Volume Two—Chapter Fourteen.

Volume Two—Chapter Fourteen.“What Have! Done?”“Where am I?”No answer. All was pitchy dark, but a pleasant, cool air fanned the speaker’s burning brow.“Moredock! Are you asleep? The light’s out. What’s the matter? What’s this cloth about my legs?”There was a rustling sound as Horace North rose to his feet, dragged a fallen surplice from his feet, and began to feel about him in a confused way.But that was a wall, not the ends of coffins; that was an overturned table, not the stone slab with its hideous burden; and that—“Oh!”Horace North reeled against the wall, and rested there as he uttered that piteous groan; for, like a flash of lightning, the ray of memory had shot into his darkened brain, and he saw once more the wretched idol he had worshipped gazing wildly at him with starting eyes—she, the woman he had set upon a pinnacle, grovelling before him in her shame! The moment before, the lady of his frank, honest love; the next moment revealed to him as low in mind, as degraded as some miserable rustic wench, ready to accept the kisses of the first man who called her “dear!”“Am I going mad?” he groaned. “Poor Salis! Poor Mary Salis! They must never know. And poor me! Fool! blind idiot! But I loved her,” he moaned: “and I thought her so sweet and pure and true—a woman for whom I would have shed my heart’s best blood—a woman for whom I—Pah! I must not stand puling here! Blood? Yes, blood! The brute! He’s strong as a horse.”He took out a pocket-handkerchief, doubled it, and roughly bandaged his head; for it was bleeding from a cut at the back.“Clear my brain,” he muttered; “I must not stand here. That place left open! Is Moredock there?”He felt his way to the door; and, as he stepped cautiously along, his foot kicked against something which jingled on the tiled floor.He felt about, touched the surplice which had been dragged down and entangled his legs; and, as he snatched it away, the key jingled once more, and he caught it up.He opened and relocked the door after he had passed out, breathing more freely as he stood in the cool, dark night.“Moredock!” he whispered. “Are you there?”There was no reply, but he did not stir; for a curious feeling of confusion attacked him once more, and he put his hand to his head to try and master his thoughts.“Yes,” he muttered; “of course I must go and close that place up. Even if I go mad, that must not be known.”He took a few steps instinctively towards the vault, and fell over something in the path, contriving, however, to save himself, so that he only came down upon his hands and knees.The shock acted like a spell, and brought back his wandering mind.“Who’s this?” he muttered. “Moredock?”He passed his hands rapidly about the body before him, lying flat upon its back.“Tom Candlish!” he ejaculated, as his hands came in contact, the one with a curiously-shaped breast-pin the young squire wore, the other with the bunch of charms and the locket he wore on his chain.“Good heavens! What have I done? The man is dead!”North started to his feet, trying hard to collect his wandering ideas, for he was at sea once more. He could not comprehend how Tom Candlish had contrived to get there, till he recalled the window, and at the same time recollected that he had struck at him again and again with all his might.“Have I killed him?” he muttered; and, suffering still from the blow upon his head, his mental faculties seemed to be quite off their balance. The calm medical man, with his accurate judgment, was no longer there; but one full of wild excitement—one moment bubbling over with delirious joy at having triumphed over his enemy, of whom he had been madly jealous; the next, ready to shrink and tremble at the deed he had done.He did not—he could not—pause to calculate how it had happened, beyond feeling that he must have beaten his enemy horribly, till he had in his last efforts struck him down, and then crawled out from the window to fall and die. He could not arrange all this in an orderly manner, for he was now seized with a frantic horror of discovery; and the question filled his mind, what was he—a murderer—to do?Only one idea occurred to him, and that was the natural one that occurs to the most ignorant under the circumstances: he had slain this man, and the penalty was death for death. He did not know that he wanted to live, the shock had been too horrible that night; but he must act—he must do something; and, yielding entirely to his impulses, he bent down, and, with a wonderful effort of nervous force, raised the fallen man, and stood thinking for a few moments.Impulse moved him then; and, without further hesitation, he bore the body down the steps to the door of the mausoleum.The door yielded to his pressure, and he stepped in with his load, the darkness proving no hindrance to him, for he knew the place so well that he could come and go without touching the sides for guidance.He stood right in the middle of the place for a few moments, thinking; one brother hanging over his left shoulder, the other lying motionless upon that cold stone slab, as he had lain all through the series of experiments which had been tried.“It is fate,” he muttered, as he softly lowered his burden down upon the sawdust-covered floor, the brothers side by side, save that the younger was lower—nearer to his mother earth.Then, in a quick, business-like way, North stepped to the door, passed through, and locked it, and then served the iron gate in the railings the same.“I must fetch my instruments away some day,” he muttered—“if I stay. No one will seek him there. He will be supposed to have fled from me. But Moredock?“Moredock can be trusted; I can silence him,” he said grimly. “He knew who was there.”North stood thinking for a few minutes in the churchyard, half startled, but feeling a certain relief as well as pleasure in the fact that his rival was removed from his path.Then that word “rival” seemed to strike him a mental blow, for it brought up to his confused intellect why it was that he and Tom Candlish had been rivals; and at this thought he once again saw Leo, the woman he had loved, gazing wildly in his face; and, with a low moan, he staggered, more than walked, from the churchyard, making instinctively for home; but as he reached the sexton’s cottage, the faint light therein attracted him, and, feeling dizzy, he put his hand to his head, to find that it was bleeding freely.As he hesitated whether to go in or hurry on, the door, which had been ajar, opened more widely, and a great, claw-like hand was thrust out, and he was guided to the big Windsor chair.“Hurt, doctor? All over blood? Don’t say you didn’t dress him down.”North made no answer, for the low-ceiled room seemed sailing round as he turned his ghastly face and gazed in the speaker’s eyes.

“Where am I?”

No answer. All was pitchy dark, but a pleasant, cool air fanned the speaker’s burning brow.

“Moredock! Are you asleep? The light’s out. What’s the matter? What’s this cloth about my legs?”

There was a rustling sound as Horace North rose to his feet, dragged a fallen surplice from his feet, and began to feel about him in a confused way.

But that was a wall, not the ends of coffins; that was an overturned table, not the stone slab with its hideous burden; and that—

“Oh!”

Horace North reeled against the wall, and rested there as he uttered that piteous groan; for, like a flash of lightning, the ray of memory had shot into his darkened brain, and he saw once more the wretched idol he had worshipped gazing wildly at him with starting eyes—she, the woman he had set upon a pinnacle, grovelling before him in her shame! The moment before, the lady of his frank, honest love; the next moment revealed to him as low in mind, as degraded as some miserable rustic wench, ready to accept the kisses of the first man who called her “dear!”

“Am I going mad?” he groaned. “Poor Salis! Poor Mary Salis! They must never know. And poor me! Fool! blind idiot! But I loved her,” he moaned: “and I thought her so sweet and pure and true—a woman for whom I would have shed my heart’s best blood—a woman for whom I—Pah! I must not stand puling here! Blood? Yes, blood! The brute! He’s strong as a horse.”

He took out a pocket-handkerchief, doubled it, and roughly bandaged his head; for it was bleeding from a cut at the back.

“Clear my brain,” he muttered; “I must not stand here. That place left open! Is Moredock there?”

He felt his way to the door; and, as he stepped cautiously along, his foot kicked against something which jingled on the tiled floor.

He felt about, touched the surplice which had been dragged down and entangled his legs; and, as he snatched it away, the key jingled once more, and he caught it up.

He opened and relocked the door after he had passed out, breathing more freely as he stood in the cool, dark night.

“Moredock!” he whispered. “Are you there?”

There was no reply, but he did not stir; for a curious feeling of confusion attacked him once more, and he put his hand to his head to try and master his thoughts.

“Yes,” he muttered; “of course I must go and close that place up. Even if I go mad, that must not be known.”

He took a few steps instinctively towards the vault, and fell over something in the path, contriving, however, to save himself, so that he only came down upon his hands and knees.

The shock acted like a spell, and brought back his wandering mind.

“Who’s this?” he muttered. “Moredock?”

He passed his hands rapidly about the body before him, lying flat upon its back.

“Tom Candlish!” he ejaculated, as his hands came in contact, the one with a curiously-shaped breast-pin the young squire wore, the other with the bunch of charms and the locket he wore on his chain.

“Good heavens! What have I done? The man is dead!”

North started to his feet, trying hard to collect his wandering ideas, for he was at sea once more. He could not comprehend how Tom Candlish had contrived to get there, till he recalled the window, and at the same time recollected that he had struck at him again and again with all his might.

“Have I killed him?” he muttered; and, suffering still from the blow upon his head, his mental faculties seemed to be quite off their balance. The calm medical man, with his accurate judgment, was no longer there; but one full of wild excitement—one moment bubbling over with delirious joy at having triumphed over his enemy, of whom he had been madly jealous; the next, ready to shrink and tremble at the deed he had done.

He did not—he could not—pause to calculate how it had happened, beyond feeling that he must have beaten his enemy horribly, till he had in his last efforts struck him down, and then crawled out from the window to fall and die. He could not arrange all this in an orderly manner, for he was now seized with a frantic horror of discovery; and the question filled his mind, what was he—a murderer—to do?

Only one idea occurred to him, and that was the natural one that occurs to the most ignorant under the circumstances: he had slain this man, and the penalty was death for death. He did not know that he wanted to live, the shock had been too horrible that night; but he must act—he must do something; and, yielding entirely to his impulses, he bent down, and, with a wonderful effort of nervous force, raised the fallen man, and stood thinking for a few moments.

Impulse moved him then; and, without further hesitation, he bore the body down the steps to the door of the mausoleum.

The door yielded to his pressure, and he stepped in with his load, the darkness proving no hindrance to him, for he knew the place so well that he could come and go without touching the sides for guidance.

He stood right in the middle of the place for a few moments, thinking; one brother hanging over his left shoulder, the other lying motionless upon that cold stone slab, as he had lain all through the series of experiments which had been tried.

“It is fate,” he muttered, as he softly lowered his burden down upon the sawdust-covered floor, the brothers side by side, save that the younger was lower—nearer to his mother earth.

Then, in a quick, business-like way, North stepped to the door, passed through, and locked it, and then served the iron gate in the railings the same.

“I must fetch my instruments away some day,” he muttered—“if I stay. No one will seek him there. He will be supposed to have fled from me. But Moredock?

“Moredock can be trusted; I can silence him,” he said grimly. “He knew who was there.”

North stood thinking for a few minutes in the churchyard, half startled, but feeling a certain relief as well as pleasure in the fact that his rival was removed from his path.

Then that word “rival” seemed to strike him a mental blow, for it brought up to his confused intellect why it was that he and Tom Candlish had been rivals; and at this thought he once again saw Leo, the woman he had loved, gazing wildly in his face; and, with a low moan, he staggered, more than walked, from the churchyard, making instinctively for home; but as he reached the sexton’s cottage, the faint light therein attracted him, and, feeling dizzy, he put his hand to his head, to find that it was bleeding freely.

