The congregation at St. Symphorian's on this memorable Sunday morning numbered nine persons. Possibly this was the reason why, against all precedent, the Vicar's sermon terminated at "thirdly."
Woman has been stated so often, and by such capable observers, to be more inquisitive than man, that I will content myself with establishing an exception. Of these nine persons, five were women, and the remainder held the salaried posts of organist, organ-blower, pew-opener, and parish-clerk. Of the women, one was Tamsin Dearlove. It is noteworthy that Caleb spent his morning at "The Bower."
Service was over, and Tamsin was rowing homewards. She was alone; for Troy was not the Dearloves' parish, and the Twins attended their own church—being, indeed, churchwardens. As she pulled quietly upwards, a shade of thought rested on her pretty face. I do not know of what she was thinking; and may add that if I did, I should not tell you. I would as lief rob a church.
She had passed the jetties, and was pulling her left paddle to turn the corner off Kit's House, when a flash crossed the heaven from behind her, and in an instant followed that rending explosion which (at different distances) has been twice presented to the reader, and with pardonable pride; for the story of Troy has now a catastrophe as well as episodes, and is vindicated as a theme.
As soon as the throbbing of the atmosphere and the buzzing in her ears began to die away, two swift thoughts crossed her brain. Oddly enough, the first was for the safety of Kit's House. She glanced over her shoulder. A mere film of smoke hung over the creek, and to the right of this she saw the house standing, seemingly unharmed. Then came the second thought—
If the explosion came from the creek, where the light smoke hung, there would be a wave.
She half turned on the thwart and looked intently.
Yes. It was curling towards her, widening from the creek's mouth, and arching with a hateful crest. On it came, a dark and glossy wall; and she knew that if it broke or caught her boat in the least aslant, she must be either swamped or overset.
With a sound that was half a sob and half a prayer she grasped her paddles and, still looking over her shoulder, gently moved the boat's nose to face it.
A moment, and it rose above her, hissing death; another, and the boat was caught high in air, tottered on the summit, and then with a shiver shot swiftly down into the trough beyond—safe.
A second wave followed, and a third, but with less peril. She was still tossed, but as she saw that mass of water hurled upon the shore, and sweeping angrily but with broken force towards the harbour, she knew that she could thank Heaven for her escape.
She pulled towards the creek. Already the air was clear; but as she glanced again her eye missed something familiar. And then it struck her that the old schooner had gone. At that instant, as if in confirmation, a shattered board bumped against the boat's side. She looked, and noticed that far and near the water was strewn with such fragments.
She was pausing for a second to consider, when she caught sight of a black object lying on the mud beside the shore, and with a short cry fell to rowing with all her strength. She guided the boat as nearly up to it as the mud allowed, and then, catching up her skirts, jumped into the ooze and waded.
It was Mr. Fogo; but whether dead or alive she could not say. Down on the mud she knelt, and, turning him gently over, looked into his face. It was streaked with slime, and powdered with a yellowish flake, as of sand. His locks were singed most pitifully. She started up, took him by the shoulders, and tried to drag him up to the firmer shingle.
Mr. Fogo opened his eyes and shut them again, feebly.
"Not dead! Oh! thank Heaven you are not dead."
With a sob she dropped again beside him, and brushed the flaked powder from his eye-lashes.
He opened his eyes again.
"Would you mind speaking up? I—I think I am a little deaf."
"I thought you were dead," she cried, in a louder tone.
"No-o, I am not dead. Oh! no; decidedly I am not dead. It—it was the Tea, I fancy."
He added this apologetically, much as some gentlemen are wont to plead "the salmon."
Apparently believing the explanation sufficient, he shut his eyes again, and seemed inclined to go to sleep.
"The Tea?" questioned Tamsin, chafing his hands.
"Or the Honey, perhaps—or the Putty," he answered drowsily. Then, opening his eyes and sitting up with a start, "Upon my soul, I don't know which. Itcalleditself Tea, but I'm—bound—to— admit—"
He was nodding again. Utterly perplexed, Tamsin leant back and regarded him.
"Can you walk, if you lean on my arm?"
"Walk? Oh! yes, I can walk. Why not?"
But it seemed that he was mistaken; for, in attempting to start, he groped about for a bit and then sat down suddenly. Tamsin helped him to his feet.
The reader has long ago guessed the cause of the catastrophe. It was dynamite—conspirators' dynamite, and therefore ill-prepared. Now dynamite, when it explodes, acts, we are told, with "local partiality"; and of this term we may remark—
That it is given as an explanation by men of science,Without being a "scientific" explanation;But is, in fact, a "metaphysical" explanation,And therefore no explanation at all ofThe astonishing fact that dynamite hits one thing and does not hit another.
That it is given as an explanation by men of science,Without being a "scientific" explanation;But is, in fact, a "metaphysical" explanation,And therefore no explanation at all ofThe astonishing fact that dynamite hits one thing and does not hit another.
That it is given as an explanation by men of science,Without being a "scientific" explanation;But is, in fact, a "metaphysical" explanation,And therefore no explanation at all ofThe astonishing fact that dynamite hits one thing and does not hit another.
