Norcot's purpose was now to discover one of these weapons and to drag John Lee before it. He then designed to discharge the gun into his victim's wounded side, and so leave the corpse for others to find. With utmost care he pursued his search; and presently he started back with an oath, for his foot actually scraped a wire, and, looking up, he saw the short, squat muzzle of a gun fastened to a young larch and pointing straight at his belly. Peter sweated at this escape. For a moment it unsteadied him. Then tearing down an ash sapling, peeling it, and sticking it beside the wire, he returned hastily where the dead man lay—thirty yards distant.
Now Norcot deliberately took off his coat and waistcoat, that they might escape all mark of this deed. Next, he bent down, grasped Lee under the armpits, gripped his own hands round the other's back, and began steadily to drag him where stood the peeled ash wand at the edge of the copse.
He had approached to within ten yards of the wire, and was turning his head to see his exact position, when a startling quiver ran through the inert mass he dragged along. Lee, though wounded to death, was not yet dead. His feet stuck to the ground, and Peter felt a pair of arms, limp until now, suddenly lifted and tightening round his waist. This unexpected spark of life galvanising a corpse shook him. His own breast was wet with the other's blood, for John bled from the lung; but he was still alive, and Norcot guessed at his vitality by the sudden tightening of the wounded man's arms round his neck. For answer he squeezed his wretched burden with a hug like a bear, whereon poor Lee relaxed his hold and his head fell forward again. But just as Peter had reached the wire and was about to drop the dying man in a line with the muzzle of the spring-gun, John's consciousness returned. He appeared to divine the enemy's intent, and for a moment his strength waxed and he struggled desperately. Drenched with blood and blinded by Lee's arm over his face, Peter started back, to be free of his foe, took him by the throat and hurled him to the ground with all his strength.
"Die!" cried the murderer. "Cease this struggling like a stuck pig and die decently. I——"
John had hold of the other's leg, but Norcot kicked him and tore himself free as he spoke. The force of this action, however, made Peter lose equilibrium. He stepped backwards, hit a hidden root, slipped his foot and fell heavily upon the wire of the spring-gun.
Lee, kicked in the face, had fainted; but he was out of the line of fire; and now he recovered consciousness in time to gaze about him and witness the end of Peter Norcot.
The unlucky wool-stapler, falling as he struck the wire, had received the charge, at close quarters, in his back. The shot, though intended to maim or wound, but not to kill, was, under these circumstances, and at this range, fatal. Moments separated Norcot from death. The stinging, red-hot agony of the blow did not deprive him of consciousness. Then, using his last breath, he cried aloud—
"Death and hell—done for! To leave life now! No luck! Tut—urg—gurg——"
And Lee, with fading eyes, saw Peter Norcot's life-blood choke him.
Thrice he writhed; thrice he beat the earth with his hands and fought for air; then he perished.
Cock pheasants began to crow in the coverts; and far away, a keeper, hearing gun-fire, put a whistle to his mouth and blew it.
Gertrude Norcot stood under the morning light, in misery and suspense, for the appointed time had passed; all was in readiness; only her brother tarried. Cecil Stark had been closeted in the darkened library with Relton Norcot for half an hour; the man Mason waited at the door; Grace Malherb, wild with impatience, and already frightened at the delay, asked a thousand questions, and was with difficulty prevented from leaving the drawing-room, where she waited with Gertrude.
Peter Norcot's sister stood irresolute and fearful. That Peter should be late on such a critical occasion was only to be explained by unlooked-for ill fortune. What to do she could not guess; possibility of action there was none; nor dared she speak to Relton, for he had his hands full with the American. Then, as she stood in the first clear sunshine of that day, came the sound of a galloping horse. It approached swiftly, and, not even waiting until the rider appeared, Miss Norcot, positive that her brother was close at hand, hastened into the house and bade Grace Malherb follow her as quickly as possible.
"At last Peter has returned," she said. "He will come after us in a moment. Without him we could not begin, for he is one of the witnesses of the marriage; but we may precede him now. Already I hear him in the hall. Hasten! And do not fear the dead darkness. It is vital to Mr. Cecil that no ray of light shall yet touch his eyes."
"Thank God that Peter is here, dear Gertrude. I began to fear a thousand things. Go in front and I will follow you close."
Gertrude hastened behind the heavy curtains that led to the study. Through successive folds of increasing gloom they appeared to penetrate; and then a door stayed their progress.
"Hold my hand now," said Miss Norcot. "Enter with me and let me shut the door quickly behind us. Do not speak yet, or let him know that you are here."