As he hesitated whether to go in or hurry on, the door, which had been ajar, opened more widely, and a great, claw-like hand was thrust out, and he was guided to the big Windsor chair.

“Hurt, doctor? All over blood? Don’t say you didn’t dress him down.”

North made no answer, for the low-ceiled room seemed sailing round as he turned his ghastly face and gazed in the speaker’s eyes.

Volume Two—Chapter Fifteen.A Terrible Accident.“My turn now,” said Moredock, with a low chuckle. “Times as he’s given me doses. He, he, he! I can give him one now.”The old sexton took a key from his vest, and opened a curious old oaken corner cupboard, upon whose shelves were ranged a variety of objects which gleamed out from their prison, and seemed to suggest that they had not been honestly come by. The most prominent object, however, was a square, black schnapps bottle, with a footless glass turned upside down beside it.“There, doctor,” chuckled the old man, as he made the cork squeak and the liquid gurgle when he poured some out; “that arn’t the same physic as you give me, but it’s real line, and was sent down to me by a London gent as I’ve dealt with many a time.”North did not hesitate, but drank the dram of strong brandy at a gulp.“That puts life into you, don’t it, doctor, eh? Better now?”“Hah!” sighed North, returning the glass, and leaning back in the chair. “No, no; that will do.”The stimulus did more than carry off the sensation of fainting, it gave back the power to think consistently; and North sat up as if considering what he should do next.“He’s knocked you about a bit, doctor,” said Moredock, breaking in upon his musings.“Eh? Yes; we had a sharp struggle,” said North, starting.“Sent him home like a cur with his tail between his legs, haven’t you, doctor?”North shuddered and caught Moredock’s arm.“How did you know that—that he was there?”“Oh, I foun’ it out!” said the old man evasively. “I’ve seen ends of cigars there and ashes on the floor; and I thought at first that parson smoked, and told him of it.”“And—and what did he say?”“Looked guilty,” chuckled the old man.North was silent for a few moments, sitting with one hand across his eyes, trying to think out what he should do.“Moredock,” he said, sharply turning on the old man; “why did you show me that to-night?”The sexton gazed at him fixedly.“Tell me—the truth.”“Well, doctor, it didn’t do for young Squire Tom to be dessicating my church.”“You had some other reason.”“Well, it warn’t safe for us. He might ha’ foun’ us out.”“Yes, exactly; but you would have warned me instead of taking me there. Why did you do that?”“Well, doctor, of course I warn’t blind.”“What do you mean?”“Well, you see,” said the old man, with a grin, “the saxun’s pay arn’t much; and a man looks out for what’s coming to help him on.”“I don’t understand you, man.”“Well, berrin’s and christenin’s and marriagein’s as all bring in a bit more. I’ve sin it for long enough.”“Seen what?”“That you was doin’ a bit o’ courting up at the Rect’ry; and it didn’t seem nice for your young lady to be going out o’ nights to meet Squire Tom, and in my church.”North groaned.“Never you mind, doctor; I like you,” said Moredock soothingly.“Was this—was this known about the village?”“’Bout you, or ’bout young miss?”“Both, man, both!”“Nay, not it. I see a deal, because I’m a man as thinks, doctor. No; I don’t s’pose any one knows on it. But never you mind, doctor; gels always will be gels and listen to chaps like Squire Tom. But I say,” whispered the old man, with a chuckle, after crossing to the window and seeing that the print curtain was well drawn over the broken patch through which the leaden tobacco jar had been hurled, “did you give it him well?”North groaned.“Why, doctor! Took more bad?”The old man glanced at the hand he had laid upon the doctor’s shoulder, and wiped it, for it was wet with blood; and the sight of the hideous smear seemed to raise a terrible thought in his brain.“Why, doctor,” he said, in a low whisper; “you haven’t—you haven’t hurt him much?”North seized the old man’s arm, and sat gazing wildly at him for a few moments without speaking. He was battling with the mental confusion that troubled him and kept him in a state of hesitancy, in which his mind drifted like a derelict at sea.He mastered it at last, and began to see clearly that, from what the old sexton knew, he must continue to make him his confidant. There could be no half measures. For his own safety he must tell him all; though even now there was Leo, who knew of the encounter.No; she dare not speak, suspect what she might. For her reputation’s sake, she must hold her tongue.Meanwhile, the old man glanced at his hand again, and, with a look of disgust, went through the action of wiping it.“Why, doctor—doctor!” he whispered; “don’t say you’ve—!”“I couldn’t help it, Moredock,” said North excitedly. “It was in the struggle: it was a fight for life. We were both mad with rage, and I—I struck him.”“Ay, ay, doctor; but you needn’t ha’ hit him so hard. Look at the blood! Deary, deary; and all this trouble about a gel.”“I don’t know how it happened,” panted North, clinging tightly to the old man’s arm. “I must have given him a terrible blow.”“But it’s a hanging matter, doctor—a hanging matter!” whispered the sexton. “Don’t hold me, man; I didn’t do it! I won’t be dragged into it! I didn’t know you’d go and do that!”“I didn’t mean to, Moredock. It was in my rage.”“But it’s murder, doctor; it’s murder, and they’ll try you for your life!”“It must not be known. We must—”“Nay, nay: it isn’t we,” protested the old man. “It was you did it. I was skeered about you both getting wild, and I thought I’d be out of it, and came home.”“But you must help me, Moredock! You shall help me, man!”“I can’t help you, doctor: it’s murder!” protested the sexton, trying to escape from the fierce grasp which held him.“It was not murder! It was fair fight!” cried North fiercely. “And, look here, man, you cannot help yourself. You must help me to hide this terrible night’s work.”The old man ceased struggling: for the doctor’s words impressed him, and he felt how thoroughly they two were linked together.“But it’s like cutting short a man’s days,” he half whimpered.“Silence! Do what I say, and no one need know what has occurred.”“But—”“Silence, I say!” cried North, firmly now. “Get your hat; we must go to the church at once.”Moredock stood half bent, and with his head turned to his companion.“Where—where is he, doctor?”“In the Candlish vault. I carried him there!”“Hah!”The sexton drew a long breath. “You must come on and remove all traces of the struggle in the vestry, and then—”“In the morslem, eh, doctor?” said the old man thoughtfully, and growing resigned to the difficulties of his position. “Well, we can put him where no one’s likely to find him there. Hey, doctor, but it’s been a bad thing for me to ha’ met you!”“Your lanthorn and matches—quick!” said North. “There is no time to lose!”“But if—if—doctor?”“If what?”“If it is found out, you’ll say a word for me. You’ve made me do all this. I do want to live my fifteen or twenty years more in peace.”“Trust me as you’ve trusted me before,” said North, who was now speaking calmly enough, and had grasped the situation. “I tell you it was an accident—a horrible accident. It was in fair fight; and I have come off none too well.”“I’ll stand by you, doctor,” said the old man; “and we’ll hide it safe. But there’s Dally,” he muttered to himself—“Dally. She’ll know there’s something wrong, for she won’t believe. Not that he has gone away out o’ fear o’ doctor? Ay, she’ll have to think that. My poor little lass—my poor little lass!”

“My turn now,” said Moredock, with a low chuckle. “Times as he’s given me doses. He, he, he! I can give him one now.”

The old sexton took a key from his vest, and opened a curious old oaken corner cupboard, upon whose shelves were ranged a variety of objects which gleamed out from their prison, and seemed to suggest that they had not been honestly come by. The most prominent object, however, was a square, black schnapps bottle, with a footless glass turned upside down beside it.

“There, doctor,” chuckled the old man, as he made the cork squeak and the liquid gurgle when he poured some out; “that arn’t the same physic as you give me, but it’s real line, and was sent down to me by a London gent as I’ve dealt with many a time.”

North did not hesitate, but drank the dram of strong brandy at a gulp.

“That puts life into you, don’t it, doctor, eh? Better now?”

“Hah!” sighed North, returning the glass, and leaning back in the chair. “No, no; that will do.”

The stimulus did more than carry off the sensation of fainting, it gave back the power to think consistently; and North sat up as if considering what he should do next.

“He’s knocked you about a bit, doctor,” said Moredock, breaking in upon his musings.

“Eh? Yes; we had a sharp struggle,” said North, starting.

“Sent him home like a cur with his tail between his legs, haven’t you, doctor?”

North shuddered and caught Moredock’s arm.

“How did you know that—that he was there?”

“Oh, I foun’ it out!” said the old man evasively. “I’ve seen ends of cigars there and ashes on the floor; and I thought at first that parson smoked, and told him of it.”

“And—and what did he say?”

“Looked guilty,” chuckled the old man.

North was silent for a few moments, sitting with one hand across his eyes, trying to think out what he should do.

“Moredock,” he said, sharply turning on the old man; “why did you show me that to-night?”

The sexton gazed at him fixedly.

“Tell me—the truth.”

“Well, doctor, it didn’t do for young Squire Tom to be dessicating my church.”

“You had some other reason.”

“Well, it warn’t safe for us. He might ha’ foun’ us out.”

“Yes, exactly; but you would have warned me instead of taking me there. Why did you do that?”

“Well, doctor, of course I warn’t blind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you see,” said the old man, with a grin, “the saxun’s pay arn’t much; and a man looks out for what’s coming to help him on.”

“I don’t understand you, man.”

“Well, berrin’s and christenin’s and marriagein’s as all bring in a bit more. I’ve sin it for long enough.”

“Seen what?”

“That you was doin’ a bit o’ courting up at the Rect’ry; and it didn’t seem nice for your young lady to be going out o’ nights to meet Squire Tom, and in my church.”

North groaned.

“Never you mind, doctor; I like you,” said Moredock soothingly.

“Was this—was this known about the village?”

“’Bout you, or ’bout young miss?”

“Both, man, both!”

“Nay, not it. I see a deal, because I’m a man as thinks, doctor. No; I don’t s’pose any one knows on it. But never you mind, doctor; gels always will be gels and listen to chaps like Squire Tom. But I say,” whispered the old man, with a chuckle, after crossing to the window and seeing that the print curtain was well drawn over the broken patch through which the leaden tobacco jar had been hurled, “did you give it him well?”

North groaned.

“Why, doctor! Took more bad?”

The old man glanced at the hand he had laid upon the doctor’s shoulder, and wiped it, for it was wet with blood; and the sight of the hideous smear seemed to raise a terrible thought in his brain.

“Why, doctor,” he said, in a low whisper; “you haven’t—you haven’t hurt him much?”

North seized the old man’s arm, and sat gazing wildly at him for a few moments without speaking. He was battling with the mental confusion that troubled him and kept him in a state of hesitancy, in which his mind drifted like a derelict at sea.

He mastered it at last, and began to see clearly that, from what the old sexton knew, he must continue to make him his confidant. There could be no half measures. For his own safety he must tell him all; though even now there was Leo, who knew of the encounter.

