil Stark's State of Vermont went boldly forth in a girl's clothes, which were smuggled to him by a farmer's daughter under a basket of cabbages. A French prisoner nearly came off by stealing a sentry's coat and hat. But as he whistled on the way out, and adopted the air of theMarseillaise, a guard challenged and the man was arrested. Many other instances, successful and futile, were recorded. Therefore Stark and the Seven exercised all caution and patience until fair conditions should open before them and their undertaking promise a triumphant issue.
Immediately without the War Prison stood a ruined cot, and, distant some few hundred yards to the north-east beneath it, a river ran. This stream, named Blackabrook, was crossed by a pack-horse road that passed over Ockery Bridge; and here, one hundred years ago, in place of the existing cottage, there stood a neat little dwelling-house. Verandahs extended round it; the walls were of granite, and the roof of reeds. Upon one side a view of Prince Town spread, while southward its windows commanded the valley of the river.
Here dwelt Captain Cottrell, Commandant of the prison settlement; and now, together with a handsome, genial man clad in black, he shall be seen sitting under his verandah and drinking port wine after midday dinner. The Captain's visitor was of a kindly countenance and pleasant voice.
"So much for that, then, Mr. Norcot. You'll send to us from your mills at Chagford such quantities of flocks as Government shall determine for the new mattresses."
"Exactly. I'm always gratified to oblige the Government."
"We can make them here—the mattresses, I mean. We have a little world of skilled artificers within our walls. You see, Holland is in league with Napoleon, and many of our captives taken out of Dutch vessels are Eurasians, Malays and Chinese from the service of the Dutch East India Company. The world has sent us representatives of every civilised race, and among them are craftsmen from each trade that man practises."
Peter Norcot nodded.
"'All sorts and conditions of men.' Do you recollect what Shenstone says?
"'Let the gull'd fool the toils of war pursue,Where bleed the many to enrich the few.'
You shall have your flocks and a good article. Since my lamented senior partner's death I have been busy in certain directions. Uncle Norman Norcot was a conscientious and a conservative soul, and he regarded the new labour-saving contrivances with the utmost suspicion. How he hated 'em! But amongst such things there is a remarkable new flock-cutter. These matters, however, will not interest you."
The Captain emptied his glass and rose.
"I'll take your word for all that. Now come along. You desire a glimpse of our caged beasts and the Prison?"
"Even so—delighted to exchange my flocks for your herds."
An orderly brought round their horses and in five minutes Peter departed with Captain Cottrell.
"Now enter the bear garden, Mr. Norcot, and do not fear the growling. For reasons not known to me, my beasts have a hearty hatred of their head keeper."
It was true, and Norcot observed that his guide won little but scowls and indifference upon his way through the prisons. Occasionally an officer among the captives would salute him; as a rule the prisoners turned their backs.
"A strange and many-coloured assembly—of rags," commented Norcot. "'Spectatum admissi risum tenatis amici?' But really to the man of sentiment 'tis a matter for tears rather than laughter. I observe you are unpopular, Commandant."
"The fate of most men who do their duty, sir."
"How true!"
"Not one fool amongst them has the wit to guess at my onerous labours," continued Cottrell. "Old General Rochambeau, who is living on parole with me at Ockery Bridge, will scarcely exchange a civil word, and prefers to eat his meals in the seclusion of his chamber. He is for ever abusing 'Les mirmidons de Transport Service'; and yet the ancient ass makes me laugh sometimes. He received letters recently, and one of them told him that Napoleon would land in England on the twenty-third of July last. Upon that day he appeared in full dress, booted and spurred, with all his orders on—ready to welcome Boney should he honour Dartmoor with a visit."
"He may come here yet—to stop."
"I hope so. Be very sure no parole will ever be granted to one who has so often broke his oath."
They had now entered Prison No. 4.
"Here are my black sheep," said Captain Cottrell. "One Yankee is more trouble than twenty Frenchmen. Never satisfied. There are exceptional men amongst them—representatives of the old American gentry; but the greater number are the very rubbish and offscourings of the sea, swept here by our men-o'-war. I believe that near half of them are Englishmen from the privateers. They get high bounties for that work; but they are a reckless and dangerous company. These men set the hulks on fire at Plymouth."
"Made the ships too hot to hold 'em? But they are safe enough here. Tut, tut! Dartmoor would tame the Devil himself, once he was on a chain."
The yellow-coated prisoners wandered about, and some exchanged private jests as Cottrell passed, and some fell into silence until he was out of earshot. Then a very tall, finely built man, drew himself up and saluted the reigning power.
"You see there is a gentleman now and then to be found among them."
"And that particular gentleman I have good cause to know," answered Norcot. "May I exchange compliments with him? 'Twas he who, in a moment of undue haste, broke my head."
Cecil Stark found himself summoned, and Mr. Norcot told the Commandant of their meeting at the church.
"Then, like a lion, he felled me with his paw. I hope no fist will ever hit me so hard again."
"He is prominent among them, and his influence is all for good," said the Commandant carelessly in Stark's hearing.
"And a sailor; and doubtless good-hearted, like all sailors. Well, Mr. Stark, your servant, sir."
Cecil Stark recognised the wool-stapler immediately, and shook the hand extended to him.
