Chapter Twelve.

Chapter Twelve.A Mysterious Discovery.A few days after Thomas Bradly’s visit to the vicarage, Mrs Maltby and her daughter left home for the seaside. In the evening of the day of their departure, something different from the ordinary routine was evidently going on at Thomas Bradly’s. As it drew near to half-past six o’clock, four young women, neatly dressed, might be seen making their way towards his house. These were shortly joined by three others; and then followed some more young women and elderly girls, till at length thirteen were gathered together in the road, whispering and laughing to one another, and evidently somewhat in a state of perplexity.“What’s it all about, Mary Anne?” asked a bright-looking girl of fifteen of one of the oldest of the group.“I’m sure I don’t know,” was the reply; “all I know for certain is, that I’ve been invited to tea at Thomas’s, at half-past six this evening.”“So have I”—“So have I,” said the rest.“There’s no mistake or hoax about it, I hope?” asked one of the younger girls anxiously.“Nay,” said the one addressed as Mary Anne, “Thomas asked us himself, and he’s not the man to hoax anybody.”Just at this moment the front door opened, and Bradly himself, full of smiling welcome, called upon his guests to come in.A comfortable meal had been prepared for them in the spacious kitchen, and all were soon busily engaged in partaking of the tea and its accompaniments, and in brisk and cheerful conversation; but not a word was said to explain why they had been invited at this particular time. Their host joined heartily in the various little discussions which were being carried on in a lively way by his guests, but never, during the tea, dropped a hint as to, why he had asked them.At last, when teapots and cups had disappeared, leaving a clear table, and the young women, after grace had been duly sung, sat opposite to one another with a look of amused expectation as to what might be coming next, Thomas rose deliberately from his arm-chair, which he had drawn to the head of the table, and looking round on the young people with a half-serious, half-humorous expression, said: “Well, I suppose, girls, it may be as well if I tell you what I’ve asked you here for this evening.”No answer, but a murmur of amused assent being given, he proceeded:—“Now, my dear young friends, I’ll just tell you all about it; and I’m sure you’ll listen to me seriously, for it’s a serious matter after all. You know that poor Miss Clara Maltby is gone from home to-day very ill, so ill that it mayn’t be the Lord’s will she should ever come back to us again. Now she has asked me to give you all and each a message from her—perhaps it may be a dying message. She sends it to every one as belonged to her class when she taught it. I’m going to tell you what she said, not quite in her own words, but just what I took to be her meaning.“You know as she’s not taken her class for a good long time. We was all very sorry when she gave over, but it seemed as it couldn’t be helped, for she was getting weak and worn, and felt that coming to church twice on the Lord’s-day was as much as her poor mind and body would bear. But she wants me to tell you how she feels now she’s been letting earthly learning get too much hold of her thoughts. Not as there’s any harm in getting any sort of good learning, so long as you don’t get it in the wrong way. But it seems as this earthly learning had been getting too big a share of Miss Clara’s heart. I daresay you all know as she’s wonderful clever at her books. Eh, what a sight of prizes she’s got! Well, but she’d come to be too fond of her studies; they was becoming a snare to her; she’d made a regular idol of them, and could scarce think of anything else. She’d given them all the time she could spare, and more. And so it kept creeping on. These studies of hers, they’d scarce let her eat or drink, or take any exercise, or read her Bible and pray as she used to do. Ah, how crafty the evil one is in leading us astray! He don’t make us jump down into the dark valley at one or two big leaps, but it’s just down an incline, like the path as leads from Bill Western’s house to the smithy: when you’ve got to the bottom and look back, you can hardly believe at first as you’ve come down so low.“Now, you’re not to run away with the idea that Miss Clara has forsaken her Saviour, and given up her Bible and prayer. Nothing of the sort! She’s a dear child of God, and always has been since I’ve knowed her; only this learning and these studies have so blocked up her heart, that they’ve scarce left room for her gracious Saviour. But yet he’d never let her go, and she hadn’t altogether forsaken him; only she’s been on a wrong course of late, and she sees it now.“Friends have flattered her, and told her what grand things she might do with such a head-piece as hers, and she’s been willing to listen to them for a bit. But now the Lord has brought her to see different, and she wants me to tell you what a snare she has found this learning to be. She wants me to tell you from her that she’s found it out in her own experience as there’s no happiness out of Christ; as head knowledge can never make us happy without heart knowledge of Jesus.“It’s all very well wishing to shine in the world and be thought clever, but that’s just pleasing self, and can never give us real peace. She’s tried it, and she says it’s ‘vanity of vanities.’ It’s led her away from her duty, and made her neglect helping her dear father and mother in many ways where she might have been useful, just because her head and her heart were full of her books.“Now, perhaps some of you may be thinking, while I’ve been talking, ‘Well, this don’t concernusmuch; we ain’t in danger of going astray after too much learning.’ Don’t you be too sure of that. There’s traps of the same kind being laid before you by the old enemy, though they mayn’t be got up so fine as them by which he catches clever young ladies. Ah, perhaps he’ll be whispering to some of you as it’ll be a grand thing to get up a peg or two higher by learning all sorts of things with queer and long names to ’em. Won’t you just make folks open their eyes when you can rattle off a lot about this science and that science? But what good will it do you? How much will you remember of it ten years hence? What’ll be the use of it, when you’ve got homes of your own, if you’ve your heads cram full of hard names, but don’t know how to mend your clothes or make a pudding? Depend upon it, there’s need to listen to Miss Clara’s message when she bids me tell you from her as there’s no real happiness to be got in making an idol of learning or anything else, and that there’s no happiness out of Christ; and that the chief thing is just to do one’s duty, by grace, in ‘the state of life to which it has pleased God to call us;’ and then, if he means us to do something out of the way, he’ll chalk out a line for us so broad and plain that we shan’t be able to mistake it.“So now I’ve given you the message; but there’s something else for you besides.—Here, missus, just hand me that little brown paper parcel.”—So saying, he opened the packet which his wife gave him, and taking out the photographs, handed one to each of the girls, saying, “It’s a keepsake to each of you from Miss Clara.”As the little gifts were received, tears and sobs burst from the whole company; and when time had been given for the first vehemence of their feelings to subside, Thomas continued,—“I’ve just one or two more things to say; and the first is this: will you all promise me to pray for our dear young lady, that she may be restored to us in health and strength again, and take her place once more as your teacher?”“Ay, that we will with all our hearts,” was the cry, which was uttered with tearful earnestness by all.“And will you pray, for yourselves, for grace to remember and profit by the lesson which she has sent you?”“We will, Thomas, we will,” was again the cry.“Well, thank God for that,” said Bradly. “He’s bringing good out of evil already, as he always does,—bless his holy name for it! And now, I’ve just to tell you, girls, why I’ve asked you to tea, and given you the messages and the photographs in this fashion—I daresay some of you can guess.”“I think we can, Thomas,” said one of the elder ones.“Well, it were just in this way,” he continued: “I’m jealous about our dear vicar’s character, and about dear Miss Clara’s, and I’m sure we all ought to be. Now, if I’d given you her message in the Sunday-school, even if I’d had your class by yourselves, ten to one some of the other scholars would have got hold of things by the wrong end, and it would have been made out as Miss Clara had been doing something very wicked, and her mother had been taking her away in consequence. Now, you see how it is: Miss Clara’s done nothing to disgrace herself or her family; she’s been following a lawful thing, only she’s been following it too closely; but she’s found it to be only like chasing a shadow after all. And now that the Lord has humbled her, he’ll raise her up again; she’ll come out of the furnace pure gold; she’ll be such a teacher when she comes back as she never was afore, if the Lord spares her. So now that I’ve got you here in this quiet way, I want you all to promise me you’ll not go talking about what Miss Clara sent me to tell you, but you’ll keep it as snug as possible; it ain’t meant for the public, it’s meant only for yourselves. The world wouldn’t understand it; they’d think as there was something behind. And the devil, he’d be only too glad to make a bad use of it. So promise me to keep our dear young lady’s lesson to yourselves in your own hearts and memories. You can show the photographs to the other scholars, and tell them as they was Miss Clara’s parting gifts to her class, and that’s all as they need to know.”The promise was cheerfully given by all; and then, before they left, all knelt, and in their hearts joined in the fervent prayer which Thomas Bradly offered for the vicar and his family, and specially for the invalid, that she might be spared to return to them in renewed health, and be kept meanwhile in perfect peace.The evening after this little happy tea-party, Thomas Bradly called in at William Foster’s. He found the young man and his wife studying the Bible together; but there was a look of trouble and anxiety on the husband’s face which made him fear that there was something amiss. He was well aware that his former foe but now firm friend was but a weak and ignorant disciple; and he expected, therefore, that he would find it anything but smooth sailing at first in his Christian course. Still, what a marvellous change, to see one so lately a sceptic and a scoffer now humbly studying the Word of Life!