No; she dare not speak, suspect what she might. For her reputation’s sake, she must hold her tongue.

Meanwhile, the old man glanced at his hand again, and, with a look of disgust, went through the action of wiping it.

“Why, doctor—doctor!” he whispered; “don’t say you’ve—!”

“I couldn’t help it, Moredock,” said North excitedly. “It was in the struggle: it was a fight for life. We were both mad with rage, and I—I struck him.”

“Ay, ay, doctor; but you needn’t ha’ hit him so hard. Look at the blood! Deary, deary; and all this trouble about a gel.”

“I don’t know how it happened,” panted North, clinging tightly to the old man’s arm. “I must have given him a terrible blow.”

“But it’s a hanging matter, doctor—a hanging matter!” whispered the sexton. “Don’t hold me, man; I didn’t do it! I won’t be dragged into it! I didn’t know you’d go and do that!”

“I didn’t mean to, Moredock. It was in my rage.”

“But it’s murder, doctor; it’s murder, and they’ll try you for your life!”

“It must not be known. We must—”

“Nay, nay: it isn’t we,” protested the old man. “It was you did it. I was skeered about you both getting wild, and I thought I’d be out of it, and came home.”

“But you must help me, Moredock! You shall help me, man!”

“I can’t help you, doctor: it’s murder!” protested the sexton, trying to escape from the fierce grasp which held him.

“It was not murder! It was fair fight!” cried North fiercely. “And, look here, man, you cannot help yourself. You must help me to hide this terrible night’s work.”

The old man ceased struggling: for the doctor’s words impressed him, and he felt how thoroughly they two were linked together.

“But it’s like cutting short a man’s days,” he half whimpered.

“Silence! Do what I say, and no one need know what has occurred.”

“But—”

“Silence, I say!” cried North, firmly now. “Get your hat; we must go to the church at once.”

Moredock stood half bent, and with his head turned to his companion.

“Where—where is he, doctor?”

“In the Candlish vault. I carried him there!”

“Hah!”

The sexton drew a long breath. “You must come on and remove all traces of the struggle in the vestry, and then—”

“In the morslem, eh, doctor?” said the old man thoughtfully, and growing resigned to the difficulties of his position. “Well, we can put him where no one’s likely to find him there. Hey, doctor, but it’s been a bad thing for me to ha’ met you!”

“Your lanthorn and matches—quick!” said North. “There is no time to lose!”

“But if—if—doctor?”

“If what?”

“If it is found out, you’ll say a word for me. You’ve made me do all this. I do want to live my fifteen or twenty years more in peace.”

“Trust me as you’ve trusted me before,” said North, who was now speaking calmly enough, and had grasped the situation. “I tell you it was an accident—a horrible accident. It was in fair fight; and I have come off none too well.”

“I’ll stand by you, doctor,” said the old man; “and we’ll hide it safe. But there’s Dally,” he muttered to himself—“Dally. She’ll know there’s something wrong, for she won’t believe. Not that he has gone away out o’ fear o’ doctor? Ay, she’ll have to think that. My poor little lass—my poor little lass!”

Volume Two—Chapter Sixteen.The Doctor is Relieved.The old clock wheezed, and rattled, and spun round, and its weights ran down as the doctor and old Moredock entered the belfry door. Then, as the portal was closed, the dark place seemed to be filled with sound as the chimes rang out the four quarters, and then the deep-toned strokes of hammer upon bell proclaimed that it was nearing day.“Only three o’clock,” thought North, “and it seems as many days as hours.”They passed into the church as soon as the old man had lit his lanthorn and covered it with the skirt of his coat, which he held so that the light fell only upon the matting, and here and there upon a brass or some half-worn letters cut in the stones.The chancel door stuck and refused to open till the old man had held down his lanthorn to see what held it.“What’s here?” he whispered, as something glittered. “Young miss’s bracelet,” he added, as he dragged out the shining gewgaw, which Leo had dropped in her flight, and which had fallen close to the bottom of the door, and acted as a wedge. “Take hold, doctor.”“Pah!” ejaculated North, drawing back. “Throw it away.”“Ay, I’ll throw it away,” muttered the old man, stuffing the heavy gold circle into his pocket: “I’ll throw it away. Hey, but lookye here.”He held up the lanthorn, and revealed the state of the vestry—the chair overturned, the table driven into a corner, and the gown and surplice torn from the pegs on which they had hung, trampled and twisted, while in one place the tiles close to the wainscot were stained with blood, a few drops of which had splashed the panelled oak.“Shut that window, man—quick! Hide your light.”Moredock obeyed, screening his lanthorn, and then climbing on to the oak chest and drawing in and fastening the hasp.“Shall I—” he began, as he got down.“Hang it, man, no!”“Hist! Don’t say that there word,” whispered Moredock excitedly.“You can come up here to-morrow, and clean up, and arrange the place. Let’s get to the vault at once.”The old sexton’s hands trembled as he opened the vestry door, but as he felt how calm and decisive his companion seemed to be, he took courage and followed North through the iron gate and down the steps to the mausoleum door.“Keep that lanthorn well covered,” whispered North, as he unlocked the door; “and you have not locked the gates.”The old man stepped back, feeling the wisdom of his companion’s proceedings as far as caution was concerned; and by the time he had stepped back, North was inside the great vault, holding the door for him to enter.“There, let’s have the light now,” said the doctor bitterly. “Be firm. You are not afraid to face a dead man?”“Nay, I’m not sheered now, doctor,” whispered Moredock; “but you’ll—you’ll—you’ll—”“Pay you?”“Ay, doctor. You see, it’s—it’s—”“Don’t halt and stammer, man,” said the doctor sternly. “This is a terrible business, but I can trust you, and you can trust me. Stand by me firmly over this, and I will give you enough every year to make you comfortable to the end of your days.”“Hi, doctor, that’s speaking out like a man,” said Moredock, smiling hideously as he opened the horn lanthorn to snuff the candle with his fingers, when the light shone full in his face. “And he warn’t no good, were he?”“I dare say he valued his life as highly as I valued mine—yesterday,” added the doctor softly.“And he tried to kill you, didn’t he?” whispered Moredock, closing the lanthorn again.“As much as I tried to kill him, I suppose,” said North. “We were fighting like two brute beasts.”“Ay, and it was for life, like,” said Moredock, in a satisfied tone. “It warn’t murder, doctor, were it?”“By law, I suppose not,” said North quietly, as he stood in his former attitude with his hand over his eyes. “There, we must not waste time. My experiment is over now, and we must restore this place to its old state.”“Not murder,” said Moredock, with a chuckle; “of course not. I feel easy now.”He held the lanthorn over the extended form of Tom Candlish, which looked strangely ghastly by the feeble yellow light; and as he bent down, he could see that the young squire had received two terrible blows—one on his forehead, and the other on the right temple—both of which had bled and left a hideous stain upon the sawdust.“Dally ’ll have to try again,” said the old man to himself. “Enough a year to make me comf’table, and the doctor to keep me alive. You wouldn’t ha’ done that, Tom Candlish, over the money; and you couldn’t ha’ kept me alive when I was badly. You’d ha’ been a brute to the gel too ’fore you’d had her long. There, it’s all a blessing in disguise, as Parson Salis says.”He grinned in his ghoul-like way, and turned to touch North on the elbow.“Doctor!” he whispered.North’s hands fell from before his eyes, and he turned to gaze wildly at the old man, as one gazes when suddenly awakened from a too heavy sleep.“Yes! What is it? I’d forgotten. My head, man.”“Look here,” whispered the old sexton, leading him to the far right-hand corner of the vault, where a particularly florid old tarnished coffin handle dimly reflected the light in its ancient niche.The old man gave the end of the coffin a rap with his knuckles.“Empty,” he whispered, grinning; and he tapped it again, so that it emitted a hollow sound.“Empty?”“Ay; empty now, doctor. An old Squire Candlish lay in there two hundred years ago a’most; now a new Squire Candlish can lie in it, eh?”“Conceal the body there?” said North, who looked dazed.“Tchah! Only put him in there to sleep: that’s all, doctor; and nobody but us’ll know.”“Quick, then,” said North; “I’m a good deal hurt, man, and my head feels confused.”“Ay, to be sure, doctor, I’ll be quick, and then you can go home and put yourself to rights, and go on again here just as before. Take hold.”North obeyed in a dreamy way, apparently not knowing what he did; and as Moredock dragged out the old coffin, with its tattered velvet and tarnished ornamentations, he took the handle at the far end, and it was lifted down into the sawdust.The old man took the screw-driver from where it lay on the new coffin, where Sir Luke should have reposed, and rapidly turned the screws, leaving each standing up in its hole, and then lifted off the lid, to disclose some yellow lining and faded flowers, turning rapidly to so much dust—nothing more.“It’ll fit him,” whispered Moredock. “All the men Candlishes are ’bout the same size.“There, doctor,” he continued, as he set the lid down. “Now, then, to make all safe.”The old man’s words seemed to rouse North from his dreamy state, and with a start he looked at the old wretch before him, then at the empty coffin, and his quick medical appreciation of the situation seemed for the first time to have fully returned.“Here; hold the light,” he said.“Better set it down there,” whispered Moredock. “We can see better, then.”“Hold the light, I say,” cried the doctor sternly; and he went down on one knee by the young squire’s side.Moredock looked on wonderingly, for it had not occurred to him to make any inquiry into the young man’s state. North had as good as told him that he was slain, and to have questioned the doctor’s verdict would have been unnatural. He stood there then in a bent position, holding the lanthorn, as North made a rapid examination of the young baronet, and then rose to his feet in a calm, practical manner, uttering a sigh of relief.“Ready, doctor?” whispered Moredock, to whom all this seemed in the highest degree unnecessary.“Ready, man? No. Put that ghastly thing away. Tom Candlish will go on working wickedness for years after you’ve been under ground.”Moredock straightened himself up, and held the lanthorn above his head, so that its light could fall upon the doctor’s face. Then, apparently not satisfied, he lowered it, moved the wire slide, and opened the little door, before turning the light on the doctor’s face again.“Well?” said North.“What yer talking about, doctor? You don’t mean—mean as—as—”“I mean that the man is only stunned,” said North, frowning, as he stood gazing down at his rival; “and we must alter all our plans, Moredock. Neither you nor I will be hung for murdering Tom Candlish,” he added, with a half-savage laugh, as resentment against the man began to take the place of the horror which had pervaded his soul.“Why, doctor,” whispered Moredock, “you’re a bit off your head. Come, man, quick; and let’s get it done. No one will know.”“Pshaw! I’m as sane as you are when this confused feeling is not here.”“But Tom Candlish—the squire?”“I tell you he’s alive, man! Do you not understand?”And the party in question endorsed his rival’s statement by uttering a low moan.At that moment, by natural magnetism, or influence, or occult action of mind upon mind, or whatever it may have been, two people who had lain wakeful and excited in their separate beds, now feverish, now perspiring profusely from horror and abject fear, turned their weary heads upon their pillows, and dropped off fast asleep.The name of one of the sleepers was Leo Salis, and of the other Joe Chegg.“But he’s nearly dead, doctor,” whispered Moredock, and he glanced round at the coffin.“Don’t you think that—”He made a significant sign towards the coffin, and there was a strange leer upon his ghoulish face.Dr North turned swiftly round, and caught his tempter by the throat!