"I hope I see you well, sir," he said, "and none the worse for my stupidity."
"In excellent health, I thank you. My nose, as you see, stands where it did. Yet I am much reduced from my usual level humour by this sight."
"A dreary spectacle enough."
"You are probably unfamiliar with Cowper? It is your loss.
"'War's a game which, were their subjects wise,Kings should not play at."
Neither kings nor yet Congresses. Perhaps, had you read Cowper, you would have stopped at home, Mr. Stark?"
"It takes two to fight, Mr. Norcot. My kinsman, General Stark—but I'll not prate of that, though this I'll say: 'tis a base and a cowardly deed to deny parole to Commodore Miller and his officers. We handled the frigateMarbleheadlike honest men; and we had fairly beaten yourThunderbolt. She was about to strike when theFlying Fishand theSquirrelhove in sight and bore down. Then she fought on. We ourselves had hardly struck to them before theThunderboltsank. These things I learned from the prize crew that brought theMarbleheadinto Falmouth."
"I understand that there were technical reasons why parole was denied to the officers of theMarblehead," explained Captain Cottrell.
"You may understand, sir," retorted Stark, "but none among us was ever made to do so."
Norcot nodded thoughtfully. True to his invariable custom, he set himself the task of making a friend.
"You get supplies regularly?" he asked.
"He does—and shares 'em with the poorer folks," said Cottrell. "He has great wealth, I believe," he added under his breath.
"You want parole, naturally—like any other officer and gentleman. Why not?
"'Rash, fruitless war, from wanton glory waged,Is only splendid murder,'
as Thomson very truly remarks. Yet even war has its laws."
"Most certainly. And Commodore Miller and his officers possess a right to parole. Miller is one of the ablest men in the navy of the United States," declared the young sailor.
"Ah—possibly that's where the difficulty lies. However, though I cannot pretend to any considerable interest, yet some I have with one or two very distinguished gentlemen of the British East India Company. It has been my privilege to do them a service. Maybe Peter Norcot will prove the mouse to nibble you lions out of your granite cage. Who can tell? You have my word of honour that I will endeavour to better your lot."
At friendship so gratuitous, Cecil Stark found himself much moved. He hurried forward and shook Peter very warmly by the hand.
"Thank you, thank you with all my heart and soul; and thank God for sending you," he said. "'Tis not only for myself I speak, but for better men. Miller is not young, and this terrible place is making him old and infirm before his time."
"Well, I'll see; and recollect that I'm doing good for evil. My mistress owes you little thanks, Mr. Stark, and I still less. But all's well that ends in Christian charity."
"Are you going to marry that lovely young lady?" asked Stark.
"That is my happy privilege. What is your fate to mine? You suffer until the end of the war—perhaps not so long. But I—Mistress Grace Malherb has transported me for life! Tut, tut! You do not see the jest? How dense a sailor can be! Well, God be with you, Mr. Stark. May you dance at her wedding."
"'Twould be a glorious experience, Mr. Norcot. I hope your fortune will prove worthy of you. May your life be a happy and a blessed thing, for you are a noble man," said the youngster earnestly.
"I will not contradict a gentleman," said Peter. Then he bowed and went upon his way, to be rated and laughed at by Captain Cottrell for conduct the Commandant held most Quixotic.
With great good temper, Mr. Norcot explained his theory of life, and denied that any human action was innocent of an ulterior motive. Then, having seen the Prison, he rode on. But home he did not go. His goal was Fox Tor Farm, and he designed to spend a couple of days there before returning to Chagford.
Much had happened to him since his last visit, and his position in the Wool Factory was now supreme. The senior partner—an elderly man and Peter's uncle—had fallen upon evil times in his home. Finally, Mr. Norman Norcot's young wife ran away with a neighbouring squire; whereupon the unfortunate husband descended into gloom and darkness, and life grew a weariness to him. At last he relinquished the burden, and, going upon the Moor to shoot game, he destroyed himself—an action that placed his nephew at the head of the famous business.
Now, conscious of these new dignities, Peter proceeded towards Cater's Beam, and as he went he committed young Stark's statement to memory.
"Marbleheadfought and defeatedThunderbolt. Latter vessel about to strike to the American when His Majesty's shipsSquirrelandFlying Fishappeared.Marbleheadtaken. Parole denied to her officers. Why? Cecil Stark—related to General Stark, conqueror of our General Burgoyne. Yet the pen is mightier than the sword, as Burgoyne knew. Commodore Miller, noteworthy American sailor."
In his mind Norcot was already dictating a letter to certain friends who possessed interest at the highest quarters, when he passed Siward's Cross. Then, lifting his eyes, he saw Lovey Lee at work in a peat-cutting close at hand, and approached her with a desire to be better acquainted.
"Well met, mother. A drink of milk for a thirsty man, I pray you."
Lovey put down the glittering peat knife with which she toiled, and rose to her full height.
"So 'tis! The gentleman as I seed with Grace Malherb?"
"The same. I hope I see you well."
Mrs. Lee did not answer, but started to fetch the milk, and Peter followed her. Presently she produced a teacup and handed it to him.
"I thank you. And here's a shilling; but you must let me have some change—sixpence at least." This he said to try her.