"Hark!" cried Grace. "Voices behind us—but not Peter's voice! Gertrude, it is father! No other man speaks so deep or roars so loud."
A great volume of sound echoed in the rear, and for a moment Gertrude Norcot lost her presence of mind.
"Something has happened to my brother," she said. "I feel it—I know it. He would be here if he had power to be here. Come quickly!"
She pushed Grace into the darkened room, followed her and locked the door.
"Peace," she said; "let no voice be lifted. We are in danger!"
Meanwhile Maurice Malherb, followed by Thomas Putt and Mark Bickford, had appeared before the dwelling of Peter Norcot, and become witnesses to strange sights. Upon one side of the building, standing at ease and evidently waiting for information from within, were Sergeant Bradridge and a dozen soldiers; while close at hand a barouche, with four horses and a postilion, drove slowly up and down.
Sergeant Bradridge saluted Malherb, but received no answering compliment.
"There's devilry afoot here!" cried the master. "We'll not wait to ring bells, I only pray we're in time. 'Twould match my usual fortune if the blessing that Heaven sent at dawn was to be followed by a crushing catastrophe in this affair. Follow close, my men, and use your weapons if occasion demands it."
He dismounted, while his blown horse, with outstretched legs, bent its head and panted hard. Then, banishing ceremony, Malherb entered the house, and his followers came close at his heels. Gertrude Norcot heard him bawl for Peter as she locked the door of the study. But none answered, and for a moment Norcot's sister regretted her action. She should have faced the furious father and, with an excuse, have led him from the house. She lacked her brother's intelligence and ready wit, however, and now the four waited in silence, while noises without approached and grew louder.
Malherb was raving aloud and tramping through the silent house.
"I'll leave no room unsearched! The scoundrel lied to me when last I came here—or his sister and that white-faced worm her cousin, did so. Come; be rough and ready. Fiends and furies! What trap of curtain on curtain is this? The house is a spider's web! Prime your pistols and fire 'em if any man stops you."
Malherb began tearing down the black hangings that separated him from the study; Bickford lent a hand. Behind them came Putt and his uncle, in hasty converse.
Sergeant Bradridge explained that he was here to capture Cecil Stark and take him back to the War Prison; while Thomas in few words told the news, and related how that Peter Norcot had stolen Grace Malherb from her home and was even now supposed to be wedding her against her will by special license.
"'Tis him an' the Lord Archbishop against Mr. Malherb an' me an' Bickford here; an' I'll back us," said Putt; "an' if you want to make him a friend for evermore, you'd better lend a hand to catch this here Peter Norcot; for if I know him, the man will take a darned lot of catching. He may have scented John Lee's work and be off a'ready."
"Close up!" ordered Malherb. "Here's a locked door; but I heard voices behind it. Stand by while I break it down, and help me to take him if he shows fight."
He fired his pistol into the lock of the door, blew it out, and then dashed into the pitchy darkness beyond.
He felt a woman against him, and Gertrude Norcot's voice was lifted.
"Stand back, Maurice Malherb; you are doing a wicked and a dangerous thing. My brother——"
"Where is he?—let him answer for himself. Who are here in this Egyptian darkness? Grace—Grace—speak! It is your father."
"Dear father—oh, listen, I pray you, and try to understand. All is well—all will be well. Peter has been most good and generous. He——"
"Light!" shouted Malherb. "Who can breathe in this inky air? Hold the door, Putt. Let no man escape while I make for the window and let in day."
"Her eyes, sir!" cried Cecil Stark. "For Heaven's sake have caution! It may mean eternal blindness for her!"
"Not my eyes, dear Cecil—yours, yours! Oh, father, his eyes!"
"Damn everybody's eyes!" roared the master. "There are foul things wriggling here—as we find under the upturned stone. But see 'em we must, to crush 'em!"
Stark interposed fiercely, and the men closed in the dark.
"You shall not, sir; you know not that Grace's eyes depend upon it for their recovery."
"Who the deuce are you? Not Peter——?"
"Cecil Stark. I am here to marry your daughter at Norcot's wish and hope."
"That Yankee again! Light, I say, or I shall go mad!"
The men reeled and crashed against the window.
Stark lost his adversary for a moment, and Malherb, feeling the curtains, tore them down, got to the shutter behind them, and by main force dragged it off its hinges and broke the bolt.
A great flood of light burst upon the room, and every eye was dazzled by the morning sunshine. Cowering in one corner, clad in his black robe and bands, sat Relton Norcot; Stark stood against Malherb and turned with a cry of horror to Grace as the daylight streamed upon her; while she in her turn hastened to him. The brown eyes fell upon the grey, and each saw that the other's were unharmed.