“Anything amiss?” asked Bradly. “Can I be of any service to you, William?” he added, as he took his seat.“Well, Thomas,” replied the other, “I can only say this—I had no idea how little I knew of the Bible till I began to study it in earnest. I see it does indeed need to be approached in a teachable spirit. But I have my difficulties and perplexities about it still. Only there’s this difference now,—I’ve seen in my own home, and I see daily more and more in my own heart, abundance to convince me that the Bible is God’s truth. So now, when I meet with a difficulty, I see that the obscurity is not in the Bible but in myself; in fact, I want more light.”“Yes; and you’ll get it now, William; for the Bible itself says, ‘The entrance of thy word giveth light; it giveth understanding unto the simple.’”“I heartily believe it, Thomas; still there is much that is very deep to me—out of my depth, in fact. But there is one thing just now which is a special trouble to me. They don’t chaff me so often at the mill now, but this evening Ben Thompson came up to me, and said, ‘Do you think it’s any goodyourturning Christian?’—‘Yes, Ben, I hope so,’ I said.—‘Well,’ he went on, ‘just you look in the Bible, and you’ll find that there’s what they call the unpardonable sin—there’s no forgiveness for those who’ve been guilty of it; and if there’s truth in that Bible, there’s no forgiveness for you, for you’ve been the biggest blasphemer against the Bible in Crossbourne.’ Thomas, I hadn’t a word to answer him with; his words cut me to the heart, and he saw it, and went off with a grin full of malice. And now, since I came home, Kate and I have been looking through the Gospels, and we’ve come to this passage, in our Saviour’s own words,—‘Verily, I say unto you, All sins shall be forgiven unto the sons of men, and blasphemies wherewith soever they shall blaspheme: but he that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost hath never forgiveness, but is in danger of eternal damnation: because they said, He hath an unclean spirit.’ Now, I’m afraid I’ve committed that sin many times; and what then? Is it true that there is no forgiveness for me?”He gazed earnestly into Bradly’s face, as one would look on a man on whose decision hung life or death. But the other’s reply brought relief at once to both Foster and his wife.“Ha! ha!” he exclaimed; “is that the old enemy’s device? I’m not surprised—he’s a crafty old fox; but the Lord’s wiser than him. I see what he’s been up to: he couldn’t keep the sword of the Spirit out of your hand any longer, so he’s been trying to make you turn the point away from him, and commit suicide with it. Set your mind at rest, William, about these verses, and about the unpardonable sin; those who are guilty of it never seek forgiveness, and so they never get it. These words ain’t meant for such a case as yours. This is the sort of text for you: ‘God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ Jesus said it, and he’ll never go back from it. ‘Whosoever’ means you and me; he said, ‘Whosoever,’ and he’ll never unsay it. If you’d committed the unpardonable sin, you wouldn’t be caring now about the Bible and about your soul. If you’d committed it, God would never have given you the light he has done, for it has come from him; it can’t have come from nowhere else. He don’t open to you the door with one hand, and then shut it in your face with the other; that ain’t his way at all He has let you in at the gate, and you may be sure as he’ll never turn you off the road with his own hand, now that you’re on it.”“Thank God for that!” said Foster, reverently. “What you say, Thomas, carries conviction with it, for I am sure that my present views, and the change that has so far been made in me, must be the Lord’s own work; and, if so, it is certainly only consistent that, as he has taken in hand such a wretched blasphemer as I have been, he should not undo his own work by casting me off again.”“Hold fast to that, William,” said Bradly, “and you can’t go wrong. Just hand me your Bible; I’ll show you where to find another text or two as’ll suit you well.—Eh! What’s this?” he cried, as having taken the little book into his hand, he noticed the red-ink lines which were drawn under many of the verses. Then he turned hastily to the inside of the cover, and uttered an exclamation of astonishment, then turned very pale, and then very red, and gazed at the book as if fascinated by it. There were the words on the cover,—Steal not this book for fear of shame,For here you see the owner’s name.June 10, 1793.Mary Williams.“Where did you get this book?” he asked at length, in a hoarse, broken voice. “It’s my mother’s Bible; it’s Jane’s long-lost Bible.” Then he restrained himself, and turning quietly to Foster and his wife, who were staring at him in bewilderment and distress, said, “Dear friends, don’t you trouble yourselves about me; there’s nothing really amiss; it’s all right, and more than right, only I was taken by surprise, as you’ll easily understand when I explain matters to you. We are all friends now, so I know I may depend upon your keeping my secret when I’ve told you all about it.” He then proceeded to lay the story of Jane’s troubles before his deeply interested and sympathising hearers. When he had brought his account to an end, he said, “Now, you can understand why I was so taken aback at seeing my mother’s name in this Bible, and why I’m so anxious to know how you came by it. Why, this is the very Bible which was restored, or, at any rate, meant to be restored to Jane by John Hollands three or four months ago. But, then, how did it get here? And what’s become of the bag and the bracelet?”“I’m sure you will believe me when I tell you,” said Foster, “that I am as much surprised about the Bible as you are; and as for the bag and the bracelet, I have neither seen nor heard anything of either. Kate, however, can tell you best how we came by the Bible.”Mrs Foster then related how the volume, now so precious to herself and her husband as having been the means of bringing light and peace into their hearts and home, had been dropped in at her window by a female hand. Of the bag and bracelet she of course knew nothing.“There’s something very strange and mysterious about it all,” said Thomas thoughtfully; “the bag and the bracelet are somewhere about, but who can tell where? If we could only find them, all could be set straight, and poor Jane’s character completely cleared; but then it ain’t the Lord’s will, so far, that it should be so. One thing’s clear, however; the tangle’s being undone for us bit by bit, and what we’ve to do is just to be patient and to keep our eyes and ears open; but, please, not a word to anybody. And now, William, I must ask you to let me have this Bible to take to poor Jane; it was her mother’s, and is full of her own marks under her favourite verses. You shall have another instead of it, with a better print.”“Of course,” replied Foster; “this book is your sister’s and not ours, and I would not keep it back from her for a moment. Still, I shall part with it with great regret, as if I were parting with an old friend. Little did I think a few weeks ago that I should ever care so much about a Bible; but I thank God that this little book has done Kate and myself so much good already, and I shall be much pleased to have another copy as a gift from yourself.”Thomas Bradly rose to go; but Mrs Foster said, “I ought to have told you that there was something else dropped into the room at the same time with the Bible, but it wasn’t the bracelet, I’m sorry to say.”“Stay, dear friend,” cried Bradly; “let me run home to my dear sister with her Bible; I’ll be back again in half an hour.”So saying he hurried home, and seating himself by Jane, who was knitting as usual in her snug retreat by the fireside, said, “Jane dear, the Lord’s been bringing us just one little step nearer to the light—only one step, mind, only one little step, but it’s a step in the right direction.”“Thomas, what is it?” she exclaimed anxiously.“Your Bible’s turned up.”“My Bible, Thomas!”“Yes, Jane.” He then placed it in her hand. Yes, she could see that it was indeed her own dearly-prized Bible.“And the bracelet, Thomas?” she asked eagerly.—He shook his head sadly. A shadow came over the face and tears into the eyes of his poor sister.“The Lord’s will be done,” she said patiently; “but tell me, dear Thomas, all about it.”—He then related what he had heard from Kate Foster.“And you feel sure, Thomas, that the Fosters know nothing about the bag or bracelet?”“Quite sure, Jane. I’m certain that neither Foster nor his wife would or could deceive me about this matter. But take heart, my poor sister. See, the Lord’s opening the way for you ‘one step at a time.’Weshould like it to be a little faster, buthesays No. And see, too, how this blessed book of yours has been made of use to Foster and his wife. Oh, there’s been a mighty work done there! But mark, Jane, ’twouldn’t have been so if this Bible had come straight to you. There’s wonderful good, you see, coming out of this trial already. So wait patiently on the Lord, the bag and the bracelet will turn up too afore so long; they are on the road, only we don’t see them yet; you may be sure of that.”Jane smiled at him through her tears, and pressed her recovered Bible to her lips. Then she opened it, and, as she turned over leaf after leaf, her eye fell on many a well-known underlined text, and the cloud had given place to sunshine on her gentle features as her brother left the house and returned to William Foster’s.