Bitterly disappointed, Lovey returned to her den, and while she was absent, Mr. Norcot, who had not drunk milk since he was a baby, emptied his teacup into the heather. He was apparently smacking his lips when the old woman reappeared.
"I've no change but these dirty coppers from the prisoners to Prince Town. The hands that held 'em last was shaking with smallpox, but of course you won't mind," she said.
"Tut, tut! Keep them, keep them, my dear woman. I only jested. So you traffic in the prison markets with the French?"
"No—the Yankees. I understand their speech, and they've got more money," said Lovey, stroking the coppers.
"Ah!—'tis an ill wind that blows good to nobody. So you begin to get money, my poor soul? But be very careful, I beg of you.
"'For Satan now is wiser than of yore,And tempts by making rich, not making poor,'"
"Rich! Great riches mine! Look around."
"For my part I pray daily that these ghastly wars will soon be over," said Peter.
"That's where we be of different minds, then," she answered.
"Different minds and different interests, Mrs. Lee. Well, I'm glad to see you again. It may happen some day that you can do me a service, or I can do you one."
"I see—with that maiden?"
Her eyes glittered, and she pointed down the valley to Fox Tor Farm.
"Good gracious! No," said Peter, astonished that she had guessed so near his thoughts. "The days of witchcraft and love-potions are past, ma'am. Not that I want anything of that sort. Grace Malherb adores me."
She looked at him with curiosity.
"My grandson be her groom now," she said; but did not add that John Lee had confided to her the girl's dislike for Peter.
"It is a wise and rare maiden who knows her own mind, mother. I may add that 'None but the brave deserves the fair,' as Dryden so happily remarks. Farewell."
Lovey nodded, and he rode away.
"A strong, dangerous fashion of man," she thought with her eyes upon him. "An' wants my friendship for his own ends. Well, my friendship is always open to the highest bidder, Lord He knows. An' the maiden be going to take a bit of managing by the looks of it. John Lee had more in his mind than he spoke, last time he comed to tell with me an' pay me half his wages."
Meantime Peter trotted forward, and presently he beheld the raw stone walls and broken lands of the farm. He shook his head at this display of much futile labour, then turned at the thud of galloping horses and saw his sweetheart and her groom approaching over the shaggy crest of the Beam.
John Lee dropped back quickly as Mr. Norcot stopped, but the wool-stapler had sharp eyes, and he made a mental note of what he saw.
"Well met, my lovely lady!" he cried a few minutes later. "Of all maidens who sat a steed none ever became one as you do!
"''Tis well in stone to have three GracesWith lovely limbs and lovely faces;But better far, and not in stone,To have the three combined in One.'
Isn't that a pretty thing? I kept it to greet you with."
"Not your own, I'll wager," said Grace; "but never mind—don't come nearer, please; 'Cæsar,' is fidgety. I hope that you are well, Peter."
"Your groom was near enough as you came over the hill, my treasure."
"Yes, 'Cæsar' knows him. We were talking about his grandmother."
"The horse's?"
Peter turned and beckoned to Lee; then, as John cantered up, Mr. Norcot regarded him critically.
"What a picture! I never saw such a wonderfully handsome lad—an Apollo's face. 'Disguised like a ploughman, Love stole from the sky'—eh, Grace?"
The heart of Miss Malherb beat fiercely, but in secret.
"He's no ploughman," she answered.
"I'm jealous," continued Peter. "Tut, tut! I feel the green-eyed monster's fiery breath scorching my liver!" Then he spoke to the groom, who now approached. "Give you good day, lad. And, John Lee, dost know that Mr. Bolitho of Ivybridge is seeking an underwhip for his pack of hounds? Say the word, and I'll commend you."
John's eyes flashed; he smiled and touched his hat.
"Thank you very kindly, sir—very kindly indeed; but I'm well suited in Mr. Malherb's service."
"You mean in Miss Malherb's, you lucky dog!" said the man of business. Then he winked genially, while Lee, reddening under his clear brown skin, galloped forward to open a gate that led into the outlying lands of the farm.
Had Mr. Norcot heard the conversation which he interrupted between John Lee and Grace, it must have amazed him exceedingly and reminded him of his lady's youth and inexperience.
Those most concerned knew nothing of the relation that now obtained between Grace and her servant, for that a daughter of his could look upon a groom was an idea beyond the wildest mental flight of Maurice Malherb; but humbler folks found themselves not wholly ignorant of recent developments. Harvey Woodman had hinted to his wife that the girl spent a great deal of her time in riding with miser Lee's grandson, and Mary Woodman murmured in secret upon this unquiet theme with Dinah Beer. The question in their minds related to Mrs. Malherb.
"Ought us to tell her?" asked Mary. "Such a good, high-minded lady as her be. An' Miss Gracie—so promising as a March calf, bless her."
"'Tis a hard thing. I've nought against the boy for my part either," declared Dinah. "He's civil an' smart, an' his face would soften a stone. But they'm both young, an', loramercy! what Nature teaches boys an' girls ban't wisdom, for sartain! Mr. Norcot will never come it over her, for she hates him. Her told me once, when I catched her crying all alone, poor maiden, that she couldn't abide his shadow, an' when I said as her parents knowed best about it, she talked treason wi' the fire in her cheeks. 'Love can't be made to order,' her said; an' when I telled something about her duty, she cut me short an' axed, 'Do you love your Richard, Dinah?' 'Ess fay!' I sez. 'An' if your faither an' mother had told you to marry some person else—what then?' she sez. 'There, Miss, let me get to my work,' I answered her; but the truth—I couldn't tell it: that me an' Dick runned an' got married against faither's orders, as meant for me to take a cordwainer to Tavistock."