Gertrude Norcot spoke to Malherb.
"My brother alone can solve this apparent mystery," she said. "I pray you to withhold your judgment and your passion, Maurice Malherb, until Peter is here to speak and explain all for himself."
"I'm waiting for him. I've nothing to do with anybody else. Where is he? How comes it that he is not here to marry my daughter as he intended, the knave?"
"'Twas for me that he had plotted this romance," said Stark. "I cannot hear his name abused. The fault is all mine. I——"
"I'll hark to you later. For the present your business is with Bradridge here. This was what your admirable friend, Peter Norcot, had planned for you: a quick return to Prince Town. Nothing could be better, I trow. And now, my clerk——"
He turned to where Relton Norcot had been sitting, but the clergyman was gone. Unobserved he had slipped behind the curtains, got out of a window and disappeared.
"He's wise," said Malherb. "He feels that fresh air and daylight will best serve his purpose now. We shall find him anon."
Then he approached Grace and took her into his arms.
"Come what may, I'm in time. This is the greatest day of all my life. You shall hear about that. I could forgive the world—I could pardon all my enemies! But let those who know where Norcot bides hasten to him and bring him hither. He must answer for much. And answer to me he shall before I break bread. That he should prove a knave!"
"If evil has been done," said Gertrude Norcot, "remember that my brother is still absent. Do not wrong the absent, Maurice Malherb. Wait until he can speak for himself. Yet ill has without doubt overtaken him. Nothing but sudden tribulation can have kept him from us."
Her prophecy was scarcely uttered when the man Mason ran past Putt and entered the room without ceremony.
"Come," he said; "'tis all over with 'em—both. One be dead an' t'other dying. They'm bringing 'em 'pon hurdles. Keeper Rowe heard gun-fire, and at last, after searching in the spinneys above an hour, he found what had failed out there. Oh, my God!—all up with poor master! Dead as a nail, an' drowned in his own blood by the looks of it."
They hastened out upon the terrace, there to find the soldiers and a dozen working-men crowding round two hurdles. With a bitter cry Gertrude flung herself upon one, and pressed her arms about her brother. In the bosom of death he reposed; his features were ash-coloured; peace marked his countenance. Upon each of his eyes the labouring men had set a penny to hide them, but the coins fell off as his sister flung herself upon Norcot's corpse, and underneath, filmed with death, yet reflecting something of the vanished man himself, his blue eyeballs stared upwards through a glaze. They altered his expression and brought back to it a shadow of Norcot's eternal smile.
"Shot, your honour," said the keeper to Mr. Malherb. "The rights of it be hid, unless yonder man have got enough wind in him to tell it. Us found Mr. Norcot wi' a hole blowed through his poor back by one of them damned spring-guns; an' t'other be shot too—through the side. Doctor's coming, for I sent a lad after un; but how it all fell out us'll never know, onless this poor blid can say."
While he spoke, Grace knelt by John Lee, and he saw her and smiled. Her arms enfolded him. He had lived to rest his head upon her breast and feel her tears flow.
"John, John—dear John; you must not die! All is well—you must live. There was something hidden. We shall never know. He said that I was blind, and he told me that my love was blind. And you knew what the mystery was. Oh, if you could speak! But you mustn't try till you are strong again. Rest—shut your eyes—God will never let you die, dear John."
The man spoke faintly.
"Is Mr. Stark there?"
"Here; here's my hand holding yours, Lee. I know now that you were right. He is dead—but you were in the right. Forgive me for doubting. Your love guided you, mine only blinded me."
"I didn't kill him," whispered John. "I meant to do it; but he killed me. He was dragging me away because he thought me dead. But I had strength left—and he fell back. Then a gun fired and he died. I can't tell who shot him. Be you there, Miss Grace?"
"My arms are round you, dear John."
"He meant to wed you in the darkness. He told me so after I'd fetched the master. He told me all. Now Norcot's dead, for I saw him die. You're safe—quite safe."
Malherb and a physician were hanging over Lee, but his eyes had already grown dim and he did not perceive them. The medical man shook his head.
"Only a matter of minutes," he said. "'Tis wonderful that he's lived so long."
"John Lee," said Malherb. "You're dying, lad; you're going the road we all must go. But know that you were in time. My daughter is safe, as you say. All's out. You've done your duty, and, though the hand of God killed this man, 'twas you who were the instrument."
