All that afternoon Norcot was closeted with Grace, and when he left her, she let him kiss her!
"May the night bring him," she said, "for each moment is a century when I think of my dear ones at home and all their sufferings now."
And that night Cecil Stark arrived. As a fugitive himself, liable to be recaptured and returned to Prince Town by any man eager to earn three pounds, the young sailor exercised caution; and for the sake of his guide it was also necessary that he should incur no risk; but ere midnight he came, and Norcot himself ushered him into the house.
"A hearty welcome!" he said, with the most genial handgrip. "I expected you. Had you not escaped yesterday, I was coming to Prince Town to see Short and go bail for you; but love has a thousand wings and a thousand voices. Come in, Mr. Stark. Henceforth you are my guest."
He offered his hand, but the other did not take it.
"One word, sir. Is Miss Malherb here?"
"Come in, come in. You gladden my heart; for Heaven can bear witness that I took to you from the first moment ever I saw you—when you came so near to braining that beautiful lady. I'm 'a beast of company but not of the herd,' as Plutarch says. Give me a friend or two, not a regiment of 'em. There was that in your face—
Born to command, to conquer and to spare;As mercy mild, yet terrible as war.'
Come in."
"'Wolves do change their hair, but not their hearts'!
There's a quotation for yours," said Stark suddenly and bluntly.
Mr. Norcot started.
"Tut, tut! I thought we were old friends."
"Answer me. Is Miss Malherb here?"
"Here, yet not here," replied Peter, pressing his breast.
"'Smiling then Love took his dartAnd drew her picture on my heart.'
But I can relieve your mind. The maiden is well and exceedingly happy."
"Then was John Lee right; you abducted her."
"Ah! that agile lad! Mercury's a fool to him."
Stark took off his hat and entered the house.
"I am here to escort Miss Malherb to her parents, Mr. Norcot."
"And a pleasant enough task too—for both of you. Now enter and rest your weary limbs—nay; don't look suspicious. There's no mystery here—merely the library of a very busy man."
Stark sat down and rubbed a wounded foot, while Mr. Norcot regarded him with a very whimsical expression.
"So you are a new Quixote, come to rescue distressed maidens? Yet, if you could see the joy on Grace Malherb's countenance at this moment, you might suspect that your disinterested labour was in vain, Mr. Stark."
"Only her own assurances will satisfy me. As for you, in the past I owe you much, Mr. Norcot. With a single-hearted generosity that I cannot sufficiently admire and I cannot quite understand, you exerted yourself on behalf of strangers and captives. But now——'
"Now, perhaps, I am doing the same thing again, Mr. Stark. Would it surprise you to hear that within this month I have been to London on your behalf?"
"Why should you do so?"
"Ah!—my modesty refuses to reply. But believe the fact: for you and Grace Malherb I have been as industrious as a man can be. She knows and blesses me. You have yet to know."
"Is this true, sir?"
"Why not? And yet against one of your credulous character a lie would be a good weapon."
"Yes, for a slave to use," said Stark.
"It's a nice point. I'm a casuist, you know. I could mention a few classical lies that have helped to make the world what it is to-day—
"'Why should not conscience have vacationAs well as other courts o' the nation?'"
"You jest to ask such a question, or you mistake me, Mr. Norcot."
"'Tis easy to understand how willingly men would give their monitor a life-long holiday if they could. Yet, 'He that sins against his conscience sins with a witness.' Fuller. That inimitable man! I wish my young clerical cousin had something of his sublime sense and understanding. But Relton's a good lad, and no bishop can marry you tighter."
"Be frank, Mr. Norcot," said Stark. "Here am I, and I trust you. I accept your word that Miss Malherb is also here, and that she is well. But I am determined to take her back to her father and mother, because I learn that they are ignorant of her safety, and are suffering much, as it is natural they should suffer."
Peter beamed upon his visitor.
"'How fresh and green you are in this old world!' Now I understand why your plots miscarried and you failed of your heroic enterprises, Cecil Stark. Think you that if I'd been rogue enough to bear off this maid for selfish ends, I should welcome you so warmly and prepare so frankly to tell you the truth? Suppose—as doubtless you do suppose—that I had Miss Grace here, and my parson cousin here, and my Special License to marry her here, should I make you a welcome and honoured guest? What was your plan of action then? Do reveal it. As a student of character I should like to know."
"I trusted to right and honour, and still do so."
"Yet you'd have cut but a poor figure if I had proved that wolf-hearted wool-dealer you so rudely described."
"I judged from what John Lee told me. Your passion for Grace Malherb and your determination to marry her are widely known."
"Well, granted; but first John Lee. Have a care there. He's malignant and dangerous. Powerless himself, he would leave no stone unturned to do me a hurt—or you a hurt. Yet all that ever I did was to try and save his neck. Remember his granddam."
"I believe him to be honest."
"I know him to be a very silly rascal. He has much endangered Miss Malherb's happiness. 'A whip for the horse, a bridle for the ass, and a rod for the fool's back'; but better still, a bullet for the fool's head. The fools—the fools—they make nearly all the trouble in the world."
"Lee is a good man and no fool, if I am any judge. At least, he seems shrewd enough to me. He has served both his mistress and me nobly before to-day. He correctly guessed all along where Miss Malherb was now, and he brought me to you."
"Because 'twas his own folly helped to bring her here. We may use a fool in the affairs of life; and often there's no better tool. But be careful that no inkling of your ends is trusted to the fool."
Cecil Stark seemed to see a sinister personal significance in this speech. He regarded Norcot's smiling countenance with the closest attention.
"I might take that hint to myself," he said.
"You might; but you would be wrong and ungenerous if you did," answered the other. "I'm your friend, and I'm going to prove it under the hand and seal of a greater than either of us."
"Her own?"
"Alas! no. I'm coming to that. If she could have written, she would have done so. But for the moment it is unhappily impossible. She desired a thousand messages, but these I would not bring, because I could only give my word that they were true. But the written word is none the less convincing."
"Begin at the beginning if you are being honest with me," said Stark.
"I would say with the man in the play—
"'A sudden thought strikes me,Let us swear an eternal friendship';
but, under the circumstances, I'll leave that quotation for you. When you hear what I've got to say, you'll make it, if you're as just and honourable as I believe."
"Speak then."
Peter looked at the clock over the mantelpiece.
"Like a sermon, what I have to say must be set forth under three heads. The application I shall leave with you," he answered. "First, however, here's a glass of wine. Allow me to drink before you do so. You would not be justified in trusting me until you have heard more."
Mr. Norcot poured out two glasses of port, sipped his own and began his explanations.
"We must deal," said Norcot, "with the relations of four people each to the others. And first let us examine my relations with Grace Malherb. I loved her; I loved her with a whole-hearted, true and deep love that can only find the faintest echo in poetry. Herrick's 'To Anthea, who may command him anything,' comes closest to the real sentiment. But love grows sick like an ill-grown tree, if it grows one-sided. A dark hour struck when with acute sorrow and grief I discovered that I could never win Grace's heart. The bitter truth was stamped into my soul. She would never love me; she risked her life to escape from me; frankly, I was odious to her. Yet I had observed that this emotion of loathing was not always excited in the female heart by my presence. I was blessed, even in the moment of desolation, by discovering that I was loved by another woman.