"Shall we tell Kekewich?" suggested Mrs. Woodman. "For all his wickedness he'd never do an unwitty thing. He's terrible wise—not after the event, when us all be—but in time."
"I couldn't," declared Dinah. "It do always bring a cloud to my heart when I see his pain-stained face—such a prophet of evil as he be."
"He never promises any good to anybody, so he's always right," answered Mrs. Woodman, who was in a pessimistic vein.
"My husband don't like him, no more don't I," replied the other woman. "Don't say nought to him—a baggering old Job's comforter. He'd get John Lee turned off without a character. Us have right an' reason to trust Miss Grace in such a thing. Only I do wish the proper one would turn up. She never sees a young man but him."
"A terrible pretty chap—Lee, I mean. Have 'e noticed how mincing he gets in's speech?"
"Dick an' your husband was laughing at him for it last night. He picks it up from Miss Grace."
"Which shows they must have a lot to say to one another."
Dinah nodded, and with an uneasy sense of guilt changed the conversation. But the truth was in fact nearer their suspicions than they guessed, and Grace Malherb, by slow degrees, had come to make a close friend and confidant of John Lee. He possessed other charms than beauty, for his mind was simple; his heart was generous; his disposition kindly. Romance and some mystery hovered round him; and Grace, left much to her own devices, found the groom too often in her mind, his voice too often upon her ear.
A critical conversation fell out between them upon the day of Norcot's return to Fox Tor Farm. For three months Lee had now served his new master, and attended Grace to all parts of the Moor. Sometimes Mr. Malherb accompanied these expeditions, and generally he superintended Grace's hurdle practice, for she was to hunt during the coming season; but the father did not always find himself at leisure to follow this pleasant task, and Lee, whose first duty was to wait upon Miss Malherb, went far afield with her alone.
From indifference Grace woke to pleasure at his delicate and refined nature. She encouraged him to talk, and presently heard as much of his scanty story as he himself knew. The narrative fired her imagination, and lent him a romantic interest to her mind. Gradually she divulged a few of her own secrets, and the less he apparently desired to know, the more she found herself telling him. His courteous reserve even piqued her upon occasion. Once she quarrelled with him, and bade him retire. But her apology upon the following day, brought him quickly to her side.
"'Twas not indifference, God knows, Miss Grace," he told her. "I held back for fear I might seem too forward in your affairs. Every breath you draw is a thing of account to me. I do know by the very light in your eyes whither your thoughts be tending—up or down. An' I'm loth to call Mr. Norcot into your mind; for his name brings a shadow over your face, like a cloud across noon sunshine."
"I thought you yawned yesterday, John, when I mentioned him. That is what angered me."
"'Yawned'! I've never yawned since I knowed you."
"Since you knew me, John. You are so slow to mend that weak ending of the past tense. 'Tis a part of Devon speech—a thing in their blood—but not in yours."
"I wish I knew all that was in my blood," he answered.
"You will some day. Light will come. Sometimes I think old Lovey stole you, as gipsies steal little children. 'Tis monstrous to suppose that you are kin of hers."
"Not so; her daughter was my dear good mother without a doubt."
"'Tis strange how a man's heart warms to the very name of his mother, though he has never known her," said Grace.
"Mine does, but I can only remember a white face and great frightened eyes that belonged to her. And when I ask my granddam for my father, she laughs—that laugh like tin beating on tin—and tells me to look in the river and I'll see him."
"He was a very handsome man then. You've got about the most beautiful ears I ever saw on anybody."
She spoke in a pensive and a critical tone with her eyes lifted to the hills, as though she spoke to them.
"Good Lord, Miss Grace. Have I?"
And so they talked and daily drifted nearer danger. A conversation of moment happened between them concerning Lovey Lee. John ransacked his memory for Grace's benefit and told her of early recollections, of his mother's funeral, of his arrival with Mrs. Lee at Siward's Cross when a child, and of his first labours upon the Moor.
"I had to collect the lichen of which they make dyes," he said; "then I went wool-gathering, and grew very clever at setting briars in the sheep-tracks. Later I learned to plait rexens, or rushes as I should call 'em; then a man taught me how to ride. And as I grew and got sense, my grandmother became a greater wonder and mystery to me. She lived two lives, and of one I knew nothing. Oftentimes I found that she went abroad by night. Lying in my straw near the cattle, with their sweet breath coming to me, I'd wake and see light in the slits of the boards overhead where Granny slept. Then she would dout the flame—put it out, I mean—and the boards would creak and she'd come down the ladder and go out into the night. 'Twas moonlight she always chose, and once, when I was a bit of a lad, up home twelve years old, I reckoned I'd follow after and see what 'twas that took her off so secret when all things slept. But 'twas a poor thought for me. I followed 'pon a summer night in staring moonlight; and half a mile from Fox Tor, under which she went, my foot slipped where I was sneaking along a hundred yards behind her and I fell into a bog. She heard me splash out of it, and afore I could crouch down and hide, her cat's eyes had marked me and she turned and catched me, breathless an' soaking wet to the waist."