In the case of Mr. Fogo, his top-hat had vanished, but the brim still clung to his head, like a halo. His spectacles and one boot had gone; the other boot was unlaced. His coat was split up the back, and his collar had broken away, but his tie was barely disarranged. He has since declared that he left the schooner with two-and-sixpence in his trowser pocket, and came ashore with two-and-a-penny; but this was in an account delivered to a scientific audience, and is thought to have been a joke.
From head to foot he was besmeared with black mud; for the rotten stern must have parted and fallen with the first touch of the explosion, so that the wave caught him as he toppled out, and flung him at once upon the shallows. But Tamsin's Sunday frock was already ruined. She made him rest his hand on her shoulder, and so, with one arm thrown round him for steadiness, led him down the beach, and with infinite difficulty got him across the mud and into the boat.
With infinite difficulty got him across the mud.With infinite difficulty got him across the mud.
With infinite difficulty got him across the mud.With infinite difficulty got him across the mud.
She managed to push off at last, and pulled rapidly across for Kit's House. Hitherto Mr. Fogo's condition had slightly resembled a drunken stupor; but now he shivered violently and looked about him.
"Where am I?"
"Safe and sound, I hope."
He passed his hand over his eyes and shivered again.
"I remember. Something—blew up, did it not? The canister, I think."
She nodded encouragingly.
"Where did you come from?" he asked abruptly.
"From church."
"Oh! from church. Do you know, I'm very glad to see you—I am, indeed, I hope you'll come often, now that—Excuse me," he broke off with a weak smile, "but I fancy I'm talking nonsense."
She nodded again.
"I am aching all over," he added with a shiver.
She pulled the boat up to the little quay. "Now I wonder where Caleb is," she said to herself, as she stood up and looked around; "but he's like most men, always in the way or out of the way." She turned suddenly with a white face. "Caleb was not with you?"
To her hearty relief Mr. Fogo understood the question and shook his head. She helped him ashore. Though he walked with pain, he made an obvious effort to lighten his weight on her shoulder; and this returning bashfulness was a good sign, she thought. They passed slowly up the steps; at the top he acknowledged her help with a grateful look, but neither spoke until he was seated in a chair by the kitchen fireplace.
Then she withdrew her attention for a moment to glance round upon the clumsy appliances and masculine untidiness of the place. She noticed that fully half the window-panes had been shattered by the explosion; but otherwise the house had barely suffered.
"Is there any brandy or whiskey in the house?"
He shook his head.
"If you want to drink—" he began, but stopped hastily and added, "I beg your pardon."
"Is there any tea?"
He pointed to the cupboard, but dropped his arm with a groan. She was at his side in a moment.
"Now, listen to me. You are not to stir or speak, but only to nod or shake your head when I ask a question. Do you understand?"
He nodded.
"That's right."
She stepped to the cupboard, produced the tea and a box of matches; then, stooping down, rekindled the fire with the help of some sticks which she found in the oven, and put the kettle on the flame. This done, she sought and found the tea-things.
"Milk?" she asked.
He nodded towards a blue jug on the mantel-shelf.
"Milk on the mantel-shelf! That's like a man."
But at this point the kettle began to boil. She filled the tea-pot, and replaced the kettle on the hob. As she turned, she was aware of a clearer look in Mr. Fogo's eyes. She smiled and nodded.
"You are better."
"Much. I can remember it all, after a fashion. Did I talk nonsense?"
"A little." She smiled again.
His eyes followed her as she moved about the kitchen. Presently he said—
"You are very good to me."
"I think I am."
"Tamsin—"
She turned suddenly to the table, and caught up the teapot.
"Do you know," she asked, "that tea is worthless if it stands for more than five minutes?"
She filled a cup, and gave it to him with a hand that trembled slightly. He sipped, and scalded his lip.
"Tamsin—"
"My name is Dearlove," she said shortly, "and you are spilling the tea."
There was silence for a minute or so. Mr. Fogo stirred his tea abstractedly. Tamsin, whose shoes were soaked, put one foot upon the fender, and bent her gaze upon the fire.
"I would give something," observed Mr. Fogo suddenly, in desperate reverie, "to know how other people manage it. It was moonlight when I proposed to Geraldine. I began by squeezing her hand, if I remem—"
He looked up, and found her regarding him with eyes ablaze.
But luckily at this moment the door opened, and Caleb appeared. He was evidently much agitated; but at sight of Tamsin and the woeful figure in the armchair, he halted on the threshold and stared dumbly.
"I think," said Tamsin, "you had better put your master to bed."
"Mussy 'pon us, what's been doin'?"
Briefly she told as much as she knew. With each successive sentence Caleb's mouth and eyes opened wider.
"And now," she ended, "as Peter and Paul have been waiting for their dinner this half-hour, I will be going. Don't trouble to come with me; but attend to your master. Good-morning, sir."
She dropped him a low curtsey and was gone. He started up.
"Where be goin', sir? Sit down; you'm not fit to stir."
But Mr. Fogo had passed him, and was out of the room in a moment. In spite of the pain that racked every limb, he overtook Tamsin in the porch.
"What are you doing?" she cried. "Go back to bed."
As she faced him, he could see that her eyes were full of angry tears. The sight checked him.
"It's—it's of no consequence," he stammered, "only I was going to ask you to be my wife."