A few days after Thomas Bradly’s visit to the vicarage, Mrs Maltby and her daughter left home for the seaside. In the evening of the day of their departure, something different from the ordinary routine was evidently going on at Thomas Bradly’s. As it drew near to half-past six o’clock, four young women, neatly dressed, might be seen making their way towards his house. These were shortly joined by three others; and then followed some more young women and elderly girls, till at length thirteen were gathered together in the road, whispering and laughing to one another, and evidently somewhat in a state of perplexity.

“What’s it all about, Mary Anne?” asked a bright-looking girl of fifteen of one of the oldest of the group.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” was the reply; “all I know for certain is, that I’ve been invited to tea at Thomas’s, at half-past six this evening.”

“So have I”—“So have I,” said the rest.

“There’s no mistake or hoax about it, I hope?” asked one of the younger girls anxiously.

“Nay,” said the one addressed as Mary Anne, “Thomas asked us himself, and he’s not the man to hoax anybody.”

Just at this moment the front door opened, and Bradly himself, full of smiling welcome, called upon his guests to come in.

A comfortable meal had been prepared for them in the spacious kitchen, and all were soon busily engaged in partaking of the tea and its accompaniments, and in brisk and cheerful conversation; but not a word was said to explain why they had been invited at this particular time. Their host joined heartily in the various little discussions which were being carried on in a lively way by his guests, but never, during the tea, dropped a hint as to, why he had asked them.