"Alack, John! And what did she do?" asked the girl, reining up her horse to hear his answer.
"Well, 'tisn't too strong a word to say that she very nearly knocked the life out of me. She changed from a woman into a demon. She screamed like to a horrid vampire, and clapper-clawed me from head to foot. 'You'd spy, you li'l devil!' she said. 'I'll larn you to peep 'pon my doings; I'll tear your liver out, I'll——' Then under her blows I went off fainty, an' she scratched me like a cat-a-mountain, an', no doubt, left me for dead. I was only a little boy, of course, and she was just the same as she is now, only six years stronger. When I come to again she'd gone; but I thought I'd waked to die, for there was a dreadful bitter pang in my breast. I crawled back to the cottage somehow, and next day, when she was out of the way, I caught a donkey she had, and got up to Prince Town. The doctor at the prison by good fortune passed me as I came, and I made bold to tell him I was ill, and he had a look at me and said two of my ribs were broken. They kept me at a cottage up there, where Granny was known, and 'twas a round six weeks afore I went back to her. Then first thing she said was that she'd kill me and salt me down in her snail barrel if ever I spied on her again; so you may be sure I never did."
The story fascinated Grace.
"How you must have suffered! But to think of the secrets that horrid old woman has hidden! It makes my mouth water, John. Father believes that she knows all about the Malherb amphora—the priceless glass vase that vanished, you know—and I believe she knows all about you. These things must be discovered; and 'twill be your task to find them out, John Lee."
"Ah! if I could find my father. But that's a search I'm almost fearful to make. I——"
He broke off, and Grace felt the matter too delicate for comment. Her interest in Lee grew daily, and, ignorant of love, the girl now believed her emotion towards him must be called by that name. He for his part loved indeed with all his young heart and soul. Care clouded his life, because he knew that he was wrong to think twice about his mistress. By night, when alone, his courage sometimes increased; but daylight and duty quenched it. Under darkness he dreamed dreams, yet when he rose to hear rough men laugh at his amended speech, and see Malherb order him hither and thither, as he ordered the rest, John Lee's folly stared him in the face. He fought with himself to relinquish his task and depart from Fox Tor Farm; he fancied that he had conquered himself, and determined to go; then would come a long, lonely ride with Grace, and a return to vain unquiet hopes. His conscience urged him away; his power of will proved insufficient to take him beyond temptation. As for the girl, her tender feeling was an unconscious instinct of self-preservation. She desired a strong protector rather than a lover; and he who might secure her safety was sure to win her active regard. Grace's delight in John Lee, her increasing admiration for his goodness, honesty and chivalrous nature, she mistook for love. The fatuity of such a conclusion was not impressed on the girl's virgin mind; and the secret of John's parentage proved no obstacle to attachment, but rather an incentive. That he was a gentleman in every vital particular she perceived.
Upon this day a barrier fell down between them. She had found herself sad and weak before the approaching shadow of Peter Norcot; and John had waxed desperate, and forgotten everything in heaven and on earth but the lovely, mournful maid beside him. They were but seventeen and eighteen; of the world they knew nothing at all; but his world was in her eyes, and she believed that her future welfare and hopes of happiness now rode at her elbow in the handsome shape of the lad.
"John," she said, exactly one hour before Mr. Norcot's horse appeared nigh Cater's Beam—"John, he's coming to-day."
"I know it. I know the weather of your heart, Miss Grace, as soon as I look upon you; for the eyes are the sky of the mind."
"Come closer," she answered; "come closer and comfort me."
"Mr. Peter is a great man now—head of the Wool Factory, and worth many thousands of pounds."
"Cold comfort! If he was made of gold with diamond eyes he would still be Peter Norcot."
"'Tis strange, but you are the only person in the world that don't like him."
"And you," she said quickly, "you hate him too."
"Yes, I hate him well enough—because he's a coward and a hard-hearted man at bottom to plague you so, when you've made it clear you cannot love him. I hate him for that, I promise you. I could believe dark things against him gladly. Do you know what Tom Putt said?"
"No," replied Grace. "Not that Putt's opinion is of much moment save in matters of salmon."
"He is courting a maiden at Chagford; and her brother—a man called Mason—is an outdoor servant to Mr. Norcot. And last Sunday, when the women were at church, Putt had speech with this man, and they got merry over drink. Tom praised Mr. Norcot mightily, and his servant said with great admiration that he believed as like as not, Mr. Peter had killed his uncle to get head of the Wool Factory. Mason said he couldn't pay Mr. Norcot a higher compliment for skill and cleverness; but Tom Putt was rather afeared about it, and he's in doubt now whether to go on courting that man's sister."
"There was a mystery," declared Grace. "Peter Norcot last saw his uncle alive on the Moor. Oh, John—to think of it! He is cruel, for he sets man-traps and spring-guns in his woods. A man who would do that would—he may be even a murderer! Under all his rhymes and nonsense he surely has a tiger's heart!"