For answer she turned on her heel, and walked resolutely down the steps.
Mr. Fogo stood and watched her until she disappeared, and then crawled painfully back into the house.
"An' now, sir," said Caleb, as he led his master to bed, "warnin' et es. This day month, I goes, unless—"
"Unless what, Caleb?"
"Well, sir, I reckons there be on'y wan way out o't, as the cat said by the sausage-machine, an' that es—to marry Tamsin Dearlove."
"My dear Caleb," groaned Mr. Fogo, "I only wish I could! But I will try again to-morrow."
But Mr. Fogo was not to try again on the morrow.
For Caleb, stealing up in the grey dawn to assure himself that his master was comfortably asleep, found him tossing in a high fever, and rowed down to Troy for dear life and the Doctor. Returning, he found that the fever had become delirium. Mr. Fogo, indeed, was sitting up in bed, and rattling off proposals of marriage at the rate of some six a minute, without break or pause. He was very red and earnest, rolled his eyes most strangely, and wandered in his address from Tamsin to Geraldine, and back again with a vehemence that gravelled all logic.
"Lord ha' mussy!" cried Caleb at last. "Do 'ee hush, that's a dear. 'Tes sinful—all these gallons o' true affecshun a-runnin' to waste. You'm too lovin' by half, as Sam said when hes wife got hugged by a bear. What do 'ee think, sir?"
The last sentence was addressed to the little Doctor, who, after staring at the patient for some minutes without noticeable result, nodded his head, announced that the fever must run its course, and promised to send a capable nurse up to Kit's House without delay.
"Beggin' your pard'n, Doctor," interposed Caleb with firmness, "but I've a-got my orders."
"Eh?"
"I've a-got my orders. Plaise God, an' wi' plenty o' doctor's trade,[1]us'll pull 'un round: but nobody nusses maaster 'ceptin' you an' me—leastways, no womankind."
"This is nonsensical."
"Nonsensical, do 'ee say? Look 'ee here, Doctor; do 'ee think I'd trust a woman up here wi' maaster a-makin' offers o' marriage sixteen to the dozen? Why, bless 'ee, sir, her'd be down an' ha' the banns called afore night, an' maaster not fit to shake hes head, much less say as the Prayer Books orders—'I renounce mun all.' That's a woman, Doctor, an' ef any o' the genteel sex sets foot on Kit's beach I'll—I'llstoneher."
The Doctor gave way in the end and withdrew, promising another visit before evening. When he returned, however, at five in the afternoon, he found, with some wonder, a woman quietly installed in the sick-room. It happened thus:—
Barely an hour after the Doctor's departure, Caleb, sitting at his master's bedside, heard footsteps on the gravel walk, and looked out of window.
"Hist!" he called softly; and Peter Dearlove, followed by Paul, stepped round the angle of the house into sight. The Twins bore a look of the gravest perplexity and a large market basket.
"Hulloa!" said Caleb, "what's up?"
The pair looked at each other. At length Peter began with a serious face and unwonted formality of tone—
"Es Mr. Fogo wi'in?"
"Why, iss," Caleb allowed, "he's inside."
"We was a-wishin' to request o' the pleasure"—here Peter looked at Paul, who nodded—"the pleasure o' an interval o' five minnits."
"Interview," corrected Paul.
"I misdoubts," answered his brother, "that you are wrong, Paul. I remember the expresshun 'pon the programme o' a Sleight o' Hand Entertainment, an' there et said 'Interval'—'An Interval o' Five Minnits.'"
"Ef that's so," broke in Caleb from above with fine irony, "p'raps you wudn' mind handin' up your visitin' cards an' doin' the thing proper. At present maaster's busy."
"Busy?"
"Iss. A-makin' proposals o' marriage—which es a serious thing, an' not to be interrupted."
The Twins set down the basket and stared at each other. Paul was the first to recover.
"Ef 'tes fully allowable to put the question, Peter an' me wud like to knaw the young leddy's name. 'Tes makin' bould to ax, but there's a reason."
"Well," said Caleb, disappearing for a moment and then poking his head forth again, "at the present moment 'tes a party answerin' to the name o' Geraldin'. A minnit agone 'twas—But maybe you'd better step up an' see for yoursel'."
"What!"
"Step up an' see."
"Now, Peter," said the Twin, turning from Caleb to contemplate his brother, "puttin' the case (an' far be et from me to say et cudn' be) as you was payin' your addresses to a young leddy answerin' to the name o' Geraldin' (which she wudn' be call'd that, anyway), an' puttin' the case as you was a-makin' offers o' marriage, an' a pair o' twin-brothers (same as you an' me might be) walked up to the front door an' plumped in afore you'd well finished talkin' o' the weather-prospec's (bein' a slow man, though a sure)—now, what I wants to knaw es, wud 'ee like et yoursel'?"
"No, I shudn'."
"Well, I reckon'd not. An' that bein' so, Go's the word."
"Afore Peter talks 'bout gettin' a wife," broke in Caleb, "he'd better read 'bout Peter's wife's mother. She was sick wi' a fever, I've heerd, an' so's maaster. Ef you don't believe, walk up an' see; 'cos 'tain't good for a sick man to ha' all this palaverin' outside hes windey."