"'Who'er she be,That not impossible SheThat shall command my heart and me'
does not matter. Suffice it that she exists; and she is beautiful and virtuous.
"As a matter of fact, I had given up all thought of marrying when once I discovered that Grace Malherb could never love me. I had faced the existence of a bachelor with an indifference bred from disappointment. I had said with Shakespeare—
"'The sweet embraces of a loving wifeLoaden with kisses, arm'd with thousand Cupids,Shall never clasp our necks.'
But now I think otherwise. To put it conventionally, I am consoled. You will, I know, express your gratification at this, even as Grace did. She kissed me and enjoyed doing it! Think of that! What a piece of work is the feminine throne of the emotions!—eh? She kissed me and wished me abundant blessings—only yesterday.
"''Tis done; I yield; adieu, thou cruel fair!Adieu, th' averted face, th' ungracious cheek!From thee I fly to end my grief and care,To hang—To hang?—yes, round another's neck!'
So I made light of the matter, and now leave it for ever.
"You ask what next? Next comes Grace's relation to you. I knew that she loved you with all her heart and soul. For you she suffered the cruel indignities of the past; for you she starved; for you she fled and risked her life rather than marry me. Her father was the sole obstacle between you when I dropped out and came over to your side. He is both hard and senseless—a difficult type of man. One must not say 'by your leave' to such as he, because to ask is to be refused. So I propose to take without asking, and allow him to digest facts only after the occurrence. He is dangerous now, and those who fear all strike at all. Yet we've more than one surprise in store for Malherb. Is it nothing to think yourself a murderer and find yourself innocent? That's the trump card! There'll be little room for anger in his bosom on the day when he learns that.
"Well, I'm working without him—for love of his daughter. 'Tis settled betwixt you that you must marry though the heavens fall. You shall. I'm as set on it as either of you. The day after to-morrow you are man and wife. So much good news will bewilder you; but there's bad to go as a tonic with it. You naturally ask why these great matters do not come to you under Grace's own hand and seal. Alas! she is blind!"
"Good God! My Grace!"
"Be patient. The fault was entirely mine. Those appointed to bring her hither at any cost, discovered that she was young and strong and valiant. An old man and an old woman, albeit tough enough, found it as much as they could do, and before they had prevailed and hidden her in the depths of an ancient wood, all three were scratched and wounded with the briars and brambles, in which they had struggled. She fought with true Malherb spirit, but the conquerors came best off; Miss Malherb was torn, and badly torn, across the face. I have had the first advice both from Plymouth and from Exeter. For the present she lives in a dead darkness, and must continue so to do for a week or more."
"But she will recover her sight? Oh, do not tell me that those wonderful eyes will see no more."
"I could hardly have borne to jest over the past, my dear Stark, had the future held anything so terrible. Your lady's lovely eyes are but dimmed for a time. I spoke with Sir George Jenning only yesterday. He has little fear of the ultimate result; but blackest possible night must hem her in for the present. A gleam might work terrible havoc; the optic nerve is affected, and such sympathy prevails between the eyes that injury to one may quickly involve both."
"I hope you look to this yourself. 'Tis hard to avoid daylight in April."
"My sister Gertrude is nurse."
"If I could but see Grace!"
"See her you certainly cannot. Nobody can. Never sibyl was wrapped in gleam more Cimmerian; but marry her you may and shall, if that will suffice you."
The rapidity of these revelations; the intense seriousness and most kindly expression upon Norcot's face; the bewildering rush and hurry of his own life during the past few days, all combined to move Cecil Stark. His wits swooned; his emotions yearned to believe this marvellous story. He pressed his hand to his forehead, then noticed the wine at his elbow, picked up the glass and drained it.
"Man," he said solemnly, "surely it is not in humanity to juggle upon such a theme? You cannot be deceiving me?"
"Emphatically no," answered Norcot. "I am no juggler, but a simple wool-merchant of some character and renown in these parts. In fact, a big toad in a small puddle, as the saying is. My heart went out to you when first we met, and I resolved, if opportunity offered, to do you a service. I failed; but it was your own action that defeated my good offices. This time I shall succeed, because nobody on this earth can break a marriage contract if the conditions are within the law of the land."
"She is willing?"
"For a thousand reasons; and, first, before any thought of you, that her parents may suffer no more. They have undoubtedly endured a good deal."
"'Tis an insult to the family to wed so."
"She is not of that opinion. The ceremony once complete, you can go back to prison with a cheerful heart; or, better still, obtain a passport. I shall ride off instantly to Grace's parents and explain all. Upon her recovery, and before you depart to your own land the richer by this lovely rose, a marriage ceremony as splendid as Malherb's purse can bear may take place. Would that he would forget to play Lucifer for once and let me bear the cost."
"Such things as this don't happen," said Stark slowly.
"They don't," answered the other. "Such things can only be found within the pages of poetry. And yet you see how one romantic ass, out of the dead love of his past, has planned this little fairy tale. I am that ass, Mr. Stark. Such things don't happen; yet this thing is going to happen if you are of the same mind as Grace Malherb. She has forgiven me everything—even robbing her of daylight. 'What is the sun compared with him?' cried she. My God, how she loves you!"
Yet something in Cecil Stark's heart still doubted and cried for proof positive. Norcot's perfect voice, flowing on like an oily river, hurt his nerves. He felt that he was being muffled up and choked in honey. He dashed his hand on the table.
"Proofs—facts—realities—give me these!" he cried. "Show me how this can be, and I will bless your name for ever."
"I was waiting for you to come to your senses. This astounding news has acted like strong drink on a hungry man. Proofs are here—facts—realities too. Read this. You never heard of Charles Manners Sutton? Yet, 'tis a very well-known name among respectable people. This word he wrote. 'Tis the sign-manual of His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury, Mr. Stark."
"Go on—explain."
"There's your worthy name also, and that of Grace Sibella Malherb. You knew not that she was called Sibella too? An old family name on the mother's side. She was a Carew and my mother was also a Carew. But this family history won't interest you?"
"Not now."
"Well, having determined to see you married to my Grace, I sought the means. There are but three ways in this kingdom to be married, and all demand the co-operation of the Church. We lack a purely civil rite, but there is a talk of establishing such. First comes marriage by Banns, which necessitates three weeks' notice in a place of worship. This I tried myself, with results not unfamiliar to you. 'Twas for the best. Marriage by ordinary license requires but a fifteen days' residence in the parish where the ceremony is to take place. Doctors' Commons can supply this document at a moment's notice, or the Bishop of the Diocese will do so through his Chancellor and Surrogates. Another glass of wine? You look as if you wanted it. Now this method is equally out of place, because we cannot entertain you here for the next fifteen days, much as we should like to do so. The secret of Grace's whereabouts must be hidden no more. There remains marriage by Special License—a ceremony permission to perform which can only be given by the Archbishop of Canterbury himself. It allows the contracting parties to be married anywhere they please: in a church, or on a high road, or within a private dwelling, or at the top of Dartmoor. A priest of the Church of England and two witnesses complete the entire necessary conditions. How witnesses can witness a wedding in the dark is doubtful; but they must do their best, and trust to their ears if not their eyes.