At last, when teapots and cups had disappeared, leaving a clear table, and the young women, after grace had been duly sung, sat opposite to one another with a look of amused expectation as to what might be coming next, Thomas rose deliberately from his arm-chair, which he had drawn to the head of the table, and looking round on the young people with a half-serious, half-humorous expression, said: “Well, I suppose, girls, it may be as well if I tell you what I’ve asked you here for this evening.”

No answer, but a murmur of amused assent being given, he proceeded:—

“Now, my dear young friends, I’ll just tell you all about it; and I’m sure you’ll listen to me seriously, for it’s a serious matter after all. You know that poor Miss Clara Maltby is gone from home to-day very ill, so ill that it mayn’t be the Lord’s will she should ever come back to us again. Now she has asked me to give you all and each a message from her—perhaps it may be a dying message. She sends it to every one as belonged to her class when she taught it. I’m going to tell you what she said, not quite in her own words, but just what I took to be her meaning.

“You know as she’s not taken her class for a good long time. We was all very sorry when she gave over, but it seemed as it couldn’t be helped, for she was getting weak and worn, and felt that coming to church twice on the Lord’s-day was as much as her poor mind and body would bear. But she wants me to tell you how she feels now she’s been letting earthly learning get too much hold of her thoughts. Not as there’s any harm in getting any sort of good learning, so long as you don’t get it in the wrong way. But it seems as this earthly learning had been getting too big a share of Miss Clara’s heart. I daresay you all know as she’s wonderful clever at her books. Eh, what a sight of prizes she’s got! Well, but she’d come to be too fond of her studies; they was becoming a snare to her; she’d made a regular idol of them, and could scarce think of anything else. She’d given them all the time she could spare, and more. And so it kept creeping on. These studies of hers, they’d scarce let her eat or drink, or take any exercise, or read her Bible and pray as she used to do. Ah, how crafty the evil one is in leading us astray! He don’t make us jump down into the dark valley at one or two big leaps, but it’s just down an incline, like the path as leads from Bill Western’s house to the smithy: when you’ve got to the bottom and look back, you can hardly believe at first as you’ve come down so low.

“Now, you’re not to run away with the idea that Miss Clara has forsaken her Saviour, and given up her Bible and prayer. Nothing of the sort! She’s a dear child of God, and always has been since I’ve knowed her; only this learning and these studies have so blocked up her heart, that they’ve scarce left room for her gracious Saviour. But yet he’d never let her go, and she hadn’t altogether forsaken him; only she’s been on a wrong course of late, and she sees it now.

“Friends have flattered her, and told her what grand things she might do with such a head-piece as hers, and she’s been willing to listen to them for a bit. But now the Lord has brought her to see different, and she wants me to tell you what a snare she has found this learning to be. She wants me to tell you from her that she’s found it out in her own experience as there’s no happiness out of Christ; as head knowledge can never make us happy without heart knowledge of Jesus.

“It’s all very well wishing to shine in the world and be thought clever, but that’s just pleasing self, and can never give us real peace. She’s tried it, and she says it’s ‘vanity of vanities.’ It’s led her away from her duty, and made her neglect helping her dear father and mother in many ways where she might have been useful, just because her head and her heart were full of her books.

“Now, perhaps some of you may be thinking, while I’ve been talking, ‘Well, this don’t concernusmuch; we ain’t in danger of going astray after too much learning.’ Don’t you be too sure of that. There’s traps of the same kind being laid before you by the old enemy, though they mayn’t be got up so fine as them by which he catches clever young ladies. Ah, perhaps he’ll be whispering to some of you as it’ll be a grand thing to get up a peg or two higher by learning all sorts of things with queer and long names to ’em. Won’t you just make folks open their eyes when you can rattle off a lot about this science and that science? But what good will it do you? How much will you remember of it ten years hence? What’ll be the use of it, when you’ve got homes of your own, if you’ve your heads cram full of hard names, but don’t know how to mend your clothes or make a pudding? Depend upon it, there’s need to listen to Miss Clara’s message when she bids me tell you from her as there’s no real happiness to be got in making an idol of learning or anything else, and that there’s no happiness out of Christ; and that the chief thing is just to do one’s duty, by grace, in ‘the state of life to which it has pleased God to call us;’ and then, if he means us to do something out of the way, he’ll chalk out a line for us so broad and plain that we shan’t be able to mistake it.

“So now I’ve given you the message; but there’s something else for you besides.—Here, missus, just hand me that little brown paper parcel.”—So saying, he opened the packet which his wife gave him, and taking out the photographs, handed one to each of the girls, saying, “It’s a keepsake to each of you from Miss Clara.”

As the little gifts were received, tears and sobs burst from the whole company; and when time had been given for the first vehemence of their feelings to subside, Thomas continued,—

“I’ve just one or two more things to say; and the first is this: will you all promise me to pray for our dear young lady, that she may be restored to us in health and strength again, and take her place once more as your teacher?”

“Ay, that we will with all our hearts,” was the cry, which was uttered with tearful earnestness by all.

“And will you pray, for yourselves, for grace to remember and profit by the lesson which she has sent you?”

“We will, Thomas, we will,” was again the cry.

“Well, thank God for that,” said Bradly. “He’s bringing good out of evil already, as he always does,—bless his holy name for it! And now, I’ve just to tell you, girls, why I’ve asked you to tea, and given you the messages and the photographs in this fashion—I daresay some of you can guess.”

“I think we can, Thomas,” said one of the elder ones.