"You've died for us, John!" sobbed Grace. Her cheek sank down to his and she kissed him.
"A good way to die—some use—some use. 'Tis better'n I deserve—above my highest hopes. Yet often I dreamed I'd die for 'e. Mr. Stark?"
"I'm holding your hand, John."
"Love her—love her while your heart beats."
"God knows that I will."
There was a silence, then a sigh; then Malherb lowered John Lee's head.
"He's gone—a truer Malherb than many who bear the name. Let every honest man mourn him, for his life was a pure life and his end noble. He has saved our honour; he——"
The speaker broke off and stared where Grace was weeping in Cecil Stark's arms.
"What right have you——?" he asked.
"The right that man died for, sir. His love makes mine but pale, yet, for Grace's sake and for mine, he laid down his life. I would perish for him if I could bring him back to the living; but that cannot be. Therefore I will live to bless his name. I will strive to be worthy of his sacrifice."
"And you, daughter Grace?"
"I was stolen from you, my darling father; and I should have been stolen for evermore but for what has happened. I love Cecil and have loved him since I first saw him, so pale and weary from his struggle with the storm. You saved his life for me, father. And dear John died for us; his last gentle words——"
"I heard them as well as you," said Maurice Malherb slowly. "I understood them. Who could not understand them? There is a solemn obligation that attaches to the last wish of any good man. I am in his debt for ever. God forgive me, for I used him ill. Come hither, Stark. To-day the lightning of heaven would strike me if I spoke one harsh word, or brought one pang to any human spirit. The Almighty has blessed me; yet his ways are past our understanding. That you who are an American—yet—yet of English blood. And there are closer bonds even than those of country. How simple were the last words he spoke! Here you stand—you two. So be it. Take my girl's hand, Cecil Stark. And before Heaven, remember what that dead man, with his last breath, said to you—'Love her—love her while your heart beats.'"
Eighteen months after Peter Norcot and John Lee were laid to their rest in the dewy and tree-shadowed churchyard of Chagford, there arrived a post at Fox Tor Farm with two packets from a far country. For Annabel Malherb from her son-in-law, Cecil Stark, of Vermont, came one communication; and the second reached Mr. Richard Beer. His old companion and fellow-worker, Putt, had sent it.
After the catastrophe that terminated Peter Norcot's life, it is to be noted that Thomas Putt assumed a position of some prominence. Despite his family and his own straitened affairs, Malherb regretted the ancient Lovey's tragic end; but since she was now without further question dead and buried: at a cross road in a suicide's grave, the amphora returned to its owner; and Tom Putt, as the man responsible for this notable circumstance, received a very generous reward. With comparative wealth and the possibilities of a new country before him, Thomas accepted service under Cecil Stark, and when the young sailor returned to his own country, he took with him not only his bride, but also a white and a black attendant. Before the lover sailed for home, James Knapps had already returned in a cartel ship to his native land; but Sam Cuffee rejoined Stark as soon as the American procured his liberation; and Sam never lost sight of his master again.
At last the mournful mansions of Prince Town were empty and deserted; grasses and weeds blossomed where sorrowful feet had pressed their courts; the bats squeaked and clustered in their mighty corridors; decay and desolation claimed them all. Moor folk told how no sweet water would cleanse those floors of blood, how pestilence still lurked in the vaults and foul recesses, how shadows of mournful spirits here stalked together through the livelong night, wailed to the moon and only vanished when grey dawn disturbed them. Dark stories gathered above the empty War Prison, like crows around a corpse. Rumour hinted of secret graves and murders unrecorded and unguessed; the crypts gave up human bones to the searchers; unholy inscriptions and curses against a forgetful God stared out upon dark walls at the light of torches; signs of infamy, of evil, and of all the passion, agony and heartbreak of vanished thousands appeared; hoarded horrors came to light; a spirit of misery untold still haunted the mouldering limbo. Yet as time passed, the forces of Nature worked within these barred gates and toiled by day and night to sweeten and purify, to obliterate and cleanse. The west wind and the rain, the frost and the mist, the sunlight and the storm all laboured here. Torrents washed and hurricanes howled into every hole and alley; up-springing seeds and swelling mosses softened the old sentry-ways upon the ramparts; green things broke the cruel contours of the walls; rusting and shattered iron at a thousand windows grew red and dripped streaks of warm colour upon the weathered granite.
Now the War Prison has vanished, and its story is told. In the vast archives of human torment the narrative fills but a brief paragraph; and therein all that pitiful history, to the last secret tear and the last act of malice, to the last noble self-denial and unanswered prayer, is recorded, to endure for time.