"That document, beaming upon you there, is the Special License which will permit you to marry Miss Malherb. I have friends at Court. His Grace was easily convinced of the propriety of my application. And fate favoured me, for he loves your country with a Christian charity very proper in a primate. It was enough for him that you desired instantly to return home after your long incarceration, and that your future wife was both eager and willing to accompany you. Feel it, read it, touch it! Has it not the very odour of sanctity? All this have I done for you and for her. You see, I'm not quite the rascal you thought me.
"'I never bark when out of season,I never bite without a reason.'
Indeed, barking and biting are quite foreign to my nature."
Stark stared at the Special License without speaking.
"Still you find it difficult to believe in such a torrent of hard facts. There remains to point out the necessity for a speedy marriage. I supposed that you would be free a fortnight ago at latest. Consequently I named a date which will expire in two days. You must marry the day after to-morrow, if you can bring yourself to the ordeal so soon. You will stop here, I trust, or if not here, then at my lodge, which will be safer. As a leading man among the Americans, they'll seek you sharply. They might find you in my house; but in my lodge you will be safe. Now what say you? You must believe or not—all or none. Accept my simple good faith or reject it."
"Your honour upon it?"
"May I perish miserably, and vanish from among men, and from the Book of Life, if I am lying to you."
"It is enough! No false man would take such an oath as that."
Stark leapt to his feet, pressed the other's hand and shook it warmly.
"God reward you for your deed, Peter Norcot. Generations to come shall bless you as I do. I believe you with all my heart. I trust you with all that makes life best living to me."
"So be it. Now get you gone. For safety I'll hold this document until after your marriage. I have planned the ceremony for the morning of the day after to-morrow. If possible you shall speak to Grace to-morrow, but Malherb has his spies here, and you'll be followed too. Therefore we must run no risk. See John Lee and send him about his business once and for all; next repair to my lodge, where you are expected. There a meal awaits you. Keep close within doors meantime, and I shall come again to you after dark."
A few moments later Norcot himself took the American to his door, showed him the lodge at his avenue gates not a quarter of a mile distant and left him there.
Then he returned to his study, lighted a taper and carefully destroyed the Special License by fire.
"A neat enough copy," he said, as it curled and flamed and vanished; "so like the real thing that a man may be forgiven for calming his mind through the perception of his senses."
Next Norcot went to his desk and drew therefrom another document in most respects resembling the first. But it was set out upon thicker paper and the seal was of black wax, not red, as in the case of the destroyed forgery.
Meanwhile Stark met Lee, and the hollow unreality of his story fell sinister and threatening upon John's ear.
"You don't believe this nonsense," he asked simply when the tale was told.
"Every word of it! He has taken a solemn—a terrific oath. He is a man of the highest honour, or I never yet met with one!"
"You can credit these unheard-of deeds and believe that he performed them simply that you may get what you wanted?"
"Not so. 'Tis all done for her sake. He loved her. Even in losing her, he shows the noble character of his love for ever. His one thought is her happiness."
"I will never believe it. This is a gigantic lie. There's some foul deed hiding behind it, and you will live to see that I'm right."
"We shall not agree there, John. Don't think that I undervalue your great services to me. Don't think that I can ever forget your grand loyalty to your mistress. But in this matter, as a man of the world not lacking for sense and experience, I know that I am right. I am not clever, yet I feel that I can trust him. Norcot is a rare figure; but it heartens one, it enlarges one's ideas to know that such men exist. He himself is loved elsewhere; and now he desires to make us happy. I have told you all; I need only add that I believe him as I believe in Heaven, and I trust him absolutely. He has always been a true friend to me. For the present I remain here at this lodge, and on the night after our marriage, if the doctor allows it, I convey my wife back to her home. Now what shall I do for you, John Lee? The best can only be a shadow of what you have done for me."
"You're wrong; you're madly wrong! Where is Miss Grace herself? Did he tell you that?"
"No; but I gathered that she is in his house."
"Go your way then, and ask me no questions, for I shall go mine. You are mad in this and will live to repent such trust bitterly. His life—his whole life and behaviour towards her cry on my side."
"You forget his past behaviour to me. Is that to count for nothing? He has always wished me well. For you, John, I have to thank you for much," he said; "for much, much more than I can ever pay you back; yet now I ask for another favour. I am older than you, and perhaps more experienced in the ways of men. I am not deceived in Peter Norcot. At any rate, the future now lies with me. Let me ask you to renounce the affair entirely from this moment, and leave the rest to me. If I am content, you should be also."
"Never! What do I care for you, or Norcot either? 'Tis only her that I care for; only her I'm here for. Go your way, but don't dictate to me. I'll do what I can for her against you both; and though fifty thousand Norcots took their oath that they meant you fair, I'd not believe one of 'em. There's no truth in that man. He's trapped her for himself—not for you. Oh, how clear it is to me! I was the bait to bring her here; now Providence has made me bring you; and in some dark, magic way this devil will make you serve his turn too."
"Go!" said Stark, solemnly and sternly. "I mourn that you can so misread an honourable man. I am not concerned with his methods now, but his motives. He planned to lead my love into happiness by a rough road. I came in the nick of time. He has expected me. Do you understand?He expected me! He has foreseen every step in these events. I bid you leave my affairs in my own hands henceforth, John Lee; and I say here from my heart that, do what you will, you are my friend for ever."
"So be it then. Follow your own fool's way and see whether it will lead you back to the War Prison, or into the arms of Grace Malherb, or into your grave. And I, too, will go my way. Her happiness is my life; not you, or any man living, shall deny me to strive and fight for her to the end. I marvel and mourn for you. Your wits are dulled by the cruel prison yonder. Your senses are held captive by this man."
He spoke sorrowfully, then turned away, and before Stark had time to beg for patience and consideration, John Lee hastened into the woods and disappeared.
Mr. Norcot and his kinsman, the clergyman, were walking together upon a broad terrace before the wool-stapler's dwelling-house. They had dined, and now they smoked their pipes out of doors, for the spring night was mild and clear.
Not twenty yards distant, behind the lattice of a little summer-house, a man lay concealed; and it chanced that both speakers came within earshot of him, for the minister, feeling his dinner, proposed to enter the summer-house and sit down there awhile.
"'Tis your port wine," he said. "What has a poor priest to do with such liquor?"
"He shall have much to do with it, and be a poor priest no more after to-morrow."
They sat down within two yards of John Lee. Convinced that Grace must be hidden here in Norcot's house, John was endeavouring to learn her apartment, that when nightfall came he might communicate with her. Through four-and-twenty hours, since his last interview with Cecil Stark, he had toiled without success to find her; to-night he was determined to succeed, for early on the morrow the wedding would take place, if Stark spoke the truth.