The Twins stared, whispered together, took off their boots, and softly entered the house. At the door of the sick-room Caleb met them.
"Brain fever," he whispered, "which es on'y catchin' for them as has brains to catch et wi'."
The trio stood together at the foot of the bed on which Mr. Fogo tossed and chattered. Peter and Paul looked from the sick man to their hats, and back again in silence. At length the elder Twin spoke—
"I' the matter o' behavin' rum, some folks does it wi' cause an' others not so. But I reckons ef you allows as there's likely a cause, you'm 'pon the safe side—'speshully wi' Mr. Fogo. Wherefore, Caleb, what's the meanin' o' this here?"
"Tamsin!"
The answer came so pat from the sick man's lips that Peter fairly jumped. Caleb looked up with finger on lip and a curious smile on his weather-tanned face.
"Don't leave me! Look! There are devils around me—cold white devils—devils with blank faces—no features, only flesh. Look! Sunday, Monday, Tuesday—every day with a devil, every day in the year—look, look!"
"Pore soul!" whispered Paul; "an' 'tes Leap Year, too, which makes wan extry."
"Don't leave me, Tamsin—don't leave me!"
The sick man's voice rose to a scream. Caleb bent forward and tried to soothe him. The mahogany faces of the Twins were blanched. They whispered apart—
"You was right, Peter."
"Aye, more's the pity. I thought the lass misliked 'un—the bigger fool I. 'Twas on'y yestiddy I guessed more was troublin' her than her soiled gown, an' tax'd her wi' et. We used to pride oursel' on knawin' her wants afore her spoke—an' now—"
Peter weakly concluded with a sigh.
"Bring Tamsin down an' help me here," said Caleb, from across the room.
The pair started.
"That es," he went on, "ef she'll come. You heerd maaster? Well, he said purty much the same to her yestiddy; so her won't be frightened. Leastways, go an' say you'm comin' yoursel' to help nuss; 'cos ef you won't I'll nuss 'un alone, an' ef that's the case, you'm a queer pair o' Christians, as the Devil said to the two black pigs."
"Fact es," hesitated Peter, "I'd a-larnt so much las' evenin' from Tamsin, though she were main loth to tell; an' Paul agreed as we'd call this mornin' an' tell Mr. Fogo as 'twarn't right for 'n to set hes thoughts 'pon Tamsin, who isn' a leddy, nor to put notions in her head as'll gi'e her pain hereafter. An' that's all 'bout et; an' us brought a whack o' vegetable produce 'long wi' us, jes' to show there was no ill-feelin's. But as et turns out, neither argyment nor vegetables bein' acceptable to a party that's sick wi' a fever, I be clane floored for what to do."
"Well, now, I've a-told 'ee. An' don't let the grass grow 'neath your feet, 'cos 'twill grow fast enough over your heads some day."
The Twins, unable to cope with Caleb's determination, stole noiselessly out. And thus it was that when, late in the afternoon, the little Doctor returned, he found Peter and Paul, in large blue aprons, busily helpless downstairs, and Tamsin, bright-eyed and warm of cheek, seated by the sick man's bedside.
On the following morning, which the reader, should he care to calculate, will find to be Tuesday, Admiral Buzza dropped his newspaper with a start, and glared across the breakfast-table.
"What is it, my love?" inquired his wife. "Nothing wrong, I hope?"
"Wrong? Oh! no," replied the Admiral grimly, "nothing—wrong. Oblige me by listening to this, madam." He took up the paper and read aloud:
"ANOTHER DYNAMITE PLOT.A WHOLE TOWN DECEIVED—EXTRAORDINARY PROCEEDINGS.ESCAPE OF THE SUSPECTED PERSONS.THE DYNAMITE FIENDS STILL AT LARGE.
"ANOTHER DYNAMITE PLOT.A WHOLE TOWN DECEIVED—EXTRAORDINARY PROCEEDINGS.ESCAPE OF THE SUSPECTED PERSONS.THE DYNAMITE FIENDS STILL AT LARGE.
"The existence of another of these atrocious conspiracies aimed at the security of our public buildings and the safety of peaceful citizens, has been brought to light by certain recent occurrences at the romantic little seaport town of Troy. We have reason to believe that the suspicions of the police have been for some time aroused; and it is to their unaccountable dilatoriness we owe it that the conspirators have for the time made good their escape and still continue to menace our lives and property. It appears that some months back a couple, giving the names of the Honourable Mr. and Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys—"
["Really, Samuel, if you cannot eat an ordinary egg without clattering the spoon in that unseemly manner, I must ask you to suspend your meal until I have finished."]
"appeared at Troy as tenants of one of the most fashionable villa residences in that town. Theelite[ahem] of the neighbourhood, too easily cajoled [h'm], and little suspecting their villainous designs, received the newcomers with open arms and a lamentable lack of inquisitiveness."
"Well, really," put in Mrs. Buzza, "I don't know what they call 'inquisitiveness'; if a brass telescope—Why, Sam, dear, how pale you are!"
"Through the gross carelessness, we can hardly bring ourselves to say the connivance, of the Custom House officials, they were allowed to land with impunity a considerable quantity of dynamite, with which on Saturday night they decamped. Their disappearance remained unsuspected up to a late hour on Sunday morning, when 'The Bower' was visited, and (to borrow the words of the great master of prose)non sunt inventi. The neatness with which the escape was executed points to the disquieting conclusion that they did not want for assistance."