"You mustn't think of it—either that he could do so wicked a deed, or that you are going to marry him. Most gentlefolks put man-traps in their preserves nowadays. But, to be honest, he don't, for I heard him tell master he didn't last time he was here. And as for you, the right man must soon come. He——"
"Stop there, John! 'Tis like your kind self to talk so to me; yet I know very well how it hurts you."
"Sweet!" he cried. "I have told you how I love you. I couldn't choke it down longer. And you forgave me, and pitied me a little. You must let me hope and pray for the right man, since 'tis impossible I can ever be anything to you." Grace was silent, and he continued.
"I've learned better since that moment. I'm not a fool. My love at least is too big a pattern to offer it to you again."
"Can a man love a maid too much then?" she exclaimed.
"He may love too little and so offer himself. I love—there, my love's all of me. But who am I to dare to lift eyes to you?"
"'Tis just that, John," she said with a fluttering heart. "Who are you?"
"Until 'tis known——"
"What difference can that make? Can a fact not known alter a fact known? Mr. Norcot taught me that much. Facts never contradict themselves, he said once; and the fact is—you love me. If a king was your father, you still love me; and you are you—honest and true, and generous. And—and you've got a dear face like my dead brother's."
He stared in front of him, and Grace mused over his virtues.
Suddenly he spoke.
"You'll make me mad again!" he cried. "I ought to spur away for dear life, and for honour and right; I ought to turn my back and gallop to the ends of the world; but I can't—I can't do it—more shame to me."
"You certainly love me with all your heart, John. Well, John dear, I think I love you too!"
"No, no," he said. "You must not; it can't be; 'tisn't in sober reason."
"So much more likely to be real," she answered. "True love is not reasonable, John. And you must fight a great battle for me, because all the world is against us."
"The world—the world's here—here! The rest I can put under my foot and forget. You love me—oh! Grace, my star—is it true?"
"Yes, for I've never felt so before, and I've done almost everything but fall in love in my time. 'Tis quite a new thing—sure it must be love; for what other name is there to give it? I love your beautiful face, and your voice, and your gentle ways; and I love you best of all for loving me, John."
"Every living thing loves you," he said solemnly. "Yet you can come to a useless, poor, humble man like me, and trust me with yourself!"
"Yes, I trust you, John," she said with gravity equal to his. "I know not what may betide; but you must stand between me and—and that man. Do you love me well enough to run risks and dangers for me?"
"May time prove it!"
"Your love is shield and buckler both to me," she said.
"And yours such a blessing as God Almighty never poured into any life before," he answered earnestly. "'Tis my prayer henceforth that I may lift myself up to be worthy."
"I love you with all my heart, indeed. And some day, far on, when the world rolls kinder and everybody's wiser, and Mr. Norcot is an angel or a married man—then I'll be your wife, John Lee."
The lad appeared more weighted by this mighty promise than jubilant at it.
"Do 'e call home all it means, my lovely?" he asked. "Do 'e know that your whole beautiful life rests on whether 'tis a wise deed or a vain one?"
Grace nodded.
"Love casts out all fear," she said.
"Then I can only fall back upon God to be on our side," he answered. "'Tis my life and light and heaven on earth to hear you say that. Ay—you shall be my song for evermore. I'll try to live worthy of such bounty. There's no going back now—none, for I'm only flesh and blood, and Michael and all his angels shan't take 'e from me any more!"
Before she could speak he was close at her side and she felt his arm about her waist, his kisses raining upon her cheeks.
"For ever and ever, Grace!"
"Oh yes, dear John. Love never dies."
"If we could ride away over the hills now——" he said, dreaming his golden dream.
"We should meet Mr. Norcot, for there he comes," she answered.
"I feel that I should like to go to him and take him out of his saddle and crush him like an eggshell."
"My valiant sweetheart! You may indeed have to do so some day. Drop back now, dear John, and let my cheeks cool. Oh, how lovely a thing it is to have this mighty secret between us!"
"If I died now," he said, "I should have had far, far more than my share of the good of the world."
"Talk not of dying. You must live for me."
"That will I—and die for you if need be."
"We'll live and die together, John. Now fall you back, my own dear love—else Mr. Peter will grow jealous."
Thus it came about that when the manufacturer winked at young Lee and called him "a lucky dog," he uttered a great truth, although he was quite ignorant of the fact.
A company all clad in black assembled at the dinner-table of Maurice Malherb. The family still mourned their hope, while Mr. Norcot's loss was even more recent. He bore himself with great correctness and resignation. The narrative of his uncle's sensational death was held back until later in the evening; out a matter more pressing filled Mr. Malherb's mind, and he hurried the ladies from the table when dessert was done, that he might open his project.
"How do you find Grace bear herself towards you now?" began the farmer abruptly, when he found himself alone with his future son-in-law.
"Alas! 'A fellow that lives in a windmill has not a more whimsical dwelling than the heart of a man lodged in a woman.' But I must be patient."
Malherb frowned.
"She's a fool—yet a fool may make the heart of the wise ache. Who shall escape a fool's folly if that fool be his daughter?"
"Tut, tut! Don't call her a fool. She is young—still in her halcyon hours. As Horace——"
"Listen to me, Peter. You are a reasonable man, and thank your God that it is so, for they grow rare. Now you will readily understand my feelings when my son died."