And now kindly chance threw to him information more valuable than the hiding-place of Grace Malherb. A wedding, indeed, was to be celebrated; but Peter Norcot, not the American, would be bridegroom.
The first words that fell upon Lee's ear were spoken by the clergyman.
"'Tis a very subtle piece of work; a wonderful stroke; yet I wish you had broke it to any man but me, Peter."
"My dear Relton, you're not in an after-dinner humour. 'Twas not that you drank too much port, but too little. I've a hundred dozen of that vintage—put down by a loving father thirty years ago. Well, how like you the thought of five-and-twenty dozen? 'Tis emphatically a clergyman's wine. What potential tone—what tolerance—what breadth of view—what a fine literary flavour to your discourses all lie there!"
"To do evil that good may come—a parlous doctrine."
"Most true. I'll go further and say a damnable doctrine. I'm asking you to attempt no such thing. You are invited to marry me to a woman in the dark—a literal, not a spiritual darkness. She refuses to marry me in the daylight; therefore it is proposed to put this trick upon her for her own welfare. The young fellow from Prince Town comes to help us with his presence. He is sent, as the ram was sent to save Isaac's life. But I do not sacrifice him: I merely send him back whence he came. This girl of ours thinks that she loves him; and she believes that she will marry him to-morrow. Well, you know better."
"My part is a dastard's part."
"What? To say 'Cecil Stark' in the marriage service when you mean 'Peter Norcot'! What nonsense! As soon as the daylight bursts in upon our little ceremony, you have only to forget your error."
"I fear the issue."
"Then you fear a handsome income—a sum which to a man of your abilities and ambitions should mean power. By assisting at this pious fraud, you assure the welfare of a good but headstrong girl, and you oblige me. From being a penniless parson you rise to wealth and dignity. You——"
"What of Cecil Stark?"
"Mr. Stark broke prison very improperly, and to-morrow morning, as he quits the matrimonial chamber, a file of soldiers will be waiting to take him back again. His subsequent story of a cock and bull no one will heed. Leave that. Have you the service by heart? 'Tis a great feat."
"I know it well enough."
"There can be no prompting, recollect. The darkness of Egypt was light compared to the darkness in my study to-morrow. The grave is not darker. Both he and she are prepared for that. She thinks that his eyes suffered in an explosion of gunpowder at Prince Town; he believes that she was seriously injured while coming here. By a closely shrouded way they enter the room. Gertrude will bring Grace; I follow with Stark. You are already there to meet us. In the pitchy dark I hold Grace's hand and stand beside her; Stark holds Gertrude's hand and thinks that she is Grace. You'll do your part as fast as may be. Then Stark, believing himself married, comes out into the daylight with me, and is packed off to Prince Town in a jiffy, while, soon afterwards, Grace and I bowl off to Exeter in a barouche and four. She will think I am taking her home; and then for the first time she will learn that she is my wife."
"May it so fall out!"
"It cannot fail. I've forgot nothing. There are, of course, a thousand minor problems and subordinate possibilities; but all have been provided for."
"You and your wife vanish; Stark returns to prison; and I am left. How if an infuriated father comes to challenge me?"
"Tut, tut! You are too poor a thing for this business. Well, what then? You have but to say that at my desire you conducted a legal and proper service; you have but to show the marriage license that I leave behind me. You speak of a straight-forward wedding in honest daylight, and the bride willing. Concerning Cecil Stark you know nothing. Gertrude and my man, Mason, the other witness, substantiate you; and soon there will come a dutiful letter from Grace——"
"You believe that?"
"Once married all is well. The honeymoon will throw a genial light upon duty. She forgives me in a week and even begins to understand me. There's only one cloud: I couldn't get what I wanted out of old Lovey—a certain amphora. She's much too clever for me. Your pipe is out."
John Lee had heard every syllable of this conversation; and he had forgotten himself so completely that now, dead to danger, he was as close to the speakers as he could get, with his face pressed to the lattice of the summer-house. Suddenly Relton Norcot struck a light, and before Lee could duck his head the flame had touched his eyes and revealed him. Peter was quick, but the other man had the advantage. There was a crash in the shrubbery, then a figure broke cover, sped into the grass-lands below, and vanished.
"We are undone!" cried the clergyman. "I knew this could not come to good. Oh, Peter, my reputation!"
"Peace, you silly sheep, this is no time for babble! All's yet well. I marked the man and know him. 'Tis the gipsy, John Lee, and I can deal with him. The problem's simple. He runs to get at Stark; but that can be prevented."
"For God's sake, let us go in. I'm struck with an ague."
"That such a worm should have power to wield the sacraments of God! Come you in, and hasten to my sister. Bid Gertrude summon Mason and go down to the factory at once. Grace Malherb must be under this roof as quickly as possible. Let them fetch her now. I cannot trust her there longer, with that rogue on the prowl. I'll deal with Lee once for all. Hasten, hasten, my bold jellyfish; your fortune depends on't!"
Relton Norcot, trembling in every limb, entered the house, while Peter, familiar with the land, and well knowing that he could reach the lodge where Cecil Stark lay, much more quickly and directly than was possible for John Lee, now proceeded thither, knocked at the window of the little room in which the American resided, mounted the sill and soon stood beside his guest. Stark was already impatient.
"But eight hours, friend. Then your pearl is yours—the wealth of Ind! And you'll lunch at Fox Tor Farm with your stepfather! I wonder a little what wine Malherb will bring out of his cellar!"
"Eight hours—eight hours."
"When the stable clock beats six and the pheasants call in the pine-woods yonder, we shall expect you at the house. Farewell until morning. And one word of caution. Lie very low to-night. They're hunting for you. They have set a price upon you. A file of soldiers is in Chagford. It seems that they much resent your departure at the Prison, for many of the Americans cry that you were slain when the soldiers fired, and the authorities cannot easily disprove it since your disappearance."
"I'll disprove it instantly after that I am married."
"Until then bury yourself. John Lee's responsible for this, I fear. He means us both mischief now. Poor devil—he dared to love her too."
Norcot departed, whistled for a woodman, and was presently placing his servants all round his lodge, with injunctions to prevent any meeting between Cecil Stark and a stranger. He had offered a handsome reward for the capture of Lee, and was about to return to his house, when from the stables came unexpected news.
A groom with a broken head appeared roaring for his master; and, confronted with Peter, he explained that sudden noises had brought him into the stable-yard, to find a strange man hastening out of it on Norcot's own black horse, 'Victor.'
"I knowed un in the dark by his white stocking, an' I said, 'Be that you, maister?' But the man made no answer, so I got in the way an' axed him who the dowl he was, an' wheer he might be off to. With that he fetched me such a whisterpoop 'pon the side of the head that I went down like a man shot, an' afore I could get up again he was off."
"So much the better," said Mr. Norcot. "Keep quiet about it for the present. I know the rascal, and I know where he has gone. He'll come back in the morning."
Then, confident that Lee was safe for the present, Peter hastened off to the wool factory, that he might assist to bring Grace to his house.