“Well, it were just in this way,” he continued: “I’m jealous about our dear vicar’s character, and about dear Miss Clara’s, and I’m sure we all ought to be. Now, if I’d given you her message in the Sunday-school, even if I’d had your class by yourselves, ten to one some of the other scholars would have got hold of things by the wrong end, and it would have been made out as Miss Clara had been doing something very wicked, and her mother had been taking her away in consequence. Now, you see how it is: Miss Clara’s done nothing to disgrace herself or her family; she’s been following a lawful thing, only she’s been following it too closely; but she’s found it to be only like chasing a shadow after all. And now that the Lord has humbled her, he’ll raise her up again; she’ll come out of the furnace pure gold; she’ll be such a teacher when she comes back as she never was afore, if the Lord spares her. So now that I’ve got you here in this quiet way, I want you all to promise me you’ll not go talking about what Miss Clara sent me to tell you, but you’ll keep it as snug as possible; it ain’t meant for the public, it’s meant only for yourselves. The world wouldn’t understand it; they’d think as there was something behind. And the devil, he’d be only too glad to make a bad use of it. So promise me to keep our dear young lady’s lesson to yourselves in your own hearts and memories. You can show the photographs to the other scholars, and tell them as they was Miss Clara’s parting gifts to her class, and that’s all as they need to know.”

The promise was cheerfully given by all; and then, before they left, all knelt, and in their hearts joined in the fervent prayer which Thomas Bradly offered for the vicar and his family, and specially for the invalid, that she might be spared to return to them in renewed health, and be kept meanwhile in perfect peace.

The evening after this little happy tea-party, Thomas Bradly called in at William Foster’s. He found the young man and his wife studying the Bible together; but there was a look of trouble and anxiety on the husband’s face which made him fear that there was something amiss. He was well aware that his former foe but now firm friend was but a weak and ignorant disciple; and he expected, therefore, that he would find it anything but smooth sailing at first in his Christian course. Still, what a marvellous change, to see one so lately a sceptic and a scoffer now humbly studying the Word of Life!

“Anything amiss?” asked Bradly. “Can I be of any service to you, William?” he added, as he took his seat.

“Well, Thomas,” replied the other, “I can only say this—I had no idea how little I knew of the Bible till I began to study it in earnest. I see it does indeed need to be approached in a teachable spirit. But I have my difficulties and perplexities about it still. Only there’s this difference now,—I’ve seen in my own home, and I see daily more and more in my own heart, abundance to convince me that the Bible is God’s truth. So now, when I meet with a difficulty, I see that the obscurity is not in the Bible but in myself; in fact, I want more light.”

“Yes; and you’ll get it now, William; for the Bible itself says, ‘The entrance of thy word giveth light; it giveth understanding unto the simple.’”

“I heartily believe it, Thomas; still there is much that is very deep to me—out of my depth, in fact. But there is one thing just now which is a special trouble to me. They don’t chaff me so often at the mill now, but this evening Ben Thompson came up to me, and said, ‘Do you think it’s any goodyourturning Christian?’—‘Yes, Ben, I hope so,’ I said.—‘Well,’ he went on, ‘just you look in the Bible, and you’ll find that there’s what they call the unpardonable sin—there’s no forgiveness for those who’ve been guilty of it; and if there’s truth in that Bible, there’s no forgiveness for you, for you’ve been the biggest blasphemer against the Bible in Crossbourne.’ Thomas, I hadn’t a word to answer him with; his words cut me to the heart, and he saw it, and went off with a grin full of malice. And now, since I came home, Kate and I have been looking through the Gospels, and we’ve come to this passage, in our Saviour’s own words,—‘Verily, I say unto you, All sins shall be forgiven unto the sons of men, and blasphemies wherewith soever they shall blaspheme: but he that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost hath never forgiveness, but is in danger of eternal damnation: because they said, He hath an unclean spirit.’ Now, I’m afraid I’ve committed that sin many times; and what then? Is it true that there is no forgiveness for me?”

He gazed earnestly into Bradly’s face, as one would look on a man on whose decision hung life or death. But the other’s reply brought relief at once to both Foster and his wife.

“Ha! ha!” he exclaimed; “is that the old enemy’s device? I’m not surprised—he’s a crafty old fox; but the Lord’s wiser than him. I see what he’s been up to: he couldn’t keep the sword of the Spirit out of your hand any longer, so he’s been trying to make you turn the point away from him, and commit suicide with it. Set your mind at rest, William, about these verses, and about the unpardonable sin; those who are guilty of it never seek forgiveness, and so they never get it. These words ain’t meant for such a case as yours. This is the sort of text for you: ‘God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ Jesus said it, and he’ll never go back from it. ‘Whosoever’ means you and me; he said, ‘Whosoever,’ and he’ll never unsay it. If you’d committed the unpardonable sin, you wouldn’t be caring now about the Bible and about your soul. If you’d committed it, God would never have given you the light he has done, for it has come from him; it can’t have come from nowhere else. He don’t open to you the door with one hand, and then shut it in your face with the other; that ain’t his way at all He has let you in at the gate, and you may be sure as he’ll never turn you off the road with his own hand, now that you’re on it.”

“Thank God for that!” said Foster, reverently. “What you say, Thomas, carries conviction with it, for I am sure that my present views, and the change that has so far been made in me, must be the Lord’s own work; and, if so, it is certainly only consistent that, as he has taken in hand such a wretched blasphemer as I have been, he should not undo his own work by casting me off again.”

“Hold fast to that, William,” said Bradly, “and you can’t go wrong. Just hand me your Bible; I’ll show you where to find another text or two as’ll suit you well.—Eh! What’s this?” he cried, as having taken the little book into his hand, he noticed the red-ink lines which were drawn under many of the verses. Then he turned hastily to the inside of the cover, and uttered an exclamation of astonishment, then turned very pale, and then very red, and gazed at the book as if fascinated by it. There were the words on the cover,—

Steal not this book for fear of shame,For here you see the owner’s name.June 10, 1793.Mary Williams.

Steal not this book for fear of shame,For here you see the owner’s name.June 10, 1793.Mary Williams.

“Where did you get this book?” he asked at length, in a hoarse, broken voice. “It’s my mother’s Bible; it’s Jane’s long-lost Bible.” Then he restrained himself, and turning quietly to Foster and his wife, who were staring at him in bewilderment and distress, said, “Dear friends, don’t you trouble yourselves about me; there’s nothing really amiss; it’s all right, and more than right, only I was taken by surprise, as you’ll easily understand when I explain matters to you. We are all friends now, so I know I may depend upon your keeping my secret when I’ve told you all about it.” He then proceeded to lay the story of Jane’s troubles before his deeply interested and sympathising hearers. When he had brought his account to an end, he said, “Now, you can understand why I was so taken aback at seeing my mother’s name in this Bible, and why I’m so anxious to know how you came by it. Why, this is the very Bible which was restored, or, at any rate, meant to be restored to Jane by John Hollands three or four months ago. But, then, how did it get here? And what’s become of the bag and the bracelet?”