"I died myself when I pictured your sufferings, Mr. Malherb.
"'World-wasting Time, thou worker of our woes,Thou keen-edged razor of our famous name.'"
"Even so. To be frank and avoid sentiment, I've put my life and soul into this place. I've made it a strong fortress for those to come. I have built and planted with my thoughts upon my son. And then, while the mortar was a-drying and the young larches getting their first root-hold, he fell. Think of what that meant to me."
"My imagination can picture it. Death is so final. As Herrick says:—
"'Man is a watch, wound up at first, but neverWound up again: once down he's down for ever.'
I have sympathised with all my soul."
"Then you must be practical and prove your sympathy. I had meant to write to you, but speech is more direct, and so I waited until we met. Now thus it stands. My son has passed away; my daughter remains."
"I have appreciated that. There was a verse writ on the Duchess of St. Albans by the Earl of Halifax for the toasting-glasses of the Kit-Cat Club. A word or two makes it exquisitely applicable:—
"'The line Malherb, so long renown'd in arms,Concludes with lustre in fair Grace's charms.Her conquering eyes have made their race complete:They rose in valour, and in beauty set.'"
"They mustn't set; that's the whole matter," answered Maurice Malherb. "I have sworn to my heart that set they shall not. My son is dead; my grandson remains a possibility—nay, a certainty, so far as anything human can be certain."
"Your grandson! You amaze me. Tut, tut! Was Noel married?"
"No! My grandson will be your firstborn. Where's the amazement in that? Two years hence you will be the father of a boy; and that boy I ask of you. Some might almost say I had right of possession, circumstances being what they are; but I am reasonable in my dealings, and just to all men. That boy I ask—nay, I beg. My heart yearns to the unborn lad. I live in the future always, for 'tis both true wisdom and true happiness to look ahead. The present generally proves cursedly disappointing to a sanguine soul. I gave you my daughter and you give me your son—your firstborn son. He will come hither; his name shall be Malherb; he succeeds me and founds the family which my own son would have founded. You catch my sense? 'Tis but a link missed in the chain. I cannot believe that I am asking too great a thing. What say you?"
As a man of humour, Mr. Norcot always appreciated his present host. Now he kept a judicial face and laughed out of sight. His eyes were grave and his forehead wrinkled. He thought, of course, of Grace, but he did not mention her.
"You are the most original and gifted man it has been my fortune to meet. Even the crushing changes and chances of life leave you quite unperplexed. You evade them in a masterly manner by sheer quickness of perception. It is genius. Positively you do more than deserve success: you command it."
"Sleep upon the proposition, Peter, if you find it too great thing to decide instantly."
"I see no need. I seldom find myself in a difference of opinion with Maurice Malherb. The phlegm with which I view the advent of this unborn man-child quite surprises me. Your idea is worthy of a big heart. I seem to feel it both just and honourable. These walls must not fall into alien hands when your work is done. That a son of mine should face the world as a Malherb and follow his grandfather's footsteps—what a privilege! To be honest, I have never much desired children, though doubtless the bachelor's heart expands when he is married, and the usual result follows. But now the case is altered. Tut, tut!
"'Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,To teach the young idea how to shoot';
and also how to ride, and to fish, and to be a gentleman. By 'young idea' I mean my son—your son. Yes, your son—to grow as you would have him grow, in the traditions of the Malherbs."
"Upon my soul, you might have been my son yourself!" said Malherb with stern exultation; "for you're the most level-headed man that ever I met."
"I have learned from you," said Peter modestly, "life is really not half so difficult as people make it. Wise sacrifice is the secret of success—nay, more, of happiness. Man cannot have his way all round. He doesn't grow in a flower-pot alone, but in a jungle of other living men and women—some stronger and some weaker than himself. Then let him sacrifice where he can't succeed, that where he can succeed he may succeed superlatively. Lop off this limb, for that stout tree will bruise it; cut out these fine twigs, they will never get to the sun. But keep such and such a branch, for its way promises clear, and it can kill the weaker things if you only make it strong enough. Limit your aspirations, like a gardener limits his melons; but once determine where lies your strength, then throw heart and nerve and every pulse of life that way. Spare no pains, no brain-sweat, no toil there. Pour your life's blood out for that purpose. So you have taught me."
Mr. Malherb nodded with a satisfaction hardly concealed. It was a system remote from his own, as the unwavering light of the moon from fitful marsh fires; but Norcot knew well that he would not perceive the fact.
"Tenacity of purpose is vital to success," the elder man declared.
"Yes, it is so; our parts must limit our plans. I cannot do much. I have neither your intellect, nor education, nor power of driving many horses together; yet, what I can do—is done. My subjects are few, but I have mastered them and pursued them to the present limits of human knowledge. My ambitions are all gratified save the greatest."
"And you still short of forty! You were easily satisfied, Peter."
"Forgive me, but you would speak with more authority on that point did you know what my ambitions were. Accident gratified my penultimate desire two months ago. To achieve the supreme place at the Wool Manufactory was impossible by my own act, because a human life stood between; but my uncle perished; and now the thing I thought would be so sweet proves otherwise. 'Tis a sermon on the futility of human ambition."