Lee, indeed, was far away. He had guessed that Norcot would forestall his approach to Stark, and though John tried hard to get to the lodge, he knew nothing of the nearest way, and after running a roundabout course of a mile, finally found himself in the stable-yard. This accident inspired him to another action, and he determined to take a horse and ride over to Fox Tor Farm for Maurice Malherb. It yet wanted two hours of midnight, and it might be possible to get Malherb to Chagford by dawn. Lee himself hoped to perform his journey and be back again while it was yet dark. He carried his plan out instantly, to the detriment of the stableman who attempted to stop him, and soon, with a bridle, but bare-backed, he sped over the nightly Moor, while a glory of rapid motion brought joy to his heart under the darkness. It was long since he had felt a good horse between his legs.
Grace Malherb meantime, suspecting nothing, entered the web of the spider and longed for her marriage hour to come. She beamed upon the house party assembled, was the soul of graciousness to Peter Norcot, counted the hours that still kept her from her father and mother, and mourned only one circumstance; that her sweetheart's wounded eyes would never see the sun shine upon his wedding day. It was understood by poor Grace that Cecil Stark must remain at Chagford until well again; while as soon as the marriage ceremony was ended, Peter had promised to escort her home. She was marvellously reconciled to the wool-stapler. From her first indignation and passion he had weaned her day by day, and as with the subtlest ingenuity he had developed his fairy story and lent to it the colours of reality, Grace at last believed and blessed his name. The natural desire of the lovers that they should meet, Norcot overruled by many pleas. Each continued to believe the other blind; each had seen the forgery; for the rest, oral messages passed between them and were carefully garbled to fit the pretended circumstances. With hyperbolical gleam and glitter did Peter do his work, and throw an enchanted mantle of verity over his enterprise. Actual genius marked his operations; he made the fantastic solid, the imaginary real. His masterpiece rang true; it was enduring and full of vitality. He had, of course, to do with a man and a woman plunged deep in love; and his deception was absolute.
Now there remained to settle with John Lee, and Norcot prepared to undertake that task himself. Very accurately he gauged John's intentions, guessed his destination, and calculated the hour of his return. Once back again, he would risk all things to communicate with Stark; but he might be met upon the way, and stopped once for ever before he did further mischief. Peter planned his operations to an hour; saw Grace settled with his sister; prepared his study so that no ray of light could penetrate it; directed Relton Norcot exactly where to take his place; said a final word to his man, Mason; and then returned into the darkness.
"He will come much faster than Malherb," reflected the wool-stapler, "and, yes—it may be necessary."
He went back into the house, visited his dressing-room, and brought from it a double-barrelled pistol.
There was but one way by which John Lee would return: down a narrow lane which separated Norcot's estate from the domains of the Manor; and here the wool-stapler stationed himself. It was still dark, and after a patient hour, the night wind quickened Peter's wits. Upon the first glimmer of dawn, he asked himself a question.
Why wait a moment longer? Why not escape this simple difficulty by a little haste?
In an instant he determined to call up Cecil Stark and precipitate the marriage. But his intention came too late. A horse's hoofs already clattered down the lane, and the shadowy figure of a mounted man approached. Whereupon Peter Norcot leapt into the path from a high hedge, where he had taken his position. He lifted up his voice and called to the horse; and 'Victor,' knowing his master's tones, stood still.
John Lee had fulfilled his task, and was now returning from Fox Tor Farm; while, many miles behind him, followed Maurice Malherb with Thomas Putt and Mark Bickford, at the best pace they could command. All three were mounted, and all three were well armed.
Dawn, like a red slant gash on a dead man's throat, surprised Putt and Bickford where they waited for their master on the way. They had started before him, for Malherb's saddle-horse was at grass and had to be captured after Lee brought his news.
"I shall, however, quickly overtake you," Mr. Malherb said to his men. "Travel by Sherberton; hold over Believer Tor; then pass under Dagger Farm and cross East Dart at the pack-horse bridge."
These things the labourers had done and now hesitated to proceed to Chagford without Maurice Malherb. They dismounted, therefore, by the old 'cyclopean' span that still crosses Dart at Postbridge, sheltered themselves and their steeds against the sting of the air and listened where Dart sang to the savage dawn. Young green things of the year shivered in the morning chill; nature still slept; the men got under a flaming brake of spring furze that made light in the grey; then, waiting there, they heard the clink of iron-shod feet on granite and knew that somebody was crossing the bridge. A heron floated upon broad wings down stream; and in the marshes at hand a cock curlew woke and uttered strange, bubbling cries of warning to his mate.
One tall, thin figure appeared upon the bridge, and Putt observed it.
"What a maypole!" he cried, "yet how a minces in his going for such a long-legged un!"
"I'll wager the man's up to no good at this hour. Us have both got hoss pistols: let's stop him! 'Twill warm us," exclaimed Bickford.
Thomas agreed, and together they leapt from their hiding-place and blocked the passage of the bridge. Then Putt, at close quarters, stared into the great white face frowning down upon him and nearly fell into the water.
"God's Word! 'Tis a ghost from the grave," he shouted. "'Tis the old varmint us buried after Christmas, come to life an' got into breeches!"
But Mark Bickford had no imagination.
"If she'm alive, us never buried her," he declared. "Cock your pistol an' hold it to her head."
"You stand still, Lovey Lee, an' give an account of yourself," commanded Putt. "Since you'm alive, I don't care a farden for you."
"That ban't my name," answered the ancient woman gruffly. "Stand by an' let me pass, or I'll knock 'e in the river, the pair of 'e!"
"Her can talk an' tell lies, so her's no more a ghost than us," said Bickford. "Now what be you doing here, an' where be you going, you bad old devil?"
Lovey drew herself up and regarded the two clowns with indignation. She felt it hard that at this critical moment of her life such rubbish should beard her thus. All had fallen out as she desired. Her wealth was secure. In her flat bosom she carried two thousand pounds of paper money provided by Peter Norcot; upon her back was a little box strapped tightly there. For the rest she bore a heavy stick and was now upon her way to Ashburton. Plans were completed for her escape. She would proceed to Dartmouth and thence to France.
Perceiving that she had been recognised, the miser attempted no further evasion. These peasants must be bought and that instantly. Putt was angry with Lovey for the tricks that she had played on honest men; but Bickford appeared merely curious to learn her recent history.
"They wanted to hang you, and still want to," declared Tom. "But now the world thinks as master killed you."
"Let it go on thinking so," said Lovey. "What matter what the world thinks, my bold heroes, so long as you've got money in your purses? I be busy just now, so let me go my way, please, without more speech."
"A man's purse be his stronghold as you say," answered Bickford; "an' mine's nought better'n a shelled peascod this many days; but since there's twenty pound on your head, me an' Putt here will make ten apiece by you."
"Ten pound was offered, not twenty," answered Lovey.
"I say 'twas twenty."
"You'm a cruel devil to rob an old woman."
"'Tis the State will pay, not you," answered Bickford.