“I’m sure you will believe me when I tell you,” said Foster, “that I am as much surprised about the Bible as you are; and as for the bag and the bracelet, I have neither seen nor heard anything of either. Kate, however, can tell you best how we came by the Bible.”

Mrs Foster then related how the volume, now so precious to herself and her husband as having been the means of bringing light and peace into their hearts and home, had been dropped in at her window by a female hand. Of the bag and bracelet she of course knew nothing.

“There’s something very strange and mysterious about it all,” said Thomas thoughtfully; “the bag and the bracelet are somewhere about, but who can tell where? If we could only find them, all could be set straight, and poor Jane’s character completely cleared; but then it ain’t the Lord’s will, so far, that it should be so. One thing’s clear, however; the tangle’s being undone for us bit by bit, and what we’ve to do is just to be patient and to keep our eyes and ears open; but, please, not a word to anybody. And now, William, I must ask you to let me have this Bible to take to poor Jane; it was her mother’s, and is full of her own marks under her favourite verses. You shall have another instead of it, with a better print.”

“Of course,” replied Foster; “this book is your sister’s and not ours, and I would not keep it back from her for a moment. Still, I shall part with it with great regret, as if I were parting with an old friend. Little did I think a few weeks ago that I should ever care so much about a Bible; but I thank God that this little book has done Kate and myself so much good already, and I shall be much pleased to have another copy as a gift from yourself.”

Thomas Bradly rose to go; but Mrs Foster said, “I ought to have told you that there was something else dropped into the room at the same time with the Bible, but it wasn’t the bracelet, I’m sorry to say.”

“Stay, dear friend,” cried Bradly; “let me run home to my dear sister with her Bible; I’ll be back again in half an hour.”

So saying he hurried home, and seating himself by Jane, who was knitting as usual in her snug retreat by the fireside, said, “Jane dear, the Lord’s been bringing us just one little step nearer to the light—only one step, mind, only one little step, but it’s a step in the right direction.”

“Thomas, what is it?” she exclaimed anxiously.

“Your Bible’s turned up.”

“My Bible, Thomas!”

“Yes, Jane.” He then placed it in her hand. Yes, she could see that it was indeed her own dearly-prized Bible.

“And the bracelet, Thomas?” she asked eagerly.—He shook his head sadly. A shadow came over the face and tears into the eyes of his poor sister.

“The Lord’s will be done,” she said patiently; “but tell me, dear Thomas, all about it.”—He then related what he had heard from Kate Foster.

“And you feel sure, Thomas, that the Fosters know nothing about the bag or bracelet?”

“Quite sure, Jane. I’m certain that neither Foster nor his wife would or could deceive me about this matter. But take heart, my poor sister. See, the Lord’s opening the way for you ‘one step at a time.’Weshould like it to be a little faster, buthesays No. And see, too, how this blessed book of yours has been made of use to Foster and his wife. Oh, there’s been a mighty work done there! But mark, Jane, ’twouldn’t have been so if this Bible had come straight to you. There’s wonderful good, you see, coming out of this trial already. So wait patiently on the Lord, the bag and the bracelet will turn up too afore so long; they are on the road, only we don’t see them yet; you may be sure of that.”

Jane smiled at him through her tears, and pressed her recovered Bible to her lips. Then she opened it, and, as she turned over leaf after leaf, her eye fell on many a well-known underlined text, and the cloud had given place to sunshine on her gentle features as her brother left the house and returned to William Foster’s.