"He was unfortunate in his wife. You must keep that sad story for the drawing-room. Annabel is most anxious to hear it. And your last ambition is Grace?"
"She is, indeed. She will, at least, exceed my highest hope."
"Her mother presses for a season in town."
"'Tis but natural that Mrs. Malherb should do so. Then 'farewell, a long farewell' to Peter Norcot.
"'And too, too well the fair vermilion knewAnd silver tincture of her cheeks, that drewThe love of every swain.'
You don't read Marlowe?"
"You have my word. She might marry a Duke for that matter; but would a Duke make me a present of his firstborn son?"
"One may answer with absolute certainty that he would not, Mr. Malherb. In fact, the constitution of the realm—She is, however, of the stuff that Duchesses are made; I know that perfectly; while I can never hope to be more than a plain man—perhaps a knight and a member of Parliament, if all goes well—yet——"
"She is yours and she'll have an uncommonly good husband," said Mr. Malherb shortly. "Now talk of the farm. Did you note my sheep upon the Moor?"
"I did. They look most prosperous."
"There's a rascally law here that denies me the right to pasture more cattle on the Forest than I can winter upon the farm. For the overplus I am called to pay as though a stranger to Venville rights. A monstrous injustice, as I've told 'em. But to meet it I must build new great byres. Did you note the work?"
"I saw no new byres," answered Peter.
"Nay—I forgot. They are not yet begun. But so clearly do I view them in my mind, that for the moment I thought they existed already."
"You incur tremendous expenses."
"Why, naturally so. One does not come to Dartmoor empty-handed. To tame a desert and turn it into an important agricultural centre calls for capital among other things. Now let us join the ladies."
"Gladly," returned Mr. Norcot. "Those are the pleasantest words I can hear spoken under this roof. 'Tis not always so—but here. 'And beauty draws us with a single hair.' I wrote that to Grace when I heard that she had caught her first trout. She never answers my letters, by the way."
Presently the visitor told of his uncle's death. The story proved dramatic, and Mr. Norcot's method of delivering it was very deliberate and effective. Her kinsman's unhappy end specially interested Annabel, who had known him intimately in earlier days.
"You are to understand that the cloud fell upon my poor Uncle Norman when his wife left him. Some might have held her departure a happy circumstance, seeing the light nature of the minx; he took his fortune differently. To us it may seem strange that any circumstances would make life unendurable—apart from the question of morals. Massenger has a word on that—a sort of answer to Hamlet.
"'This life's a fort committed to my trust,Which I must not yield up till it be forced.'
Poor verse, but good sense. Well, there came a day when I made yet another attempt to lift my uncle from his deep despondency; and I thought that I had succeeded, for he consented to come upon the Moor and take his gun. I was to fish; he proposed to shoot duck—his favourite amusement in the old times. I rejoiced, little guessing his dark purpose. Indeed, who could have done so with a mind so lofty? What does Blair say in 'The Grave'?
"'Self-murder! Name it not; our island's shame;That makes her the reproach of neighb'ring states.'
It should be looked into, for the crime grows appallingly common. But a female is too often at the bottom of it. My uncle exhibited the utmost bitterness when his wife ran away from him. 'Women are all alike,' he said to me; and when a man says that, you know his luck has been to meet the exception. Never did Norman Norcot touch upon the deed in his mind, however, though Parson Haymes has since told me that upon one occasion he found it his duty severely to reprove my uncle for ideas favourable and lenient to suicide.
"To resume, he threw off dull care, as I fondly supposed, and went to the Moor for a day's holiday along with me. I took my man, Reginald Mason; while a lad accompanied my uncle. Our plan was that I should fish the River Teign where it runs into the central vastness of the Moor beneath Sittaford Tor; while he proposed to shoot up the valley of the little Wallabrook, a stream that rises in the marshes beneath Wattern and joins the Teign near Scorhill. We were to meet at a lone dwelling by Teign Head, where lives a shepherd. There we designed to take luncheon; and my sister Gertrude had packed a goodly basket with such delicacies as we knew that our uncle most esteemed. There was a bottle of French burgundy at my order. ''Tis bad for him,' said Gertrude. 'I know it,' I replied, 'but 'twill do him no hurt for once after hard exercise.'
"Mason left me at the junction of Teign and Wallabrook, and proceeded up the river to the place where we were to lunch three hours later. The boy, with uncle's great red dog and little black spaniel, went up to the head of the lesser stream, for he told this lad to work down towards him, and drive any birds that might rise into the lower reaches of the river. This plan Uncle Norman proposed, and I wondered at the time that he should make arrangements so unusual. For myself, I set up my rod and was a little impatient to get at the trout, for there chanced to be a good morning rise. But my uncle desired me to stop with him for a while, and of course I did so.
"At last we parted, and he made no ado about leave-taking, but compared his timepiece with mine and promised to be punctual at the luncheon tryst. I wetted my fly and had moved a hundred yards when he called me back and asked me for some string. 'My bootlace has broken,' he said. I had no such thing upon me, but cut off a yard of my line; then restored the cast of flies and left him apparently putting his boot in order. I never saw him again alive. When I had reached what I call 'the pool,' where Teign lies in long, still reaches between two waterfalls, I thought that I heard the faint report of a gun; and I smiled with satisfaction, little dreaming what had occurred.