"An' you'm the cruel devil," retorted Putt—"you as have brought Malherb's head so low—to the grave a'most."
"Money's money," repeated Bickford, "an' if you've got any, Mother Lee, now be the time to spend some. Us know you'm made of it, for all your rags. What'll you pay us not to take you along to Prince Town?"
Lovey wrung her hands.
"You silly zanies—me—look at me—clad in a dead man's clothes! Money—a few poor pounds scraped together—God He knows how few. An' a long life of starvation to come by 'em."
"What's in thicky box?" asked Bickford abruptly.
"Nought—a mere glass toy kept for old sake's sake. A thing not worth a rush but for memory. An' since you ax for money, I'll give 'e half I've got, though 'tis like giving 'e my life's blood—a five-pound note to share."
Her greed, even in this tremendous crisis, overreached her wit. A round sum had dazzled the labourers, and they had doubtless accepted it and let her depart, only to regret their conduct too late. But this miserly offer ruined Lovey Lee. Bickford was of a grasping nature also. Now greed met greed, and both man and woman were presently punished.
"'Tis much too little. Us want to see what be in that box slung so snug on your shoulder."
"An' see I will," added Tom Putt.
"My solemn word of honour, 'tis no more than a little trashy joney of glass—a keepsake of one long dead. Not worth a shilling to anybody but me. Leave that. Since five won't satisfy you I'll make it ten. Then I'm a ruined woman."
"Give me that box—else I'll take it," said Putt firmly.
"Not that, not that; if you'm a man, don't touch it. 'Tis everything to me, nought to nobody else. I was lying—I was lying to 'e. I be in such a hurry. I've got more than I said—just a few pounds. Fifty-fifty sovereigns in paper—twenty-five apiece to let me go my way."
"That's better," said Putt. "I'll close at that if you will, Mark."
"Not me—not now. Her's lying still. Us have got her, now us'll squeeze her. Us must see what's in that box—money or no money. I lay 'tis stuffed with diamonds."
"Oh, Christ!" cried the woman. "What 'tis to deal with two pig-headed fools! Here—here be a hundred pounds—take it and let me pass."
She turned from them, dived in her breast and flourished the notes before their faces.
"Pretty money seemingly, but not enough," said Bickford. "I lay there's thousands hid where your damned old heart beats. An' not a penny of it but what was stolen."
"An' I be more set than ever on seeing the inside of that there li'l box," added Putt stolidly. "An' I be going to, or God's my judge, I'll take you to Prince Town, Lovey Lee."
The woman stared helplessly upon them.
"There ban't no law on your side," continued Putt calmly; "for you'm dead an' buried in Widecombe churchyard; and a human, once dead an' buried, have no more rights than a bird in a tree. So you'd best to open that box afore I take it away from 'e for good an' all."
Fire flashed in Lovey's eyes and her teeth closed like a trap. More than her life was now at stake; yet she stood powerless before this determined man.
"Will you swear to give it back to me, afore the God of Doom?" she asked, drawing the box round from her shoulder.
"I'll swear to nought. If 'tis only a glass image, it be useless to any sensible chap, an' you can keep it. But if 'tis watches or gold trinkrums, then you've stole 'em, an' we'll take 'em for ourselves," declared Bickford.
"See for yourself, then, you cursed clods! An' come off this bridge. If it fell!"
The woman's anger died as she opened her box; her hands trembled; her man's hat had fallen off, and tattered wisps of white hair hung round her head. She sat down, cowered over the treasure, and revealed her sex in this attitude.
Lovey opened her box with utmost care, and from a close packing of sphagnum moss, brought forth the Malherb amphora. Putt took it clumsily, and she screamed to him to be cautious. Bickford then examined the box, and reported that nothing more remained in it.
"Then give my poor vase back for the love of your mothers," she cried. "You see 'twas solemn truth I spoke to 'e."
"First, there's the matter of money," answered Bickford. "What money be you going to part with? You'm made of banknotes by the look of it. Maybe you'll never get the chance of setting up two young men in life again."
"If I could get my hands on your dog's throat!"
"You can't; an' best be civil, or you'll repent it," answered Bickford.
Then he took the amphora from Putt's hand, walked twenty yards away, and set it up carefully on a rock.
"You said fifty each," said Mark as he returned. "I lay you meant more." Then the labourer broke off and addressed his companion. "Ban't no sin to drag money out of this old mully-grubs; for you know so well as me that she never come by an honest penny in her life. Now I've slicked up her trash 'pon yonder rock, an' I be going to chuck stones at it till she comes to my figure; and sarve her damn well right, for she's bad to the bone—as all Dartymoor knows."
Lovey shrieked and Thomas Putt answered judicially—
"To terrify some money out of her be a fair thing. 'Tis payment for what master suffered."
The woman screamed and groaned. She fell at their feet, clasped their knees, grovelled, uttered blessings and cursings, raved until a steam hung over her lips in the chill air, called upon God and the devil to help her.
"What's the figure then?" asked Putt.
"Five hunderd—five hunderd pound this instant between you. For your sweethearts for——"
In answer, and before Putt, who was well satisfied, could stop him, Mark Bickford had flung a stone at the amphora. The pebble started to the right, came round true with the throw, and missed the precious vessel by inches. The woman followed the flight, and a lifetime of agony passed over her in the space of seconds. Then she turned upon Mark and poured forth a flood of appalling curses.
"Ban't five hunderd enough?" asked Thomas calmly.
"No, Tom, it ban't," answered the avaricious Bickford. "This here's the chance of a lifetime. Us'll be made men or mice, for evermore."
Putt picked up a stone.
"I do think she'm rich enough to part with a bit more," he said. "Now I be going to have a chuck, an' I'm a better shot than him, ban't I, Mark?"
"Yes, you be."
"Three hunderd—three hunderd—four hunderd—four hunderd for each of 'e. I'd tear my heart out for 'e if I could, you greedy, cruel dogs. Spare it, spare all that an old woman have got in the wide world. If you knew—if——"
Putt flung a stone and took care to do no harm. His missile fell into the river a yard wide. Then Bickford prepared to fling again.
"Third time be lucky," he said. "I'll bet you all the old bitch's money as I scat un to shivers now."
"Four fifty for each of 'e—four hunderd an' fifty each; an' it do leave me picked clean to the bone."
She plunged her hand into her breast and dragged out a pile of notes.
"Take it an' leave me to starve, you sarpints; you as rob widows' houses. Take it; an' may it turn to hell fire an' burn your entrails for everlasting!"
"Four fifty's good enough for me," said Putt.
"Bah! you'm a fool," answered Bickford. "You don't know how to pick a nut when you've got one. Leave her to me. I say five hunderd apiece—that, or this stone goes."
"Before the eyes of Heaven, I haven't got it! Strip these dead man's rags off me; you'll find no more. 'Tis every farthing I have in the world—a long life's bitter earnings!"
The labourer, with an eye upon her, drew his hand slowly back to throw again. For a second Lovey's fingers fluttered involuntarily towards her breast; and Mark Bickford saw and laughed in triumph.