Chapter Thirteen.Who Owns the Ring?“You are satisfied that we know nothing about the bag or the bracelet, I hope?” asked Foster anxiously on Bradly’s return.“Perfectly,” was the reply; “I haven’t a doubt about it; but there’s something behind as none of us has got at yet, but it’ll come in the Lord’s own time. Wherever the bag and bracelet are, they’ll turn up some day, I’m certain of that; and it’ll be just at the right moment. And so we must be patient and look about us.—But what was it, Kate, you said was dropped along with the Bible?”“It was this ring,” replied Mrs Foster, at the same time placing a small gold ring with a ruby in the centre on the table. The three examined it by turns. There were no letters or marks engraved anywhere on it.“And this was dropped by the same hand which dropped the Bible?” asked Bradly.“Yes; it rolled along the floor, and may have fallen either off the finger of the person who put her hand in at the window, or from between the leaves of the Bible.”“And have you mentioned about this ring to any one?”“No, not even to my husband. I’m sure William will forgive me. It was just this way: I put it into my pocket at the time, and afterwards into a secret drawer in my desk, fearing it might bring one or both of us into trouble. When this happy change came, and both William and I began to care about the Bible, I told him how I came by the book, but thought I would wait before I said anything about the ring; perhaps something would come to clear up the mystery, and it would be time enough to produce the ring when some one came forward to claim it; but no one has done so yet.”“And you have no suspicion at all who it belongs to, or who dropped it?”“No, none whatever.”“Well,” continued Bradly, “I don’t think it fell out of the leaves of the Bible, as not a word is said about it in John Hollands’ letter. I’m of opinion as it slipped off accidentally from the hand of the woman as she was dropping the Bible; and since it’s clear she didn’t want it to be known who she was, if she knows where she lost her ring she won’t want to come and claim it.”“And do you think,” asked Foster, “that she is some one living in Crossbourne or the neighbourhood?”“Pretty certain,” replied Thomas. “There’s been some roguery or trickery about it altogether. The bag was in Crossbourne on the 23rd of last December, and your wife got the Bible that same evening. I’m firmly persuaded there’s been some hoax about it all, and I believe bag and bracelet and all’s in the town, if we only knew how to find ’em without making the matter public. If we could only get at the owner of the ring without making a noise, we might find a clue as would lead us to where the bag is.”“I’m much of your mind,” said Foster. “I fancy that some one of poor Jim Barnes’s drunken mates has been playing a trick off on him by watching him into the Railway Inn, and running off with the bag just to vex him; and then, when he found what was in the bag, he would hide all away except the Bible, for fear of getting into a scrape. But can anything be done about the ring?”“I’ll tell you what we’ll do if you’ll let me have it for a while,” said Bradly, with a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll get our Betsy to wear it in the mill to-morrow. You’ll see there’ll something come out of it, as sure as my name’s Thomas Bradly.”Accordingly, next morning Betsy Bradly appeared at the mill with the ring on her little finger—a circumstance which soon drew attention, which was expressed first in looks and then in whispers, much to the quiet amusement and satisfaction of the wearer. No questions, however, were asked till the dinner hour, and then a small knot of the hands, principally of the females, gathered round her. These were some of her personal friends and acquaintances; for her character stood too high in the place for any of the less respectable sort to venture to intrude themselves upon her.“Well, Betsy,” cried one, “you’ve got a pretty keepsake there; let’s have a look at it.”The other’s only reply was to take off the ring and offer it for inspection. As it was passed from hand to hand, various exclamations were uttered: “Eh, it’s a bonny stone!”—“I never seed the like in all my born days!”—“It’s fit for the Queen’s crown!”—“Where did you get it, Betsy?”—“Her young man gave it her, of course!”—“Nay, you’re wrong there,” said another; “he’s got more sense than to spend his brass on such things as that,—he’s saving it up for a new clock and a dresser!”—“Come, Betsy, where did you get it?”“You’ll never guess, so it’s no use axing,” said Betsy, laughing. “It ain’t mine; but it’ll be mine till its proper owner comes and claims it.”“Oh, you picked it up as you was coming to the mill!”“Ah yes!” cried another; “like enough it’s been dropped by the vicar’s lady, or by some one as has been staying at the vicarage!”“You’re wrong there,” replied Betsy; “I didn’t find it, and nobody’s lost it exactly.”“Well, I never!” cried several, and then there was a general move towards their different homes.Betsy continued wearing the ring for the next day or two, and always dexterously parried any attempt to find out how she came by it. Odd stories began to fly about on the subject, and work-people from other mills came to have a look at the ring, Betsy being always ready to gratify any respectable person with a sight of it. But still she persisted in refusing to tell how it had come into her possession. At last, one afternoon, just as the mills were loosing, one of the railway clerks came up to her, and said,—“Are you looking out for an owner to that ring you’re wearing? I’ve been told something of the sort.”“I ain’t been exactly looking out,” was the reply; “but I shall be quite ready to give it up when I’m sure it’s the right owner as wants it.”“Well, I’ve a shrewd guess I know whose it is,” said the young man.“Indeed! And who may that be?”“Oh, never mind just now; but, please, let me look at the ring.”She took it from her finger and handed it to him. He examined it carefully, and then nodding his head, with a smile on his lips, said, “I’ll be bound I’ve had this ring in my hands before.”“It’s yours, then?”“Nay, it’s not mine. But do you particularly want to know whose it is?”“Yes, I do; or, rather, my father does, for the simple truth is, it’s father as has got me to wear it; and if you can find out the proper owner, he’ll be obliged to you.”“Just so. If you don’t mind, then, lending me the ring, I’ll soon find out if I’m right; and I’ll bring it back to your father to-morrow night, and tell him all about it.”To this Betsy immediately assented, and the clerk went away with the ring in his charge. The following evening he and Thomas Bradly were closeted together in the “Surgery.”“So,” said Thomas, “you can tell me, I understand, who is the owner of this ring you’ve just returned to me.”“I think I can,” replied the other; “indeed, I feel pretty sure that I can, though, strangely enough, the owner won’t own to it.”“How’s that?”“I can’t say, I’m sure, but so it is.”“Well, be so good as to tell me what you know about it.”“I will. You know the Green Dragon,—perhaps I ought to say, you know where it is. I wish I knew as little of the inside of it as you do; it would be better for me, though I’m no drunkard, as you are aware. But, however, I go now and then into the tap-room of the Green Dragon to get a glass of ale, as it’s near my lodgings. Mrs Philips, she’s the landlady, you know. Well, she’s a bit of a fine lady, and so is her daughter. Her mother had her sent to a boarding-school, and she has got rather high notions in consequence. But she and I are very good friends, and she often tells me about her school-days. Among other things, she has been very fond of talking about the way in which the other young ladies and herself used to be bosom friends; and one afternoon, when I was with her and her mother alone in the parlour, she took a ring off her finger, and asked me to look at it, and if I didn’t admire it. And she said that one of her schoolfellows, whose parents were very wealthy, had given it to her as a birthday present a short time before she left school. The ring was the very image of the one your daughter Betsy lent me.”—So saying, he took it up from the table, on which Thomas Bradly had placed it, and held it up to the light.—“I could almost swear to the ring,” he continued, “for I’ve had Miss Philips’s ring in my hands many a time. She’s very proud of her rings, and likes to talk about them; and I had noticed that she used to wear this ring with the ruby in it over one or two others, and that it slipped off and on very easily. And I used often to ask her to show it me, partly to please her, and partly for a bit of fun. Well, now, it’s curious enough, I’ve missed that ring off her finger for several weeks past. I couldn’t help noticing that it was gone, for she always took care that I should see it when she had it on. I asked her some time back what had become of it; but she looked confused, and made some sort of excuse which seemed odd to me at the time. But when I asked her again, which was very soon after, she said she had put it by in her jewel-case, for it was rather loose, and she was afraid of its getting lost. But somehow or other I didn’t quite believe what she said, so I asked her once more, and she snapped me up so sharply that I found it was best to ask no more questions about it. However, when I heard about your daughter wearing a ring with a red stone in it, and that it was looking out for an owner, it occurred to me at once that it might be Lydia Philips’s ring—that she had dropped it by accident, and didn’t like to own that she had lost it for some reason best known to herself, and that she’d be only too glad to get it back again. So when your daughter lent it me yesterday, I took it up in the evening; and getting her by herself in the parlour, I pulled it out, and said, ‘See, Miss Lyddy, what will you give me for findingthisfor you?’ I expected thanks at the least; but to my great surprise she turned first very pale, and then very red; and then, taking up the ring between her finger and thumb as cautiously as if she was afraid it would bite or burn her, she said—but I didn’t believe her—‘It ain’t mine, and I don’t want to have anything to do with it.’ I tried to make her change her opinion, and told her I knew her ring as well as she knew it herself, that she must have lost it, and that I was certain this was the very ring she had showed me so often; but she only got angry, and flung the ring at me, and told me to mind my own business. So I picked up the ring off the floor, and slunk off like a dog with his tail between his legs, and I’ve brought you back the ring. But it’s the most mysterious thing to me. I can’t make it out a bit. I’m as sure now as I can be sure of anything that it’s the same ring I’ve often handled, and that it belongs to her. Her own ring is gone from her finger, and that and this are as like as two peas; but, for some reason or other, she won’t have it to be hers, so I must just leave matters as I found them.”“Thank you for your trouble,” said Bradly, “and I’ll keep the ring till the real owner turns up; and meanwhile, my friend, just take my advice, and keep as clear of the inside of the Green Dragon as you possibly can.”When the railway clerk had left him, Thomas Bradly sat for some minutes in deep thought, and then sought his sister. “Dear Jane,” he said, “there’s just another step we’re being guided; ’tain’t a very broad one, but I believe it’s in the right direction.” He then gave her an account of what he had just heard from his visitor.“And what do you make of his story, Thomas?” she asked. “Do you think that the ring really belongs to Lydia Philips, and that she knows anything about the bag?”“Yes, Jane, I do; and I’ll tell you why. I believe that she was the person who dropped the Bible in at William Foster’s window. Why she did so, of course I can’t say. But I believe the ring slipped off while she was dropping the book, and now she’s afraid to acknowledge the ring for her own. You know the Bible and the bracelet were in the same bag; so, as she knew about the Bible, it seems pretty certain she must have known about the bracelet too. If she owns to the ring, of course it’s as good as owning as she was the person who dropped the Bible. She knows quite well, you may be sure, that the ring fell into Foster’s room, and that it can only be Foster or his wife that’s produced the ring, and she’s afraid of inquiries being set on foot which may trace the missing bag and bracelet to her. So she’s content to lose her ring, and persists in saying it ain’t hers; because if she owned to it, it would raise suspicions that she or some of her people was concerned with making away with or hiding away the bag and bracelet, and that might get the Green Dragon a bad name, and spoil their custom, or even get her and her family into worse trouble. That’s just my opinion; there’s foul play, somewhere, and she knows something about it. The bag’s in the place, hid away somewhere, and she knows where, or she knows them as has had to do with getting hold of it, and keeping it for their own purposes. So we must watch and be patient. I feel convinced we’re getting nearer and nearer to the light. So let us leave it now in the Lord’s hands, and be satisfied for him to guide us step by step, one at a time. I haven’t a doubt we’ve traced the ring to its right owner, so we’ll put it by for the present, and it can come out and give its evidence when it’s wanted.”