The old clock wheezed, and rattled, and spun round, and its weights ran down as the doctor and old Moredock entered the belfry door. Then, as the portal was closed, the dark place seemed to be filled with sound as the chimes rang out the four quarters, and then the deep-toned strokes of hammer upon bell proclaimed that it was nearing day.

“Only three o’clock,” thought North, “and it seems as many days as hours.”

They passed into the church as soon as the old man had lit his lanthorn and covered it with the skirt of his coat, which he held so that the light fell only upon the matting, and here and there upon a brass or some half-worn letters cut in the stones.

The chancel door stuck and refused to open till the old man had held down his lanthorn to see what held it.

“What’s here?” he whispered, as something glittered. “Young miss’s bracelet,” he added, as he dragged out the shining gewgaw, which Leo had dropped in her flight, and which had fallen close to the bottom of the door, and acted as a wedge. “Take hold, doctor.”

“Pah!” ejaculated North, drawing back. “Throw it away.”

“Ay, I’ll throw it away,” muttered the old man, stuffing the heavy gold circle into his pocket: “I’ll throw it away. Hey, but lookye here.”

He held up the lanthorn, and revealed the state of the vestry—the chair overturned, the table driven into a corner, and the gown and surplice torn from the pegs on which they had hung, trampled and twisted, while in one place the tiles close to the wainscot were stained with blood, a few drops of which had splashed the panelled oak.

“Shut that window, man—quick! Hide your light.”

Moredock obeyed, screening his lanthorn, and then climbing on to the oak chest and drawing in and fastening the hasp.

“Shall I—” he began, as he got down.

“Hang it, man, no!”

“Hist! Don’t say that there word,” whispered Moredock excitedly.

“You can come up here to-morrow, and clean up, and arrange the place. Let’s get to the vault at once.”

The old sexton’s hands trembled as he opened the vestry door, but as he felt how calm and decisive his companion seemed to be, he took courage and followed North through the iron gate and down the steps to the mausoleum door.

“Keep that lanthorn well covered,” whispered North, as he unlocked the door; “and you have not locked the gates.”

The old man stepped back, feeling the wisdom of his companion’s proceedings as far as caution was concerned; and by the time he had stepped back, North was inside the great vault, holding the door for him to enter.

“There, let’s have the light now,” said the doctor bitterly. “Be firm. You are not afraid to face a dead man?”

“Nay, I’m not sheered now, doctor,” whispered Moredock; “but you’ll—you’ll—you’ll—”

“Pay you?”

“Ay, doctor. You see, it’s—it’s—”

“Don’t halt and stammer, man,” said the doctor sternly. “This is a terrible business, but I can trust you, and you can trust me. Stand by me firmly over this, and I will give you enough every year to make you comfortable to the end of your days.”

“Hi, doctor, that’s speaking out like a man,” said Moredock, smiling hideously as he opened the horn lanthorn to snuff the candle with his fingers, when the light shone full in his face. “And he warn’t no good, were he?”

“I dare say he valued his life as highly as I valued mine—yesterday,” added the doctor softly.

“And he tried to kill you, didn’t he?” whispered Moredock, closing the lanthorn again.

“As much as I tried to kill him, I suppose,” said North. “We were fighting like two brute beasts.”

“Ay, and it was for life, like,” said Moredock, in a satisfied tone. “It warn’t murder, doctor, were it?”

“By law, I suppose not,” said North quietly, as he stood in his former attitude with his hand over his eyes. “There, we must not waste time. My experiment is over now, and we must restore this place to its old state.”

“Not murder,” said Moredock, with a chuckle; “of course not. I feel easy now.”

He held the lanthorn over the extended form of Tom Candlish, which looked strangely ghastly by the feeble yellow light; and as he bent down, he could see that the young squire had received two terrible blows—one on his forehead, and the other on the right temple—both of which had bled and left a hideous stain upon the sawdust.

“Dally ’ll have to try again,” said the old man to himself. “Enough a year to make me comf’table, and the doctor to keep me alive. You wouldn’t ha’ done that, Tom Candlish, over the money; and you couldn’t ha’ kept me alive when I was badly. You’d ha’ been a brute to the gel too ’fore you’d had her long. There, it’s all a blessing in disguise, as Parson Salis says.”

He grinned in his ghoul-like way, and turned to touch North on the elbow.

“Doctor!” he whispered.

North’s hands fell from before his eyes, and he turned to gaze wildly at the old man, as one gazes when suddenly awakened from a too heavy sleep.

“Yes! What is it? I’d forgotten. My head, man.”

“Look here,” whispered the old sexton, leading him to the far right-hand corner of the vault, where a particularly florid old tarnished coffin handle dimly reflected the light in its ancient niche.

The old man gave the end of the coffin a rap with his knuckles.

“Empty,” he whispered, grinning; and he tapped it again, so that it emitted a hollow sound.

“Empty?”

“Ay; empty now, doctor. An old Squire Candlish lay in there two hundred years ago a’most; now a new Squire Candlish can lie in it, eh?”

“Conceal the body there?” said North, who looked dazed.

“Tchah! Only put him in there to sleep: that’s all, doctor; and nobody but us’ll know.”

“Quick, then,” said North; “I’m a good deal hurt, man, and my head feels confused.”

“Ay, to be sure, doctor, I’ll be quick, and then you can go home and put yourself to rights, and go on again here just as before. Take hold.”

North obeyed in a dreamy way, apparently not knowing what he did; and as Moredock dragged out the old coffin, with its tattered velvet and tarnished ornamentations, he took the handle at the far end, and it was lifted down into the sawdust.

The old man took the screw-driver from where it lay on the new coffin, where Sir Luke should have reposed, and rapidly turned the screws, leaving each standing up in its hole, and then lifted off the lid, to disclose some yellow lining and faded flowers, turning rapidly to so much dust—nothing more.

“It’ll fit him,” whispered Moredock. “All the men Candlishes are ’bout the same size.

“There, doctor,” he continued, as he set the lid down. “Now, then, to make all safe.”

The old man’s words seemed to rouse North from his dreamy state, and with a start he looked at the old wretch before him, then at the empty coffin, and his quick medical appreciation of the situation seemed for the first time to have fully returned.

“Here; hold the light,” he said.

“Better set it down there,” whispered Moredock. “We can see better, then.”

“Hold the light, I say,” cried the doctor sternly; and he went down on one knee by the young squire’s side.

Moredock looked on wonderingly, for it had not occurred to him to make any inquiry into the young man’s state. North had as good as told him that he was slain, and to have questioned the doctor’s verdict would have been unnatural. He stood there then in a bent position, holding the lanthorn, as North made a rapid examination of the young baronet, and then rose to his feet in a calm, practical manner, uttering a sigh of relief.

“Ready, doctor?” whispered Moredock, to whom all this seemed in the highest degree unnecessary.

“Ready, man? No. Put that ghastly thing away. Tom Candlish will go on working wickedness for years after you’ve been under ground.”

Moredock straightened himself up, and held the lanthorn above his head, so that its light could fall upon the doctor’s face. Then, apparently not satisfied, he lowered it, moved the wire slide, and opened the little door, before turning the light on the doctor’s face again.

“Well?” said North.

“What yer talking about, doctor? You don’t mean—mean as—as—”

“I mean that the man is only stunned,” said North, frowning, as he stood gazing down at his rival; “and we must alter all our plans, Moredock. Neither you nor I will be hung for murdering Tom Candlish,” he added, with a half-savage laugh, as resentment against the man began to take the place of the horror which had pervaded his soul.

“Why, doctor,” whispered Moredock, “you’re a bit off your head. Come, man, quick; and let’s get it done. No one will know.”

“Pshaw! I’m as sane as you are when this confused feeling is not here.”

“But Tom Candlish—the squire?”

“I tell you he’s alive, man! Do you not understand?”

And the party in question endorsed his rival’s statement by uttering a low moan.

At that moment, by natural magnetism, or influence, or occult action of mind upon mind, or whatever it may have been, two people who had lain wakeful and excited in their separate beds, now feverish, now perspiring profusely from horror and abject fear, turned their weary heads upon their pillows, and dropped off fast asleep.

The name of one of the sleepers was Leo Salis, and of the other Joe Chegg.

“But he’s nearly dead, doctor,” whispered Moredock, and he glanced round at the coffin.

“Don’t you think that—”

He made a significant sign towards the coffin, and there was a strange leer upon his ghoulish face.

Dr North turned swiftly round, and caught his tempter by the throat!