"I'll ask you to excuse me," said Sam, rising abruptly and leaving the room. A sick terror possessed his heart; visions of the dock and the felon's cell followed him as he picked up his hat and crept into the street. Outside, the morning was serene, with the promise of a broiling noon; but as far as Sam was concerned, Egyptian darkness would have been better. He shivered: at the corner of the street he met the local policeman and winced.
But far, far worse was it with Mr. Moggridge, to whose lodgings his steps were bending. The Poet, as Sam entered, was seated as nearly as possible on the small of his back before the breakfast table. If mental anguish can be expressed by unkempt hair and a disordered cravat, that of Mr. Moggridge was extreme; and the untasted bloater, pushed aside and half concealed by the newspaper, was full of lurid significance.
Sam paused at the door. The two friends had barely spoken for more than a month. Three days ago they had all but fought. All this, however, was forgotten now.
"Is that you, Sam? Come in."
Then, having displayed the olive-branch, the Poet waved the newspaper feebly, and groaned.
"Moggridge, old man—"
"Sam!"
"What a pair of asses we have been!
"The Poet moaned, and pointed to the paper.
"I know," nodded Sam; "is it true, d'ye think?"
"My heart forebodes," said Mr. Moggridge, collapsing still further— "my heart forebodes 'tis true, 'tis true; then deck my shroud about with rue, and lay me 'neath the dismal—"
"Pooh!" broke in Sam; "stuff and nonsense, man! It's bad for you, I know, but after allI'mthe sufferer."
The Collector of Customs turned a glassy stare upon him.
"Icarried the bag up to Five Lanes;Iput the infernal stuff into her very hands;I—"
"You?"
Sam nodded desperately. "She asked me to elope with her—to meet her at Five Lanes."
Mr. Moggridge staggered up to his feet, and fumbled in his waistcoat pocket.
"You are mad!" he gasped. "She askedmeto elope with her—meto meet her at the top of Troy Hill. Look here!" He held out a crumpled letter. Sam took it, glanced at it, produced an exactly similar note, and handed it to his friend.
They read each the other's letter sentence by sentence, and in doleful antiphon. At the conclusion they looked up, and met each other's gaze; whereat Mr. Moggridge smote his brow and cried—
"False, false!"
While Sam pushed his hands deep into his trouser-pockets and emitted a long breath, as though, his cup being full, he must needs blow off the froth.
"Do you mean to say," he asked, after a pause, "that you helped her to land the stuff?"
"I thought it was Tea."
"And you never examined it?"
"She told me it was Tea."
"Moggridge, you have been given away, as the Yankees put it. I have been sold, which is bad; but you have been 'given away,' which is worse."
"You were sold for 'love,' which is pretty much the same, I take it, as being given away," objected the Poet testily.
"Not at all the same, Moggridge, as being given away—with half a pound of Tea."
[1] Medicine.(return)
[1] Medicine.(return)
For three days Mr. Fogo continued to propose. On the evening of the third day the little Doctor shook his head. After this, for about a week, Mr. Fogo proposed and the Doctor shook his head at intervals. Finally, and in the middle of a sentence, the patient fell into a deep slumber.
When he awoke, it was to the conviction that he, Mr. Fogo, being a bolster, had been robbed of his rightful stuffing by some person or persons unknown. He had lain for some time pondering this situation with a growing resentment, when he was aware of some one sitting between him and the sunshine.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I am Tamsin Dearlove."
The remark made by Diogenes under somewhat like circumstances would have been ungallant. In the process of searching for a better the sick man fell asleep again.
What happened on his next return to consciousness shall be given in his own words. He told me the story last autumn:—
"You see," he explained shyly, "I have not, my dear young friend, that ingenuity of phrase which I so admire in you" (I protest I have not the heart to suppress this tribute), "but seeing that, in such a case, experience counts for something—and naturally, at your age, you have yet to learn what it is to propose to a woman—I think I had better tell you exactly what happened, the more so as it is a matter which, if, as you assure me, necessary to your chronicle, I desire to be related with accuracy. I am not, you understand, in the least reflecting on your love of truth, but, after all, Idid, as the obnoxious phrase has it, 'propose' to Tamsin, whereas you—ahem—didnot."
I am convinced my friend meant to say "would not have had the infernal impudence," but softened the expression, being habitually careful of the feelings of others.
"When I awoke again," he went on, "she was seated in the window, knitting. I lay for a long while watching her—indeed, this is my first impression—before I made any sign. The sunshine—it was morning—fell on her head as she bent over her needles, and emphasised that peculiar bloom of gold which (you may have noticed) her brown locks possess. Her lashes, too, as they drooped upon a cheek pale (as I could perceive) beyond its wont, had a glimmer of the same golden tint. Altogether I thought her more beautiful than I ever imagined; and to this day," he added in an outburst of confidence, "I frequently decoy her to a seat in the sunlight, that I may taste a renewal of the sensations I enjoyed that morning. Some day, perhaps, you will be better able to sympathise with this caprice.