Mr. Beer read his letter aloud after supper in the servants' hall.
"A very understanding man was Thomas Putt, though cunning an' tricky as a fox, as I always told him," declared Kekewich, from his seat beside the fire.
"An' larned to write since he went to America, seemingly," said Dinah Beer. "There was nought that chap couldn't reach when he gave his intellects to it."
"He starts off with some general good wishes for all the company at Fox Tor Farm an' his Uncle Bradridge, if we should chance to meet with him," began Beer. "Then he goes on upon affairs in general in these words."
Richard read from Putt's letter:—
"An' I be glad I didn't marry Mason's sister to Chaggyford, for to be plain, there's better here, an' a man of sense can have his pick of very fine maidens. But I ban't going to rush at 'em. I've got my own bit of ground rented from Mr. Stark, an' pretty soil it is too. The first crop of wheat I takes off it will more than pay the expenses of clearing! That'll make your mouths to water, I reckon. Such crops as come up I never did see or hear tell about, an' if anybody had told me there was such fat virgin land in the world, just natural with never a load of muck on it since the Flood, I should have said the man was a liar. An' there ban't no Duchy in Vermont! An' never a bigger-minded, more generous gentleman living than Mr. Stark. Thousands upon thousands of acres he've got. Blamed if I don't believe as you could put Dartymoor down in the middle an' lose it! He'm a great farmer; an' I've heard un say 'tis the best of the human crafts after sailoring. T'other sorts of business teach a man to be rich, an' powerful like, an' witty; but the land—where should us be without that? It keeps the world alive an' finds food an' clothes for all the humans on the earth."
"'Tis true," said Woodman. "An', what's more, I hold as the land be next to the Bible for keeping a man out of mischief—so long as he sticks to it. 'Tis the sticking does it. If Adam's self had but kept to his job——"
"Putt says a bit more; us can have a tell after," interrupted Beer. Then, amid real and lively interest, he narrated a matter with which, elsewhere, the master and his wife were also most deeply concerned.
Maurice Malherb sat and calculated the value of his next year's crop of wool. As usual, he set it as high as his hopes. He had sold the Malherb amphora for eighteen thousand pounds, and henceforth found himself and his farm in prosperous circumstances.
Now Annabel read slowly the budget from Cecil Stark. It was in the nature of a diary, and anon Malherb, pushing his papers and figures violently from him, spoke.
"For love of Heaven, leave that solid prosing, and look forward to the end. Grace—how is it with her? There should be great news. But he's so balanced, so self-contained, so methodical. He'll set things in their proper order though the heavens fall. Look on—look on to the end!"
"He writes from day to day, dear Maurice."
"Let him. We need not read so. Turn the pages quickly."
Mrs. Malherb obeyed, glanced forward, then uttered a joyful cry and dropped the budget.
"A boy—a precious little boy; and our sweet one well—quite well—before the letter sailed. 'Gloriously happy,' he says."
"I knew it! Pick up the letter. A boy! They have called him Maurice Malherb? That is certain."
She read again; then shook her head.
"Not so?" he asked with a heightened voice. "Then 'tis 'Malherb'—just the name. Yet I could have wished——"
"No, dear heart. They have not called him Malherb."
He started and flushed.
"Stark's name alone, I suppose? That is not well. I marvel they could do so improper a thing! Is it not enough that she has broken our hearthstone? Will she also forget us?
"The little one is called John, dear Maurice—only that."
He was quite silent for a moment, staring before him. His warmth died away and then he spoke.
"Good—very good! Well thought on! I'm glad they've done that. And the dead would be glad. Perchance he is so. All is right with our girl, you say—you hide nothing?"
"All is as right as our love could wish."
"God be praised for His manifold mercies then."
She rose and came to his side.
"Do you remember, Maurice, how once you wished for Grace's firstborn, and planned and hoped that he should be a Malherb?"
"Forget it," he said. "'Tis but a fool's part to remember dreams."
He bent his head and his great square jaw hardened.
"No, no. This place follows me to the dust, and with me vanishes from man's memory for ever. None shall remember me after I have passed by, and none bear my name any more. Let it depart, like the mist 'of the morning, and be forgotten."
"May our grandchild be even such as you, brave heart! A man among men—generous, honest, just."
Malherb shook his head.
"Never—never. Rather pray that he follow his father. But not like me—not like me."
She put her arms round his neck and kissed him.
THE END
PLYMOUTHWILLIAM BRENDON AND SONPRINTERS