Volume Two—Chapter Seventeen.The Sexton’s News.“You ring, sir?”“Yes, Dally; go up to Miss Leo’s room, and say we are waiting breakfast.”“Yes, sir,” said Dally, and her blackcurrant eyes gave a malicious twinkle.“Oh, how I should like to know,” she muttered to herself, as she left the room.“It’s so tiresome,” exclaimed Salis testily; “busy as I am this morning—letters to write. I must answer this last letter of May’s. More complaints—more complaints! Oh, what a wretched curate he has got!”Mary looked up from her seat, with her gentle smile, for she knew how the harsh crystals of annoyance would melt away with the first cup of tea, and her brother be all smiles again.“Wouldn’t you like to begin, dear?”“Begin? Without Leo! You know, Mary, how particular she is, and how she would feel it as a slight. Tut—tut—tut! How late she is! Mrs Berens, too, been writing. Do you know, Mary, I wish that woman would leave the place!”“She is not likely to, Hartley,” said Mary, who was propped up with cushions at the head of the table, having lately taken her old place once more; “and she is very kind and good.”“Yes, that’s the worst of it,” said Salis grimly. “If she were a disagreeable old harridan, it would not matter so much. Oh! here she comes.”Leo came quickly into the breakfast-room, looking strained about the eyes, to cross to Mary, put down her right cheek to be kissed, and then to go to her brother, extend him her hand, and lower her left cheek for a second salute.“That’s right, dear,” said Salis cheerily; “but you are terribly late. I’m so busy this morning.”“Why did you not begin?” said Leo, as she languidly took her place.“Without you? Not likely. Pour out, Mary, dear. Why, Leo—not well?”“Not well?” she said, repeating his words calmly enough. “I am quite well, dear.”“But you look—”“As if I had overslept myself,” said Leo quietly. “Any letters?”“Yes. One sent on by Mrs Berens about the parish poor. Must bring that up this morning. One from May. That wicked old man! I know he keeps on with this persecution—there, I can call it nothing else—on purpose to get me to resign.”“And you will not resign, Hartley,” said Leo; “you will set him at defiance.”“I don’t know. I do love a quiet life, and I cannot get it. Now, here’s this morning. Letters to write—more tea, Mary. Ten-o’clock meeting in the vestry.”“Ah!”“Why, Leo, dear!” cried the curate, half starting from his chair, while Mary gazed wonderingly at her sister.“There’s nothing the matter, good people,” said Leo contemptuously. “A touch of toothache! The weather, I suppose.”“You quite startled me,” said Salis cheerily. “Visit to the dentist imminent, my dear. Let’s see, where was I? Oh, yes! Vestry meeting at ten,” he continued, turning to a memorandum-book; “Sir Thomas Candlish to preside, by special request.”Leo’s face was ghastly, but she mastered her emotions by a tremendous effort of will; and, rising from her seat, she fetched a book from the sideboard, opened it as she returned to her place, and went on reading with her breakfast.“Ah! you’ll be glad to hear this, Mary,” said Salis. “North is going to bring up the question of those four dilapidated cottages. He says they are regular fever generators, and that Sir Thomas shall have them pulled down, for they are a disgrace to the place.”“They certainly are not fit for human habitation, Hartley,” said Mary, who could not keep her wondering eyes off her sister, making a pretence of eating and reading, but doing neither. She could do nothing but listen to the recital of peril after peril accumulating round her, and all following upon a pert, insolent reply given her by Dally Watlock as she was coming down.“I expect we shall have a storm,” continued Salis, as if to himself. “It’s like asking the arbitrary landlord to have a tooth out, to pull down a labourer’s cottage.”Leo Salis had the spirit and cruelty of heart of an old Roman woman. She could have viewed with a feeling of intense delight a gladiatorial exhibition, and turned down her thumb with the worst of them for the death-warrant of any poor wretch who had not displayed a sufficiency of courage. To her the new-born passion of Horace North had been a matter of intense satisfaction, and she had revelled with a malicious joy in the feeling that she had made him her slave—one who would never meet with the slightest reward. But while she was careless of the pain she inflicted upon others, she could suffer keenly at times, and this was one of these occasions. She loved as a tigress might love, and her affection had become centred upon the brutal, coarse-minded, athletic scoundrel, who ranked as a gentleman, but whose tastes and ways were those of a low-class stable helper; and now, after a night of miserable anxiety lest her lover should have been injured by North, while she dare make no inquiry as to what had occurred—she found herself obliged to sit there chained as much by inclination as by necessity to hear that Tom Candlish and the doctor were to be brought face to face before her brother in the scene of the previous night’s encounter.After a short sleep, she had awoke at dawn to ask herself what she should do—whether she should fly from the Rectory, and bid Tom Candlish take her away, so that she should not be called upon to face the scornful looks and contempt of North.But after a time her stubborn and determined nature had taught her that she would be at a great disadvantage with Tom Candlish if she went to him. He would be no longer the suer but the sued, and she was determined that he should make her his wife.“North dare not speak to me; and if he did, what then? He is my slave, and I will meet him. Let him come, and say what he likes. I am no sickly, sentimental girl who feels bound to obey every one in turn. I will not go. I’ll face it all.”She could not conceal her aspect, but her heart was strong when she came down that morning till the troubles seemed to accumulate, and a black cloud of care, which she could not penetrate, appeared to be rising.Salis went on hurriedly with his breakfast, talking of the business in the vestry; and all the time Leo was wondering how it was that North could have known of their meetings—how the vestry looked that morning—what the old sexton would say, and how this trouble would settle down.She glanced furtively aside, and saw that Mary was watching her.This set her wondering whether her sister knew anything, and of whether her nocturnal escapades would reach her brother’s ears.It was not likely, she told herself; and she was gradually growing more composed, when Dally presented herself briskly at the door, her eyes twinkling, and a quiet, satisfied look about her which seemed to show that she was pleased with the task she had in hand.“Note from Dr North, sir! No answer.”“Hah! about the cottages,” said Salis, smiling as he opened the note, Dally closing the door after darting a triumphant glance at Leo, which was not seen. “Ammunition to use against the enemy. How provoking!”“Is anything wrong, Hartley?” said Mary, while Leo bent lower over her book.“Wrong? Yes! There always is something wrong. Poor Horace is unwell this morning, and cannot attend the vestry.”Leo’s heart gave a bound. Her brave, strong lover had beaten the wretched intruder, and he had curled up in his hole, afraid to come out. There was nothing to fear from Horace North but his contempt, and she could meet that with her scorn.“My poor people’s cottages!” sighed Salis. “They’ll have to wait. Well, I’m not malignant, but if a fever is generated there, I hope the landlord will be the first to catch it.”“Hartley!” cried Mary, in remonstrant tones.“I didn’t say and be cut off,” cried Salis, laughing, glancing at the window. “I meant to read him a severe lesson. Hallo! Job redivivus! I’m Job. Here comes another messenger. Why, what does old Moredock want?”Leo’s heart sank. She felt that she knew, and shrank from the ordeal, as Dally meekly opened the breakfast-room door.“Please, sir, gran’fa says can he speak to you a minute?”“Certainly, Dally; bring him in. Port wine, Mary!” he added, as soon as the maid had left the room; and he recalled certain words he had let fall about the missing bottles of tent, and his promise to give the old fellow wine if he were unwell.“Surely, Hartley, you are not going to have that dreadful old man in here!” panted Leo, who felt half suffocated by her emotion, as she recalled the last night’s scene in the vestry. “Why not, dear?”“It is too horrible—the sexton!”“Nonsense, child! Poor old fellow! His stay on earth cannot be for long; let’s make it as free from social thorns as we can. Morning, Moredock!” he cried, as Dally ushered the old man in, to stand bowing to Mary and her sister before making a scrape or two before the curate.“Mornin’, young ladies! Mornin’, sir! Smart mornin’, sir! Sorry to trouble you at braxfus, but I was obliged to come.”Leo acknowledged the bow without rising, bent lower over her book, and, with teeth set hard, stole one hand under the cloth to grasp the edge of the table and grip it with all her might.“What, about the vestry meeting—to tell me Dr North was ill?”“Doctor ill! Is he though, sir?” croaked Moredock, as his red eyes wandered from face to face.“Yes, he is unwell, Moredock, and cannot come.”“Bad job—bad job, sir! Doctors has no business to be ill. S’p’ose I was took bad, I shouldn’t like to trust Dr Benson. I never did have no faith in King’s Hampton folk at all. But it warn’t about that.”“What, then? Nothing serious, I hope?”“Ay; but it be, sir,” croaked the old man, staring for a moment at Mary, and then fixing his eyes upon Leo. “It is very ser’ous. Some un’s been in the night and made a burgly in the chutch.”“What!” cried Salis, starting up. “Great heavens, Moredock! is this true?”“Ay, it be true enough, parson.”“But they haven’t taken the plate?”“Nay, the plate be safe, though.”“The poor-boxes, then? Thank goodness, Mary, I emptied them the day before yesterday. How providential!”“They never touched poor-boxes,” croaked Moredock: “and if I might make so bold, parson, I’m a bit weak i’ th’ legs yet, and I’d like to sit down.”“Yes, yes, sit down, Moredock; but pray speak out.”“Well, you see, sir, they didn’t get into my chutch: only into vestry.”Leo felt that she must get up and leave the room, but she lacked the power.“The vestry!” cried Salis. “What have they taken?”“Well, as far as I can make out, sir, they broke in at window, and then they must ha’ been skeered, for they only thieved one thing.”“What!—the wine?”“Nay, nay, nay. Wine’s all right—locked up in the cupboard,” croaked Moredock. “They’ve stole your surplus, sir.”“Impossible!” cried Salis, giving the table a sounding thump with his closed fist, and bursting into a roar of laughter.“Impossible, Mary. I haven’t any surplus for them to steal.”“Ay, well,” grumbled the old sexton, looking wonderingly at the curate and then at Leo and Mary in turn; “you may say so, parson, but I know. It were a hanging up on peg alongside o’ the gownd, and they’d pulled ’em both down to take away, when they must have been skeered, and they chowked the gownd down in the corner by the oak chesty, and the surplus is gone.”“Ah, well, it might have been worse,” said Salis, with a sigh. “It was my new one, though, and the old one is terribly darned. Leo, dear, you will have to get out the old one again. Mary has the keys.”“It be a bad job, parson.”“It is, Moredock, a very bad job; but I’m glad the wretches were scared. I won’t believe it was any one from Duke’s Hampton.”“Nay, it were some of the King’s Hampton lot, safe, parson. Ugh! they’re a bad set out yunder. I thought it my dooty to come on and tell you, sir, and now I’m going away back.”“Let me give you a cup of tea, Moredock,” said Mary; “you look tired.”“Bless your sweet eyes and heart, miss, and thankye kindly,” said Moredock. “Cup o’ tea’s a great comfort to a lone old man. And thankye kindly for undertaking to take care o’ my Dally, as wants it, like most young gels. Why, Miss Mary, I’ve know’d you since you was quite a little thin slip.”“You have, Moredock,” said Mary, smiling, as she handed the tea to her brother for the old man, who paid no farther heed to Leo. “I was only fifteen when I first saw you.”“Ay, and you was as bright and quick as now you’re—Well, never mind that, my dear. Better be an angel as can’t walk about than some beautiful gels as can.”“Why, Moredock,” said Salis, laughing, “was that meant for a compliment?”“I dunno, parson,” said the old man, staring hard at Mary; “’tis only what I felt. Heaven bless her! I never see her face wi’out thinking o’ stained glass windows, wi’ wire outside to keep away the stones; and I says, may no stones never be throwed at her.”The old man gulped down his tea, and rose to go.“You’ll be on at vestry room, sir?”“Yes, Moredock; and once more I’m glad it’s no worse.”“Like me to go over in Badley’s donkey-cart, sir, to tell the police?”“Well, yes, Moredock. We must give notice about the scoundrels, I suppose, or they may come again.”“Mornin’, then, sir, and my service to you, Miss Mary, and thankye kindly, my dear,” said the old man, hobbling off without a word or look at Leo; and, oddly enough, as he reached the road he wiped a tear from each of his watery eyes.“And so she is,” he muttered, “a real angel. My Dally never said, ‘Have a cup o’ tea, gran’fa; you’re hot and tired.’ Ah! gels is made different, but my Dally’s worth two o’ that tother one.”“Police, eh?” he muttered, as he went on. “I was ’bliged to take it away twissened up into a rag, and if it had been washed somebody would have known. Ah, well, I know what to do wi’ that.”So the old man went straight home, and fastened the door, before taking the soiled and crumpled surplice from his oak chest; and then carefully picking it to pieces and rolling it up.“My Dally shall wash that, first time she comes, and nobody’ll know it’s a surplus now. She might ha’ asked her old gran’fa to have a cup o’ tea.”

“You ring, sir?”