"I had been lying thus for some time, luxuriously drinking in her loveliness, when her eyes lifted and met mine. And then—well, I can hardly tell you what happened then, except that I do not believe a word was spoken on either side. I suppose our eyes had told enough. Anyhow, the next thing I remember is that my dear girl's head was on my breast, and one arm flung across the pillow that supported my head. I have a dim recollection, too, of trying to smooth her hair, and finding my strength too feeble even for that. That is all, I think; except that we were ludicrously happy, of course—Tamsin smiling with moist eyes, while I lay still and let the joy of it trickle in my veins. I am extremely obliged to you, my dear young friend, for not laughing outright at this confession. It encourages me to add, for exactness, that Tamsin kept putting her hand up to the back of her head. She has since explained that she felt sure her 'back-hair' was coming down. Women are curious creatures.
"Let me resume. In the midst of what used to be called a 'love passage,' the door opened, and in walked Peter Dearlove with a basin of beef-tea. So quietly did he enter, that the first announcement of his presence was a terrific sound which my experience can compare with nothing unless it be whooping-cough—the whooping-cough of a robust adult.
"'This,' he remarked, setting down the tray and eyeing Tamsin severely, 'ain't nussin' properly so called.'
"I do not think we made any answer to this.
"'Ef a name es to be found for 't, 'tain't so much 'nussin'' as 'goin's on.''
"'Your sister has promised to be my wife,' I ventured.
"'Beggin' your pard'n, sir, but the Catechism has summat to say to that.'
"'The Catechism?'
"'Iss, sir—'that stashun o' life.' An' not a word 'bout raisin' et, even by th' use o' globes—which some considers unekalled.'
"I put out my hand to cover Tamsin's, and looked up into her face before I answered him with some heat—
"'I won't affect to misunderstand you. You mean that I am marrying beneath me?'
"He hesitated.
"'There's two meanin's to 'beneath''
"'Ah!' I cried, 'I am glad you see that.'
"He looked at me slowly and continued—
"'Second p'int. Not so long agone you was talkin' of a Geraldin."
"I glanced at Tamsin again and comprehended.
"'I have been talking—?'
"She nodded.
"'And you know it all—the whole story?'
"She nodded again, with a world of healing pity in her eyes. Then, with a swift glance at her brother, she stooped and kissed me.
"'Oh!' said Peter, very shortly; 'I'm thinkin' I'd best see Paul 'bout this;' and with that he disappeared.
"Whereupon," concluded Mr. Fogo, "I think I must have dropped asleep again, for I remember nothing after this—at least, nothing that is worth mention."
It is quite true that Mr. Fogo dropped asleep. He slept, moreover, for a considerable time, and awoke to find Caleb seated beside the bed.
"Where is Tam—Miss Dearlove?" he asked.
"There ain't no Dearlove, as I knaws by, called Tammis. The males was chris'n'd Peter an' Paul, the female Thomasina: an' they'm gone."
"Gone?"
"Gone, an' left we like Hocken's duck, wi'out mate or fellow."
"How long?"
"Matter o' five hour'."
There was a long silence.
"Caleb!"
"Aye, aye, sir."
"How long do you think it will be before I can get about—be fit to go downstairs, I mean?"
"Well, sir, I reckon et depends on yoursel'. Try, an' 'twill come, as the Doctor said when Bill swallered 'arf-a-crown an' wanted to get et up agen by Lady-Day, rent bein' doo."
"Do you think a week would do it?"
"Better say a fortni't, sir."
"What day is it to-day?"
"Thursday."
"Have I been ill for two days?"
"For a fortni't an' two days."
"Bless my soul!"
"Amen, sir."
"Caleb, would you mind writing a letter for me?"
Caleb had no objection; and the composition that followed may be given in full, for works of divided authorship have always possessed an interest of their own from the days of Homer, Homer and Homer downwards:—
"Hond Twins,—""Mr. Fogo's complements to the pare of You not forgetting Miss Thomasina and shall be glad if you will all Dine with me at 7 p.m. in the evening precisely on This day (Wensdy) fortunite. You will be glad to heer that I am recuvering fast thanks to your care and kindness which Is his own words and Gospel truth and so No more at present from yours to command""P. Fogo, Esq.""per C. Trotter.""Knowing whats up with the kitchin range you wont look for much of A dinner."
"Hond Twins,—""Mr. Fogo's complements to the pare of You not forgetting Miss Thomasina and shall be glad if you will all Dine with me at 7 p.m. in the evening precisely on This day (Wensdy) fortunite. You will be glad to heer that I am recuvering fast thanks to your care and kindness which Is his own words and Gospel truth and so No more at present from yours to command""P. Fogo, Esq.""per C. Trotter.""Knowing whats up with the kitchin range you wont look for much of A dinner."
"Hond Twins,—"
"Mr. Fogo's complements to the pare of You not forgetting Miss Thomasina and shall be glad if you will all Dine with me at 7 p.m. in the evening precisely on This day (Wensdy) fortunite. You will be glad to heer that I am recuvering fast thanks to your care and kindness which Is his own words and Gospel truth and so No more at present from yours to command"
"P. Fogo, Esq."
"per C. Trotter."
"Knowing whats up with the kitchin range you wont look for much of A dinner."