"Ha, ha, ha! I knowed I was right. Yet I'll send it along; just to bring the old hell-cat to reason."
He flung again, without meaning to injure the amphora, but hit the rock on which it stood and missed the treasure by a hair's breadth. At the same moment Maurice Malherb's horse appeared round the rock, and the glancing stone very nearly struck Mr. Bickford's master.
"You vagabonds! What means——?" cried out Malherb.
Then he broke off and stared at an object near his elbow. There, under red dawnlight, glittered the Malherb amphora, and the frank yet lurid illumination awoke new beauties in that dazzling gem. Each Cupid blushed with life as he peeped from the acanthus leaves. For a moment the master glared at his treasure while Bickford and Putt shivered. Then Lovey Lee, perceiving, indeed, that hope was dead, uttered a mournful howl. The sound wakened Malherb from his trance. He dismounted, picked up the amphora, and came forward.
"What man is that?" he asked; "and what are you knaves doing, loitering here?"
Then he approached Lovey, and knew her, and his servants saw him turn pale. He dropped back a pace and the amphora fell out of his hand—into soft heather where it took no hurt. A moment later his face turned cherry-red and his eyes rolled up. Putt rushed forward, but the danger passed and Malherb's brain resisted the shock.
"I must not rejoice too soon, or I may perish. And yet—speak. This is a woman—the woman of all women!"
"'Tis true, your honour's goodness. Lovey Lee, begging your pardon; her as you thought you'd properly knocked 'pon the head."
"An' she'm wrapped up in fifty-pound notes, your honour," said Bickford, "an' I hope your honour won't let her keep 'em from two honest men, for 'tis stolen money, an' her was going to——"
"Peace!" thundered Malherb. "Take yourselves and your buzzing behind me."
He had not removed his eyes from Lovey Lee's face. His mind and soul were there.
Now he approached her and spoke gently.
"Tell me," he said. "Let me hear your voice. Do not fear. Are you Lovey Lee—she whom I struck down and left for dead a thousand years ago on Cater's Beam?"
Lovey calculated the chances. She was broken now, for at last the Malherb amphora lay in the power of its rightful owner. Unconquerable hate gleamed in her eyes, but her voice sounded meek and mild.
"A cruel blow, Malherb, an' me so old. Yet I agged 'e to it. Forgive my evil tongue. I'm a woman still, for all my wickedness. I'll kneel to 'e; I'll pray to 'e; I'll lick thy boots. I've paid for my sins, God knows that; don't send me to the gallows, after all these days."
"You are Lovey Lee?"
"Ess—that forlorn wretch. Look!"
She pulled back her hair and he saw his handiwork.
"Forgive a coward's blow, woman."
"'Twas the hand of God, not yours," she answered. "When you cracked my head, you let a thousand devils out. I bless your name—even I——"
"This day is sacred for evermore," he said very slowly. "To many you have brought darkness and sorrow; to me you stand here now a messenger of light from Heaven—an angel of good tidings. Henceforth may your name be blessed. Alive and not dead!"
The labourers stared, and Lovey cast them a bitter glance that penetrated to their rude consciousness. Their hopes, at least, were shattered.
She pointed to the amphora, where it lay at Malherb's feet.
"They've stabbed me to the soul and taken half my remaining years from me. A moment more and it would have been splinters in the river—my life and my heart's blood."
Maurice Malherb stared at the glass bubble. To him it was an atom of inconceivable insignificance in the face of this stupendous discovery that Lovey lived.
"Her snake's life be wrapped up in that toy, your honour," said Bickford, "an' I'll swear to God she said it weren't of no account to anybody but her."
"'Twas true. If you'd cracked it, my life would have cracked with it. But now—'tis mine no more. My light's out; my thread's spun. I only ax that I may hold it in this old hand once again; then I'll give it to 'e, an' vanish out of man's sight for ever."
This she said meaning to destroy the vase, to dash it into a thousand fragments at Malherb's feet and take the consequences. He did not guess at her malignant purpose. Her harsh, high voice was now the music of Heaven to his ear; the lizard life in her wrinkled carcase oozed like balm upon his sight and made him young. He feasted his senses upon her, even while he doubted his senses; and in spirit uttered a petition to his Maker that this might be no dream.
"Touch me, Lovey Lee," he commanded. "Hold my hand in yours, press upon it. I must feel your flesh warm; I must put my finger upon your pulse that I may know your heart is beating. You have risen from the dead and lifted me from worse than death. Give me your hand."
She held out to him her gnarled, huge paw. It was wrinkled and bony; each great artery ran like a blue cord under the brown skin; each black nail was sharp as an eagle's claw.
"Heed your going," she said, "else that treasure there will fall under your heel—the amphora."
He saw her eyes burning upon it, and a sudden, mad, Malherb impulse took him.
"You have given me my life once more, shall I rob you of yours again? No! Take up that trash and begone. Bear witness she lives, you men. Now depart, and let that glass—priceless as the world goes—be my payment to you. 'Tis little enough for what I gain this day—light, air, life, Heaven, the right to walk the earth and to look the world in the face. An innocent man! Oh, God of Mercy, I thank Thee!"
With a strange cry, as of some mother-beast that recovers her lost young, the ancient creature fell upon her treasure, hid it away quickly and disappeared, like a shadow, behind the mist. Not a word she spoke of thanks nor of blessing; but she gathered up the amphora and melted away into the morning air, like some fantastic exhalation of dawn that vanishes at sunrise.
Neither did Malherb speak again. He mounted his horse, watched Lovey depart, and then, forgetting, as it seemed, the men behind him, galloped fast upon his way. Exultation marked his movements. His attitude was of a boy that rode to hounds, liven the gravity of the present enterprise was for a time powerless to make him grave.
The men behind him felt that their master was struggling with a full heart. They knew that had he been alone, Malherb had shouted to the sun and wakened the echoes of the ancient hills with thanksgivings. The nature of his joy they failed signally to apprehend. As for Bickford and Putt, their own state was the reverse of gracious.
"I can't go so fast," said Mark to Tom. "Us have made damned fools of ourselves to-day—got within reach of hundreds and missed 'em. I could tear my hair off. Blast the old witch!"
"'Tis fair payment for being so beastly greedy," answered Putt. "All your fault. If you'd took what she offered last, you'd have had it in your pocket now, instead of nought. Sarve you right."
"I ban't much in a mind to sit down under it, however," growled Bickford.
"No more be I, for that matter—only just let me think a minute."
After riding forward another hundred yards Mr. Putt stopped suddenly.
"My hoss have fallen lame," he said.
"Not she," answered Bickford. "Her goeth well as ever."
"I say she's lame," retorted the other. "Get you after master, best pace you can. I'll come presently. There's a stone in the mare's hoof."
Bickford's slow brains now perceived his friend's drift.
"You'll get the sack for it," he said, looking back into the valley where Lovey Lee had disappeared.
"No great matter if I did; but I shan't. When the man comes to his senses—why, that's the blessed jug all the fuss was about! 'Tis worth thousands of pounds."
"Halves wi' me," said Bickford.