“Yes, Dally; go up to Miss Leo’s room, and say we are waiting breakfast.”

“Yes, sir,” said Dally, and her blackcurrant eyes gave a malicious twinkle.

“Oh, how I should like to know,” she muttered to herself, as she left the room.

“It’s so tiresome,” exclaimed Salis testily; “busy as I am this morning—letters to write. I must answer this last letter of May’s. More complaints—more complaints! Oh, what a wretched curate he has got!”

Mary looked up from her seat, with her gentle smile, for she knew how the harsh crystals of annoyance would melt away with the first cup of tea, and her brother be all smiles again.

“Wouldn’t you like to begin, dear?”

“Begin? Without Leo! You know, Mary, how particular she is, and how she would feel it as a slight. Tut—tut—tut! How late she is! Mrs Berens, too, been writing. Do you know, Mary, I wish that woman would leave the place!”

“She is not likely to, Hartley,” said Mary, who was propped up with cushions at the head of the table, having lately taken her old place once more; “and she is very kind and good.”

“Yes, that’s the worst of it,” said Salis grimly. “If she were a disagreeable old harridan, it would not matter so much. Oh! here she comes.”

Leo came quickly into the breakfast-room, looking strained about the eyes, to cross to Mary, put down her right cheek to be kissed, and then to go to her brother, extend him her hand, and lower her left cheek for a second salute.

“That’s right, dear,” said Salis cheerily; “but you are terribly late. I’m so busy this morning.”

“Why did you not begin?” said Leo, as she languidly took her place.

“Without you? Not likely. Pour out, Mary, dear. Why, Leo—not well?”

“Not well?” she said, repeating his words calmly enough. “I am quite well, dear.”

“But you look—”

“As if I had overslept myself,” said Leo quietly. “Any letters?”

“Yes. One sent on by Mrs Berens about the parish poor. Must bring that up this morning. One from May. That wicked old man! I know he keeps on with this persecution—there, I can call it nothing else—on purpose to get me to resign.”

“And you will not resign, Hartley,” said Leo; “you will set him at defiance.”

“I don’t know. I do love a quiet life, and I cannot get it. Now, here’s this morning. Letters to write—more tea, Mary. Ten-o’clock meeting in the vestry.”

“Ah!”

“Why, Leo, dear!” cried the curate, half starting from his chair, while Mary gazed wonderingly at her sister.

“There’s nothing the matter, good people,” said Leo contemptuously. “A touch of toothache! The weather, I suppose.”

“You quite startled me,” said Salis cheerily. “Visit to the dentist imminent, my dear. Let’s see, where was I? Oh, yes! Vestry meeting at ten,” he continued, turning to a memorandum-book; “Sir Thomas Candlish to preside, by special request.”

Leo’s face was ghastly, but she mastered her emotions by a tremendous effort of will; and, rising from her seat, she fetched a book from the sideboard, opened it as she returned to her place, and went on reading with her breakfast.

“Ah! you’ll be glad to hear this, Mary,” said Salis. “North is going to bring up the question of those four dilapidated cottages. He says they are regular fever generators, and that Sir Thomas shall have them pulled down, for they are a disgrace to the place.”

“They certainly are not fit for human habitation, Hartley,” said Mary, who could not keep her wondering eyes off her sister, making a pretence of eating and reading, but doing neither. She could do nothing but listen to the recital of peril after peril accumulating round her, and all following upon a pert, insolent reply given her by Dally Watlock as she was coming down.

“I expect we shall have a storm,” continued Salis, as if to himself. “It’s like asking the arbitrary landlord to have a tooth out, to pull down a labourer’s cottage.”

Leo Salis had the spirit and cruelty of heart of an old Roman woman. She could have viewed with a feeling of intense delight a gladiatorial exhibition, and turned down her thumb with the worst of them for the death-warrant of any poor wretch who had not displayed a sufficiency of courage. To her the new-born passion of Horace North had been a matter of intense satisfaction, and she had revelled with a malicious joy in the feeling that she had made him her slave—one who would never meet with the slightest reward. But while she was careless of the pain she inflicted upon others, she could suffer keenly at times, and this was one of these occasions. She loved as a tigress might love, and her affection had become centred upon the brutal, coarse-minded, athletic scoundrel, who ranked as a gentleman, but whose tastes and ways were those of a low-class stable helper; and now, after a night of miserable anxiety lest her lover should have been injured by North, while she dare make no inquiry as to what had occurred—she found herself obliged to sit there chained as much by inclination as by necessity to hear that Tom Candlish and the doctor were to be brought face to face before her brother in the scene of the previous night’s encounter.

After a short sleep, she had awoke at dawn to ask herself what she should do—whether she should fly from the Rectory, and bid Tom Candlish take her away, so that she should not be called upon to face the scornful looks and contempt of North.

But after a time her stubborn and determined nature had taught her that she would be at a great disadvantage with Tom Candlish if she went to him. He would be no longer the suer but the sued, and she was determined that he should make her his wife.

“North dare not speak to me; and if he did, what then? He is my slave, and I will meet him. Let him come, and say what he likes. I am no sickly, sentimental girl who feels bound to obey every one in turn. I will not go. I’ll face it all.”

She could not conceal her aspect, but her heart was strong when she came down that morning till the troubles seemed to accumulate, and a black cloud of care, which she could not penetrate, appeared to be rising.

Salis went on hurriedly with his breakfast, talking of the business in the vestry; and all the time Leo was wondering how it was that North could have known of their meetings—how the vestry looked that morning—what the old sexton would say, and how this trouble would settle down.

She glanced furtively aside, and saw that Mary was watching her.

This set her wondering whether her sister knew anything, and of whether her nocturnal escapades would reach her brother’s ears.

It was not likely, she told herself; and she was gradually growing more composed, when Dally presented herself briskly at the door, her eyes twinkling, and a quiet, satisfied look about her which seemed to show that she was pleased with the task she had in hand.

“Note from Dr North, sir! No answer.”

“Hah! about the cottages,” said Salis, smiling as he opened the note, Dally closing the door after darting a triumphant glance at Leo, which was not seen. “Ammunition to use against the enemy. How provoking!”

“Is anything wrong, Hartley?” said Mary, while Leo bent lower over her book.

“Wrong? Yes! There always is something wrong. Poor Horace is unwell this morning, and cannot attend the vestry.”

Leo’s heart gave a bound. Her brave, strong lover had beaten the wretched intruder, and he had curled up in his hole, afraid to come out. There was nothing to fear from Horace North but his contempt, and she could meet that with her scorn.

“My poor people’s cottages!” sighed Salis. “They’ll have to wait. Well, I’m not malignant, but if a fever is generated there, I hope the landlord will be the first to catch it.”

“Hartley!” cried Mary, in remonstrant tones.

“I didn’t say and be cut off,” cried Salis, laughing, glancing at the window. “I meant to read him a severe lesson. Hallo! Job redivivus! I’m Job. Here comes another messenger. Why, what does old Moredock want?”

Leo’s heart sank. She felt that she knew, and shrank from the ordeal, as Dally meekly opened the breakfast-room door.

“Please, sir, gran’fa says can he speak to you a minute?”

“Certainly, Dally; bring him in. Port wine, Mary!” he added, as soon as the maid had left the room; and he recalled certain words he had let fall about the missing bottles of tent, and his promise to give the old fellow wine if he were unwell.

“Surely, Hartley, you are not going to have that dreadful old man in here!” panted Leo, who felt half suffocated by her emotion, as she recalled the last night’s scene in the vestry. “Why not, dear?”

“It is too horrible—the sexton!”

“Nonsense, child! Poor old fellow! His stay on earth cannot be for long; let’s make it as free from social thorns as we can. Morning, Moredock!” he cried, as Dally ushered the old man in, to stand bowing to Mary and her sister before making a scrape or two before the curate.

“Mornin’, young ladies! Mornin’, sir! Smart mornin’, sir! Sorry to trouble you at braxfus, but I was obliged to come.”

Leo acknowledged the bow without rising, bent lower over her book, and, with teeth set hard, stole one hand under the cloth to grasp the edge of the table and grip it with all her might.

“What, about the vestry meeting—to tell me Dr North was ill?”

“Doctor ill! Is he though, sir?” croaked Moredock, as his red eyes wandered from face to face.

“Yes, he is unwell, Moredock, and cannot come.”

“Bad job—bad job, sir! Doctors has no business to be ill. S’p’ose I was took bad, I shouldn’t like to trust Dr Benson. I never did have no faith in King’s Hampton folk at all. But it warn’t about that.”

“What, then? Nothing serious, I hope?”

“Ay; but it be, sir,” croaked the old man, staring for a moment at Mary, and then fixing his eyes upon Leo. “It is very ser’ous. Some un’s been in the night and made a burgly in the chutch.”

“What!” cried Salis, starting up. “Great heavens, Moredock! is this true?”

“Ay, it be true enough, parson.”

“But they haven’t taken the plate?”

“Nay, the plate be safe, though.”

“The poor-boxes, then? Thank goodness, Mary, I emptied them the day before yesterday. How providential!”

“They never touched poor-boxes,” croaked Moredock: “and if I might make so bold, parson, I’m a bit weak i’ th’ legs yet, and I’d like to sit down.”

“Yes, yes, sit down, Moredock; but pray speak out.”

“Well, you see, sir, they didn’t get into my chutch: only into vestry.”

Leo felt that she must get up and leave the room, but she lacked the power.

“The vestry!” cried Salis. “What have they taken?”

“Well, as far as I can make out, sir, they broke in at window, and then they must ha’ been skeered, for they only thieved one thing.”

“What!—the wine?”

“Nay, nay, nay. Wine’s all right—locked up in the cupboard,” croaked Moredock. “They’ve stole your surplus, sir.”

“Impossible!” cried Salis, giving the table a sounding thump with his closed fist, and bursting into a roar of laughter.

“Impossible, Mary. I haven’t any surplus for them to steal.”

“Ay, well,” grumbled the old sexton, looking wonderingly at the curate and then at Leo and Mary in turn; “you may say so, parson, but I know. It were a hanging up on peg alongside o’ the gownd, and they’d pulled ’em both down to take away, when they must have been skeered, and they chowked the gownd down in the corner by the oak chesty, and the surplus is gone.”

“Ah, well, it might have been worse,” said Salis, with a sigh. “It was my new one, though, and the old one is terribly darned. Leo, dear, you will have to get out the old one again. Mary has the keys.”

“It be a bad job, parson.”

“It is, Moredock, a very bad job; but I’m glad the wretches were scared. I won’t believe it was any one from Duke’s Hampton.”

“Nay, it were some of the King’s Hampton lot, safe, parson. Ugh! they’re a bad set out yunder. I thought it my dooty to come on and tell you, sir, and now I’m going away back.”

“Let me give you a cup of tea, Moredock,” said Mary; “you look tired.”