The answer was brought up by Paul Dearlove early, next morning. It ran:—
"Respectd Sir,—""This is thanking you for your kind and welcome letter just recd, and shall be proud to accept of the invitation in the spirit in which it is given you must not mind the kitchin range please as between them that knows all about it having difficulties at times with the beef tea which trusting you will overlook we remain""Your obedt servts"(signed)"Peter Dearlove.""Paul Dearlove.""Thomasina has gone into Troy or would have signed too."
"Respectd Sir,—""This is thanking you for your kind and welcome letter just recd, and shall be proud to accept of the invitation in the spirit in which it is given you must not mind the kitchin range please as between them that knows all about it having difficulties at times with the beef tea which trusting you will overlook we remain""Your obedt servts"(signed)"Peter Dearlove.""Paul Dearlove.""Thomasina has gone into Troy or would have signed too."
"Respectd Sir,—"
"This is thanking you for your kind and welcome letter just recd, and shall be proud to accept of the invitation in the spirit in which it is given you must not mind the kitchin range please as between them that knows all about it having difficulties at times with the beef tea which trusting you will overlook we remain"
"Your obedt servts"
(signed)"Peter Dearlove."
"Paul Dearlove."
"Thomasina has gone into Troy or would have signed too."
To a certain extent this was satisfactory; and Mr. Fogo endeavoured to possess his soul in patience, and recover with all speed. It was weary work at first, but as the sick man really began to mend he found much interest in discussing with Caleb the preparations for the feast.
"We must not be too ambitious, Caleb. Let the fare be simple— 'Persicos odi, puer, apparatus'—as long as it is well cooked and neatly served."
"I dunno what you means by 'pure apparatus,'" answered Caleb. "There's a flaw in the range, as you knaw; but 'tes so clane as scrubbin' 'll make et."
And, indeed, when the evening arrived with the mellow twilight of July, and the Twins with a double knock, the arrangement of the table, as well as the smell of cooking which pervaded the front hall, did Caleb all credit. The dining-room was bare alike of carpet and pictures, but the floor had been scoured until the boards glistened whitely; and two red ensigns, borrowed by Caleb from the British mercantile marine, served to hide certain defects in the wallpaper.
Here Mr. Fogo sat awaiting his guests; for the preparation of the drawing-room would have overtaxed Caleb's resources.
"Miss Thomasina Dearlove, and Messrs. Peter and Paul ditto!"
Mr. Fogo arose with a flush on his wasted cheek, held Tamsin's hand for a moment, and then, bending, kissed it with grave courtesy. She had removed her hat and cloak in the passage, and now stood before him in a plain white frock—short-waisted, and of antique make, perhaps, but little the worse for that. She wore no ornament but a red rose on her bosom; and if, as I do not believe, a shade of apprehension had troubled Mr. Fogo, it would have taken flight as she stood before him, challenging his eyes.
But the Twins!
Like the Austrian army, they were "awfully arrayed." So stiff and shiny indeed was their apparel, and such mysterious sounds did the slightest movement draw from their linen, that the beholder grew presently as uneasy as the wearer. Each wore a high stock and a collar that cut the ears. The neck-cloth of Peter was crimson; of Paul, vivid amber. The waistcoats of both bore floral devices in primary colours, and the hands of both were encased in gloves of white cotton.
Mr. Fogo took heart of grace and bade them welcome.
"'Tes a warm evenin'," ventured Paul, rubbing a forefinger round the inside of his collar.
"Uncommon," responded Peter, addressing his brother.
Whereupon, as if by preconcerted signal, they faced about and made for the two most distant chairs, on the edges of which they took an uneasy rest. Peter had brought his hat into the room, and now, after gazing at it reproachfully for some moments, began to stow it away beneath him, doing violence to its brim with the air of one who does not count the cost. He was relieved by Caleb, who bore it off with the pleasant remark—
"Now, then, remember what the old leddy said to make her guests aisy, 'I'm at home, an' I wish you all were.'"
"Silence, Caleb!" said his master. "I—I think, as dinner is ready, we may as well be seated at once. Will you take the head of the table?" he asked, turning to Tamsin.
She blushed faintly and moved to her place. The Twins leapt up, performed a forced march, and took the table in flank from opposite quarters. Mr. Fogo looked around.
"If one of you would say Grace—"
"Tamsin says it at home. I taught her mysel'," said Peter. "Now, then, little maid, 'For what we'm about—'"
She spoke the simple Grace and the company sat down—with the exception of Paul.
Now, Paul's position at table faced the fireplace, and as he raised his head after Grace a large text in red and blue upon the mantelshelf caught his eye, and held him spell-bound.
"'Paice on Earth an' Goodwill to-ward Men!'" he read. "Excuse me, sir, but nothin' more appropriate to the occashun can I imagine. Et does 'ee credit—ef I may say so."
He dropped into his seat, and taking off his gloves laid them beside his glasses. Peter, more ceremonious, retained his throughout the meal.
"I am afraid," explained their host, "that the credit belongs to Caleb, who insisted upon placing the text there; and as he had obtained it with considerable trouble from the Vicar (it was used, I believe, to decorate St. Symphorian's last Christmas), I had not the heart to deny him. But for what are we waiting?"