"Shares, perhaps," answered Putt. "I ban't going to say 'halves'; I've growed rather sick of you since the morning."
In a moment Thomas turned on his tracks and Mark Bickford hastened after his master. Malherb never looked back, and the riders were already upon the high ground above Chagford and just about to enter that lane, where, two hours earlier, John Lee had met with Peter Norcot, when Bickford heard a galloping horse and saw that Putt was returning. At sight of Tom's countenance even his phlegmatic companion was staggered, for Putt presented a dismal and hideous spectacle. His breast was soaked with blood and four deep parallel gashes between white weals scored his face from brow to chin. His pink-rimmed eyes were bulging and one of his ears had swollen to ridiculous dimensions. But upon his back was a box that contained the Malherb amphora.
"Aw jimmery! you've got it!" cried Mark. "But, 'slife! she've torn your eyes out of your head!"
"Her tried to. I've fought a cargo of mountain cats. God knows how I've come out alive. But I didn't fire—not a shot; though sore tempted. I didn't kill her; she've done for herself. I catched her down nigh Drury Farm, and went for her without words. She seed my meaning in a flash. Curse! Never I heard such a hail of gashly curses; an' she come at me all ends up like a bulldog. Her nails was in my eyes afore I could draw breath; but I kept my seat while she tore an' scratched, an' grabbed the box; an' by good chance the strap gived way. Then she ran fifty yards after my hoss; an' then she knowed 'twas all up wi' her, an' stopped. 'Twas awful what comed after. Her heart cracked. I heard a sound like a woodpecker tapping, an' looked, an' seed her beating her head in with a gert stone. But she couldn't die that way, so she went to a rock an' flinged herself against it skull first, like a ram butting. An' then she rolled over, over an' over into the river. God's my judge I'd have saved her if it had been any other mortal she!"
"All that pile of paper money?"
"'Twas nought to her, after the vase was gone."
"All that good money!"
"Pulp by now. She'm dead this time, anyway, if she'm flesh and blood."
"I wish you'd took the money, all the same."
"You can go to hell an' ax her for the money," said Putt indignantly. "I've got this here thing for master—not you. You'm a miserly hunks, an' I hope you won't be a penny the better by this job, for you don't desarve to be."
As he spoke the men drew up to their leader, and all three riders trotted slowly down the steep lane which led into Chagford.
When John Lee saw Peter Norcot at his horse's head, he was well satisfied. That Norcot was determined he should not have any communication with Cecil Stark, John perceived, but he also knew that while Peter stood beside him here, no harm could befall Grace. To keep the man from returning to his house and his enterprise would answer Lee's purpose quite as well as speech with Stark.
"Excellently met," said Norcot. "I've waited long for you. I need not ask if 'Victor' carried you well. But you're growing too busy, John Lee. Now come aside and explain why you are so active in this business. Have a care, young man! You run into considerable danger."
"I don't fear you. And you know well enough the reasons that I am busy. You've hatched a piece of damnable knavery, and by God's goodness I overheard it. Stark trusts you; you've deceived his honest heart. But I never trusted you. Not one word of your wickedness surprised me."
"Well, plain speaking is good for the soul, my poor John. And any soul-prescription may be worth your attention just now, for, unless you mend your manners, I shall have to be short and sharp with you.
"'The dreadful reckoning; and men smile no more.'
You overheard me and my cousin. Was it all clear to you? Were there any gaps? You may as well know exactly what is going to happen since the affair interests you so deeply. Ask what questions you please, but be brief. Poor 'Victor'! You've made him gallop to-night."
Norcot tethered his horse at a gate; then he entered it and Lee followed him.
"Come into the Manor Woods. I can give you half an hour, no more. After that time our little play begins, and I am to be wedded to Grace Malherb, for better, for worse. You know all that."
"And Cecil Stark?"
"Stark, good soul, will play his part and press a wedding-ring upon my sister's finger. Then the light of day serves to show him Sergeant Bradridge and a file of soldiers patiently waiting for his sapient person to convey him back to Prince Town."
"Think better of it. Don't blast your own life and that of this man and woman. She will always hate you, as she always has."
"Advice! Well, take some from me. I cannot stop long, but——"
"Stop you shall, Peter Norcot! Not until you've killed me do you return to this knavery."
"I was afraid you'd take that view. I don't want blood on my hands to-day. Even I have my superstitions and sentiments. Consider; if you detain me how things must fall awry. It would be the play ofHamletwithout the Dane. Why, my fool cousin might even lose his head and marry 'em, if that was possible! A pretty conceit. She'll feel my hand in the dead darkness and think 'tis his. I am dumb and he speaks the answers. He'll feel my sister's hand and think 'tis hers. Gertrude is dumb, and Grace speaks the answers. But these things cannot be managed without me. I must get back at any cost. My wedding tour is planned. Better live to think of me and my happy bride upon the Continent than perish in this cold dawn. Death is so final."
"'Tis you shall die, for I will kill you rather than let you return now."
"The possibility of this attitude on your part had occurred to me, John Lee. Unfortunately for yourself, you have never understood me. I am no enemy to any living man. I wish the world well. But I, too, have my life to live, and those who intervene between me and my plans and purposes pay for their blunder. I will tell you something, since we have no witness. It may help you to comprehend me and draw you out of the jaws of death, wherein frankly you stand at this moment. I killed my late uncle, Norman Norcot. I took his gun while he sat in thought, and thrust it under his chin and shot him like a rabbit. Do you wish to follow him?"
Without answering, John Lee dashed forward at Norcot's throat; but Peter's hand, though in his pocket, was on a pistol trigger. He leapt swiftly aside, and before Lee could turn, the wool-stapler had fired into his body. For a second John stood shaking; then he sank forward and fell on his face. Frightened blackbirds fled shrieking, with shrill chink-chink-chink-chinketty-chink; the smoke arose and hung in a thin flat layer under the boughs of the trees.
"Lucky wretch!" said the murderer, looking down. "'Death is a morsel best bolted whole,' as divine Montaigne remarks. Naught is nastier to chew upon. May I go as easy when my turn comes!
"'Light lay the earth, John Lee, upon thy clay—That so the dogs may easier find their prey.'
Yes—Squire Yeoland's dogs, and his gamekeepers. It remains to plan your next appearance before I hasten on to my own."
He stood and reflected, then nodded his head quickly.
"They stand along the covert side at regular intervals, and happily I know how to find 'em. Rest there, 'thou wretched, rash, intruding fool,' until I've found what I seek."
He put up his pistol, then looked at his watch.
"How time flies!"
Turning round, Peter now plunged into the forest, and at a covert side, where a drive was cut through dense larch woods with undergrowth of furze and briar, he began to make search, and advanced, foot by foot, with the utmost caution. Each yard of the ground he scrutinised as though his own life depended upon it; and, indeed, the man's present quest did not lack for personal danger. Here, a yard within the pheasant coverts, were set spring-guns two feet above the ground. The countryside raged against these infernal engines, but at that date they were legal, and a man might place them in his own preserves if it pleased him to do so.