“Bless your sweet eyes and heart, miss, and thankye kindly,” said Moredock. “Cup o’ tea’s a great comfort to a lone old man. And thankye kindly for undertaking to take care o’ my Dally, as wants it, like most young gels. Why, Miss Mary, I’ve know’d you since you was quite a little thin slip.”

“You have, Moredock,” said Mary, smiling, as she handed the tea to her brother for the old man, who paid no farther heed to Leo. “I was only fifteen when I first saw you.”

“Ay, and you was as bright and quick as now you’re—Well, never mind that, my dear. Better be an angel as can’t walk about than some beautiful gels as can.”

“Why, Moredock,” said Salis, laughing, “was that meant for a compliment?”

“I dunno, parson,” said the old man, staring hard at Mary; “’tis only what I felt. Heaven bless her! I never see her face wi’out thinking o’ stained glass windows, wi’ wire outside to keep away the stones; and I says, may no stones never be throwed at her.”

The old man gulped down his tea, and rose to go.

“You’ll be on at vestry room, sir?”

“Yes, Moredock; and once more I’m glad it’s no worse.”

“Like me to go over in Badley’s donkey-cart, sir, to tell the police?”

“Well, yes, Moredock. We must give notice about the scoundrels, I suppose, or they may come again.”

“Mornin’, then, sir, and my service to you, Miss Mary, and thankye kindly, my dear,” said the old man, hobbling off without a word or look at Leo; and, oddly enough, as he reached the road he wiped a tear from each of his watery eyes.

“And so she is,” he muttered, “a real angel. My Dally never said, ‘Have a cup o’ tea, gran’fa; you’re hot and tired.’ Ah! gels is made different, but my Dally’s worth two o’ that tother one.”

“Police, eh?” he muttered, as he went on. “I was ’bliged to take it away twissened up into a rag, and if it had been washed somebody would have known. Ah, well, I know what to do wi’ that.”

So the old man went straight home, and fastened the door, before taking the soiled and crumpled surplice from his oak chest; and then carefully picking it to pieces and rolling it up.

“My Dally shall wash that, first time she comes, and nobody’ll know it’s a surplus now. She might ha’ asked her old gran’fa to have a cup o’ tea.”

Volume Two—Chapter Eighteen.At Candlish Hall.“My Dally” had been otherwise employed, for a messenger had come over from the Hall to see the curate; and at the time her grandfather was departing, Dally was cross-examining the good-tempered, loutish youth respecting his master, and getting out of him all she could glean.“Job is having it this morning,” said Salis, for he heard a familiar step in the passage, as soon as the sexton had gone. “What now, Dally? No more bad news?”“Bad news, sir?” said the girl, speaking to her master, and gazing at Leo, who did not look up. “I don’t think so, sir. It’s the young man from Candlish Hall, sir, to see you partikler.”“I knew it,” cried Salis to Mary, as Leo bent lower. “Candlish has sent word that he cannot come. Now, how the de—”“Hartley!”“Well, it’s enough to make a saint swear. How can a man carry on his parish work like this? I wish to goodness May had it to do himself. Show him in, Dally.”The girl departed, and returned directly with the servant from the Hall, who looked stealthily at Salis, and then from Leo to Mary and back.“Can I speak to you alone, sir?” he said.“Yes, yes, my man, certainly. Is it anything serious?”“Yes, sir—very, sir. I’ve come—”“Here, this way, to my study, my man,” said Salis, rising.“Stop!”Salis had reached the door—his hand was on the knob, and he was about to turn it; but the sharp, commanding voice made him turn in astonishment, to see Leo standing erect, with her head thrown back, her eyes flashing, and her hand resting upon the book—closed now—and one finger shut in to mark the place.“Leo!”“Yes; I said ‘stop.’ We are not children,” she cried, in an imperative voice. “Let the man speak here.”“It was about Sir Thomas, ma’am—my master,” faltered the man, before Salis had recovered from his astonishment. “An accident.”“An accident?” cried Leo, as Salis stepped to her side, and laid his hand upon her arm; but she shrank away. “Well, sir, why do you not speak?”“Am I to speak, sir?” faltered the man.“Yes; speak out,” said Salis quietly.“My master did not come home last night, sir—I mean this morning. He often goes out of a night, sir, very late; but he always comes in at daybreak. I’ve seen him dozens of times.”“Yes; go on,” said Leo harshly.“He didn’t come back, miss—ma’am; and I was thinking about it when I went to the stables and took his mare and the pad-horse out for exercise.”“Speak more quickly, man,” said Leo imperiously.“Yes, ma’am. We’d got down nearly to the ford, when the mare—master’s mare, ma’am—shied at something, and nearly threw me.”“The mare shied?” said Leo, with her eyes dilating.“Yes, ma’am; and I saw it was at master lying there by the side of the road.”“Dead?”“No, ma’am, but very bad. His head was—”“Hush!” said Salis, interrupting sternly. “No particulars, my man; only answer me this—was it a fall?”“Oh, no, sir! some one had been beating him about the head with a stick, I should say.”“Had he been robbed?”“Oh, no, sir! His watch and chain and pin were all right.”“Was he insensible?” continued Salis.“Yes, sir; quite, sir; and seemed to have been staggering about the road, trying to get home, for there was bl—”“Hush, man! Only answer my questions,” cried Salis hastily. “You got him home?”“Yes, sir,” said the man, who could not keep his eyes off Leo, who was gazing at him wildly—in a way which taught her brother that the old love for Tom Candlish was far from dead.“And then—”“And then, sir, as soon as we’d got him on his bed, I galloped off for Dr North, sir.”“Yes.”“But he’s ill, sir, and the housekeeper said he couldn’t come to the Hall.”“Well?”“I hardly knew what to do, then, sir; but as I was wondering what was best, Joe Chegg come up, sir—he used to be a groom, you know—and I jumped off the mare, and made him get up and go off to King’s Hampton to fetch Dr Benson, while I came on to you.”“Quite right,” said Salis. “I’ll come on with you directly. Mary, my dear, send a line to Moredock to say that there will be no vestry meeting. Yes? You were going to speak, Leo.”She shook her head, and half closed her eyes, as she turned away, shivering at the feeling of vindictive rage which ran through her, as in imagination she seemed to see the result of the encounter which had taken place, and that it was Tom Candlish who had fared by far the worse.Salis’s countenance grew more stern, as he leaned over to Mary, and stooped over to say a few words in her ear.“Try and keep her by your side. We must have no foolish excitement now.”“I will try,” said Mary gently; and she looked up to see that Leo was watching them both inquiringly, her face contracted, and a singular look in her eyes.For she was wondering what would be the result of her brother’s meeting with the young squire; and then as she drew her breath painfully, the thoughts of self and the dread of detection gave place to feelings of horror respecting the man she loved, and of hate, the most bitter and intense, against North, whom she now longed to meet that she might revile him—heap upon his head her bitterness and contempt.“It’s scared us, sir, horrible,” said the man as he walked back with Salis.“Have you any idea who attacked your master?” said Salis.“Not a bit, sir. That’s the puzzle of it. If it had been for his money, they’d have taken it all, and his watch. We can’t understand it a bit.”“I can,” said Salis to himself. “The scoundrel has been insulting some one’s child, or sweetheart, or wife, and been half killed for his pains. I wonder who was the guilty party? Well I know that,” he muttered with a half laugh—“Tom Candlish.”“Yes, sir; beg pardon, sir.”“What for, my man?” said Salis, feeling a little disconcerted.“I thought you laughed, sir, and said something.”“No, no, my man; only a way of mine.”They walked on in silence after this, Salis feeling very sore at heart as he thought of his sister, and how painful it was that she should still care, as she evidently did, for such a worthless scoundrel.“Even the knowledge of this new escapade would not move her, I’m afraid,” he muttered. “Well, matters like this must settle themselves.”They now reached the Hall, to find the servants assembled, and in a state of the most intense excitement.“Master was no worse,” the old butler said. “He had been asking for brandy.”“What? You did not give it to him?” cried Salis excitedly.“I was obliged to, sir. You can’t know Sir Thomas, or you wouldn’t talk like that. But I’m very glad you’ve come, sir.—It’s such a responsibility, having him so bad. He’s terribly cut about, sir. Please come in and see if you can do anything more than I have till the doctor comes.”Salis followed the old butler up to the bedroom, where Tom Candlish lay upon the bed, and, as the butler said, terribly cut about the head; for, in addition to the bruises upon his head and temple, he had a cut lip, and the very perfection of two black eyes.“I don’t think you need be alarmed,” whispered Salis to the old man, as the door was opened, and the young squire saluted the butler with a volley of good stable oaths.What the something unmentionable did he mean by bringing the parson? he raved.“Do you think I’m going to die, and want to be prayed for? Send for a doctor.”“I did, Sir Thomas,” said the butler deprecatingly; “but Dr North—”“Curse Dr North!” roared the young man. “Send for Dr Benson.”“I have, Sir Thomas, and—”“Be off, you old idiot! And you, Salis, you’d better go too, or I may say something to you that you will not like.”“You can say what you please, my good fellow,” said Salis, coolly taking off his coat for the second time in the young man’s presence.“You coward,” groaned the injured man; “and when I’m like that. Your cursed sister—”“Silence, you scoundrel!” roared Salis. “Here, fetch water in a basin, sponges, towels, and linen that I can cut up,” he continued to the butler, who gladly hurried out of the room. “And you, Candlish, unless you wish to rage yourself into a fever, be quiet; but I warn you that if you mention my sister again, sick or well, I will not be answerable for the consequences.”“What are you going to do?” growled the young man suspiciously.“Do, sir? What I would do for any other dog that I saw lying wounded in the road. I’m going to doctor you till proper qualified assistance comes.”“He doesn’t know,” thought Tom Candlish. Then aloud: “I thought you were going to take a mean advantage of me now I was down.”“You thought I was just such a cowardly, mean-spirited brute as you are, and as treacherous, eh?” said Salis bitterly, as he rapidly removed the clumsy bandage about the young man’s head. “Why, hallo! what does this mean?”“What does what mean?”“Your head. It has been bandaged.”“Yes; that old idiot of a butler did it.”“No; I mean this other. It has been properly strapped up.”“Has it?”“Yes,” said Salis. “The old man knows more about it than you think for. There, lie still.”“Who’s to lie still with his head on fire?” growled the injured man. “Here, ring for some brandy.”“You mean for the undertaker,” said Salis coolly.“No; the brandy,” snarled Tom Candlish. “I’m sick and faint.”“And you’ll be more sick and more faint if you take spirits now. There, lie still, and I’ll try and cool your head with this sponge and water.”For the butler had re-entered, and for the next half hour the curious spectacle was visible of Hartley Salis playing the good Samaritan, with all the knowledge of experience, to the man who was doing his best to bring ruin and misery upon his peaceful home.The delicate, almost feminine touch, soothed the pain Tom Candlish suffered; and he lay quietly upon the pillow, looking up at the curate, wondering whether he would do this if he knew all, and what he would say if he knew that he had deluded Leo into leaving her room night after night, to grant him meetings in the old vestry time after time, in spite of all that had been said.The butler had gone, and Tom Candlish was lying with his eyes half closed, thinking about his last meeting with Leo, of the coming of the doctor, of their encounter, and of the way in which he had been struck down, when just after Salis had carefully laid a cool, moist towel upon his aching head, the door softly opened, and the baronet started up in bed with his ghastly face distorted as he uttered quite a yell.“Ah, Horace, old fellow!” cried the curate excitedly. “I have been reproaching myself for not coming down to you. Here is my excuse. I’m so glad you’ve come.”“Keep him off! Send him away!” yelled Tom Candlish, trying vainly to get to the other side of the bed, as North stood pale, choking, and suffering in the doorway.“Don’t take any notice,” continued Salis; “a bit delirious, I’m afraid;” and then he gazed wonderingly at his friend as, with a fierce, implacable look, North strode up to the bed.