He was answered by the appearance of Caleb, who marched up to Tamsin with a woeful face, and announced in a loud whisper that "Suthin' was up wi' the soup."
"I think," said she, rising, "if you will let me help—"
"Sutt'nly," assented Peter in a loud tone. "To be sure—that es, beggin' your pard'n, sir," he added apologetically.
"It is very good of you," said Mr. Fogo.
"I should like to help," she explained, and followed Caleb to the kitchen.
Somehow, with her absence, an oppressive silence fell on the three men. Peter coughed at intervals, and once even began a sentence, but stopped halfway. Mr. Fogo did not heed him, but had fallen to drumming softly with his spoon upon the table. A full five minutes passed thus, and then he started to his feet.
"Must you really be going?"
"Eh?"
"It is early yet; but I suppose you have some distance to go?"
"What?"
"Let me, at least, help you on with your coats."
They stared blankly at him. There was a faraway look in his eyes, but his speech was quiet and distinct enough. Like lambs they obeyed, and marched out into the hall.
"I am afraid I am too weak to offer much assistance—"
"Don't 'ee menshun et."
They resumed their coats, and groped for hats and sticks. A deep and awful wonder possessed them both.
"The night is fine," observed their host, as he opened the door: "you will have a pleasant journey home.Good-night!"
He shook them by the hand as they staggered out, shut the door upon them, and returned pensively to the dining-room.
As the door closed behind them, the brothers looked into each other's eyes. Paul gave a short gasp, and leant against a pillar of the verandah.
"Peter!"
"Paul!"
"Wud 'ee mind pinchin' me i' the ca'f o' the leg, jes' to make sure?"
"I was a-goin' to ax the same favour, Paul."
"Well, churchwarden or no churchwarden, I reckon Iamdamned!"
"What I complains of in this 'ere fash'nubble life," said Peter slowly, "es this—'tes too various—by a sight, too various."
"Arter eatin' next door to nuthin' all day, so's we mou'tn' be behindhand in tacklin' the vittles!"
There was an interval of painful stupor.
"Paul!"
"Peter!"
"I'm reckonin' up what my hunger's wuth at this moment. I dunno as I'd take twenty pund for 't."
Inside the house Mr. Fogo had sunk into an armchair, and was regarding the ceiling with thoughtful attention. He was aroused by steps in the hall, and Tamsin re-entered the room, followed by Caleb with the soup-tureen.
"Hulloa! where's the Twins?"
"Eh?"
"Es this a round game, or a conjurin' trick?"
"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Fogo turned a dull gaze upon him. Caleb set down the tureen with a crash, and rushing up shook his master gently, but firmly, by the collar.
"Where—be—they—Twins?"
"Oh! The Twins? They have gone—gone some five minutes. I saw them out. It's all—Bless my soul, how extraordinary, to be sure!"
Caleb did not wait for the end of the sentence, but darting out, discovered the brothers in the porch, and haled them back.
"I beg your pardon most heartily," said Mr. Fogo, as they appeared; "the fact is—"
"There's no call, sir. I reckon us'll get the grip o't wi' time an' practice; on'y bein' new to the ropes, so to spake—"
Mr. Fogo looked at Tamsin. She broke into a merry laugh.
It snapped the spell. The Twins, who had been waiting on each other for a lead with the first spoonful of soup, set down their spoons and joined in, at first decorously, then with uproar.
"Talk 'bout fun!" gasped Peter at length, with tears in his eyes, "Bill Stickles at the Market Ord'nary can't match et—an' he's reckoned a tip-topper for fun. An' this es fash'n! Well, I never did. Ho, ho, ho!"
From this moment the success of the dinner was assured. All talked, and talked with freedom. The brothers threw off their restraint, and were their natural and well-mannered selves. It is true that Peter would pause now and again to slap his thigh and renew his mirth; it is true also that he continued to wear his white gloves throughout the meal. But he pocketed them when Caleb removed the cloth, and the company fell into more easy postures.
It was late that evening when the Twins consulted their watches and rose to go, and as yet nothing had been said on the subject nearest to Mr. Fogo's heart. He motioned them back to their seats.
"There is still one more question that I must ask you," he said, rising and stepping to Tamsin's side. "You guess what it is?"
"I mou't," admitted Peter slowly.
"I ask you, then, if Tamsin has your leave to make me happy. Knowing what it costs you—"
"No cost, sir, where our little maid's happiness es consarned. Tamsin knaws that, but 't 'as been the harder to talk wi' her as us shud ha' wished, an' that there's no denyin'. Us knawed all along she'd be leavin' us some day, an' oft'n Paul an' me have a-made up each other's mind to 't. I misdoubts, sir—I misdoubts sorely— seein' 'tesyouher heart es set to marry—meanin' no offence, sir. But as'tesset—Tamsin, girl, we'll be goin', I reckon. I'm thinkin' I've a-parted wi' enough o' my heart's blud for wan night."
He moved towards the door, but came back again to shake hands, with a word of self-reproach for his lack of courtesy. Then, with a tenderness almost motherly on his mahogany face—
"Be gentle wi' her," he said. "She's quick to larn—an' takes cold aisy, which, ef seen to early, a little nitre will a'most al'ays pervent. Come 'long, Tamsin."