“My Dally” had been otherwise employed, for a messenger had come over from the Hall to see the curate; and at the time her grandfather was departing, Dally was cross-examining the good-tempered, loutish youth respecting his master, and getting out of him all she could glean.

“Job is having it this morning,” said Salis, for he heard a familiar step in the passage, as soon as the sexton had gone. “What now, Dally? No more bad news?”

“Bad news, sir?” said the girl, speaking to her master, and gazing at Leo, who did not look up. “I don’t think so, sir. It’s the young man from Candlish Hall, sir, to see you partikler.”

“I knew it,” cried Salis to Mary, as Leo bent lower. “Candlish has sent word that he cannot come. Now, how the de—”

“Hartley!”

“Well, it’s enough to make a saint swear. How can a man carry on his parish work like this? I wish to goodness May had it to do himself. Show him in, Dally.”

The girl departed, and returned directly with the servant from the Hall, who looked stealthily at Salis, and then from Leo to Mary and back.

“Can I speak to you alone, sir?” he said.

“Yes, yes, my man, certainly. Is it anything serious?”

“Yes, sir—very, sir. I’ve come—”

“Here, this way, to my study, my man,” said Salis, rising.

“Stop!”

Salis had reached the door—his hand was on the knob, and he was about to turn it; but the sharp, commanding voice made him turn in astonishment, to see Leo standing erect, with her head thrown back, her eyes flashing, and her hand resting upon the book—closed now—and one finger shut in to mark the place.

“Leo!”

“Yes; I said ‘stop.’ We are not children,” she cried, in an imperative voice. “Let the man speak here.”

“It was about Sir Thomas, ma’am—my master,” faltered the man, before Salis had recovered from his astonishment. “An accident.”

“An accident?” cried Leo, as Salis stepped to her side, and laid his hand upon her arm; but she shrank away. “Well, sir, why do you not speak?”

“Am I to speak, sir?” faltered the man.

“Yes; speak out,” said Salis quietly.

“My master did not come home last night, sir—I mean this morning. He often goes out of a night, sir, very late; but he always comes in at daybreak. I’ve seen him dozens of times.”

“Yes; go on,” said Leo harshly.

“He didn’t come back, miss—ma’am; and I was thinking about it when I went to the stables and took his mare and the pad-horse out for exercise.”

“Speak more quickly, man,” said Leo imperiously.

“Yes, ma’am. We’d got down nearly to the ford, when the mare—master’s mare, ma’am—shied at something, and nearly threw me.”

“The mare shied?” said Leo, with her eyes dilating.

“Yes, ma’am; and I saw it was at master lying there by the side of the road.”

“Dead?”

“No, ma’am, but very bad. His head was—”

“Hush!” said Salis, interrupting sternly. “No particulars, my man; only answer me this—was it a fall?”

“Oh, no, sir! some one had been beating him about the head with a stick, I should say.”

“Had he been robbed?”

“Oh, no, sir! His watch and chain and pin were all right.”

“Was he insensible?” continued Salis.

“Yes, sir; quite, sir; and seemed to have been staggering about the road, trying to get home, for there was bl—”

“Hush, man! Only answer my questions,” cried Salis hastily. “You got him home?”

“Yes, sir,” said the man, who could not keep his eyes off Leo, who was gazing at him wildly—in a way which taught her brother that the old love for Tom Candlish was far from dead.

“And then—”

“And then, sir, as soon as we’d got him on his bed, I galloped off for Dr North, sir.”

“Yes.”

“But he’s ill, sir, and the housekeeper said he couldn’t come to the Hall.”

“Well?”

“I hardly knew what to do, then, sir; but as I was wondering what was best, Joe Chegg come up, sir—he used to be a groom, you know—and I jumped off the mare, and made him get up and go off to King’s Hampton to fetch Dr Benson, while I came on to you.”

“Quite right,” said Salis. “I’ll come on with you directly. Mary, my dear, send a line to Moredock to say that there will be no vestry meeting. Yes? You were going to speak, Leo.”

She shook her head, and half closed her eyes, as she turned away, shivering at the feeling of vindictive rage which ran through her, as in imagination she seemed to see the result of the encounter which had taken place, and that it was Tom Candlish who had fared by far the worse.

Salis’s countenance grew more stern, as he leaned over to Mary, and stooped over to say a few words in her ear.

“Try and keep her by your side. We must have no foolish excitement now.”

“I will try,” said Mary gently; and she looked up to see that Leo was watching them both inquiringly, her face contracted, and a singular look in her eyes.

For she was wondering what would be the result of her brother’s meeting with the young squire; and then as she drew her breath painfully, the thoughts of self and the dread of detection gave place to feelings of horror respecting the man she loved, and of hate, the most bitter and intense, against North, whom she now longed to meet that she might revile him—heap upon his head her bitterness and contempt.

“It’s scared us, sir, horrible,” said the man as he walked back with Salis.

“Have you any idea who attacked your master?” said Salis.

“Not a bit, sir. That’s the puzzle of it. If it had been for his money, they’d have taken it all, and his watch. We can’t understand it a bit.”

“I can,” said Salis to himself. “The scoundrel has been insulting some one’s child, or sweetheart, or wife, and been half killed for his pains. I wonder who was the guilty party? Well I know that,” he muttered with a half laugh—“Tom Candlish.”

“Yes, sir; beg pardon, sir.”

“What for, my man?” said Salis, feeling a little disconcerted.

“I thought you laughed, sir, and said something.”

“No, no, my man; only a way of mine.”

They walked on in silence after this, Salis feeling very sore at heart as he thought of his sister, and how painful it was that she should still care, as she evidently did, for such a worthless scoundrel.

“Even the knowledge of this new escapade would not move her, I’m afraid,” he muttered. “Well, matters like this must settle themselves.”

They now reached the Hall, to find the servants assembled, and in a state of the most intense excitement.

“Master was no worse,” the old butler said. “He had been asking for brandy.”

“What? You did not give it to him?” cried Salis excitedly.

“I was obliged to, sir. You can’t know Sir Thomas, or you wouldn’t talk like that. But I’m very glad you’ve come, sir.—It’s such a responsibility, having him so bad. He’s terribly cut about, sir. Please come in and see if you can do anything more than I have till the doctor comes.”

Salis followed the old butler up to the bedroom, where Tom Candlish lay upon the bed, and, as the butler said, terribly cut about the head; for, in addition to the bruises upon his head and temple, he had a cut lip, and the very perfection of two black eyes.

“I don’t think you need be alarmed,” whispered Salis to the old man, as the door was opened, and the young squire saluted the butler with a volley of good stable oaths.

What the something unmentionable did he mean by bringing the parson? he raved.

“Do you think I’m going to die, and want to be prayed for? Send for a doctor.”

“I did, Sir Thomas,” said the butler deprecatingly; “but Dr North—”

“Curse Dr North!” roared the young man. “Send for Dr Benson.”

“I have, Sir Thomas, and—”

“Be off, you old idiot! And you, Salis, you’d better go too, or I may say something to you that you will not like.”

“You can say what you please, my good fellow,” said Salis, coolly taking off his coat for the second time in the young man’s presence.

“You coward,” groaned the injured man; “and when I’m like that. Your cursed sister—”

“Silence, you scoundrel!” roared Salis. “Here, fetch water in a basin, sponges, towels, and linen that I can cut up,” he continued to the butler, who gladly hurried out of the room. “And you, Candlish, unless you wish to rage yourself into a fever, be quiet; but I warn you that if you mention my sister again, sick or well, I will not be answerable for the consequences.”

“What are you going to do?” growled the young man suspiciously.

“Do, sir? What I would do for any other dog that I saw lying wounded in the road. I’m going to doctor you till proper qualified assistance comes.”

“He doesn’t know,” thought Tom Candlish. Then aloud: “I thought you were going to take a mean advantage of me now I was down.”

“You thought I was just such a cowardly, mean-spirited brute as you are, and as treacherous, eh?” said Salis bitterly, as he rapidly removed the clumsy bandage about the young man’s head. “Why, hallo! what does this mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“Your head. It has been bandaged.”

“Yes; that old idiot of a butler did it.”

“No; I mean this other. It has been properly strapped up.”

“Has it?”

“Yes,” said Salis. “The old man knows more about it than you think for. There, lie still.”

“Who’s to lie still with his head on fire?” growled the injured man. “Here, ring for some brandy.”

“You mean for the undertaker,” said Salis coolly.

“No; the brandy,” snarled Tom Candlish. “I’m sick and faint.”

“And you’ll be more sick and more faint if you take spirits now. There, lie still, and I’ll try and cool your head with this sponge and water.”

For the butler had re-entered, and for the next half hour the curious spectacle was visible of Hartley Salis playing the good Samaritan, with all the knowledge of experience, to the man who was doing his best to bring ruin and misery upon his peaceful home.

The delicate, almost feminine touch, soothed the pain Tom Candlish suffered; and he lay quietly upon the pillow, looking up at the curate, wondering whether he would do this if he knew all, and what he would say if he knew that he had deluded Leo into leaving her room night after night, to grant him meetings in the old vestry time after time, in spite of all that had been said.

The butler had gone, and Tom Candlish was lying with his eyes half closed, thinking about his last meeting with Leo, of the coming of the doctor, of their encounter, and of the way in which he had been struck down, when just after Salis had carefully laid a cool, moist towel upon his aching head, the door softly opened, and the baronet started up in bed with his ghastly face distorted as he uttered quite a yell.

“Ah, Horace, old fellow!” cried the curate excitedly. “I have been reproaching myself for not coming down to you. Here is my excuse. I’m so glad you’ve come.”

“Keep him off! Send him away!” yelled Tom Candlish, trying vainly to get to the other side of the bed, as North stood pale, choking, and suffering in the doorway.

“Don’t take any notice,” continued Salis; “a bit delirious, I’m afraid;” and then he gazed wonderingly at his friend as, with a fierce, implacable look, North strode up to the bed.

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