“You are satisfied that we know nothing about the bag or the bracelet, I hope?” asked Foster anxiously on Bradly’s return.

“Perfectly,” was the reply; “I haven’t a doubt about it; but there’s something behind as none of us has got at yet, but it’ll come in the Lord’s own time. Wherever the bag and bracelet are, they’ll turn up some day, I’m certain of that; and it’ll be just at the right moment. And so we must be patient and look about us.—But what was it, Kate, you said was dropped along with the Bible?”

“It was this ring,” replied Mrs Foster, at the same time placing a small gold ring with a ruby in the centre on the table. The three examined it by turns. There were no letters or marks engraved anywhere on it.

“And this was dropped by the same hand which dropped the Bible?” asked Bradly.

“Yes; it rolled along the floor, and may have fallen either off the finger of the person who put her hand in at the window, or from between the leaves of the Bible.”

“And have you mentioned about this ring to any one?”

“No, not even to my husband. I’m sure William will forgive me. It was just this way: I put it into my pocket at the time, and afterwards into a secret drawer in my desk, fearing it might bring one or both of us into trouble. When this happy change came, and both William and I began to care about the Bible, I told him how I came by the book, but thought I would wait before I said anything about the ring; perhaps something would come to clear up the mystery, and it would be time enough to produce the ring when some one came forward to claim it; but no one has done so yet.”

“And you have no suspicion at all who it belongs to, or who dropped it?”

“No, none whatever.”

“Well,” continued Bradly, “I don’t think it fell out of the leaves of the Bible, as not a word is said about it in John Hollands’ letter. I’m of opinion as it slipped off accidentally from the hand of the woman as she was dropping the Bible; and since it’s clear she didn’t want it to be known who she was, if she knows where she lost her ring she won’t want to come and claim it.”

“And do you think,” asked Foster, “that she is some one living in Crossbourne or the neighbourhood?”

“Pretty certain,” replied Thomas. “There’s been some roguery or trickery about it altogether. The bag was in Crossbourne on the 23rd of last December, and your wife got the Bible that same evening. I’m firmly persuaded there’s been some hoax about it all, and I believe bag and bracelet and all’s in the town, if we only knew how to find ’em without making the matter public. If we could only get at the owner of the ring without making a noise, we might find a clue as would lead us to where the bag is.”

“I’m much of your mind,” said Foster. “I fancy that some one of poor Jim Barnes’s drunken mates has been playing a trick off on him by watching him into the Railway Inn, and running off with the bag just to vex him; and then, when he found what was in the bag, he would hide all away except the Bible, for fear of getting into a scrape. But can anything be done about the ring?”

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do if you’ll let me have it for a while,” said Bradly, with a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll get our Betsy to wear it in the mill to-morrow. You’ll see there’ll something come out of it, as sure as my name’s Thomas Bradly.”

Accordingly, next morning Betsy Bradly appeared at the mill with the ring on her little finger—a circumstance which soon drew attention, which was expressed first in looks and then in whispers, much to the quiet amusement and satisfaction of the wearer. No questions, however, were asked till the dinner hour, and then a small knot of the hands, principally of the females, gathered round her. These were some of her personal friends and acquaintances; for her character stood too high in the place for any of the less respectable sort to venture to intrude themselves upon her.

“Well, Betsy,” cried one, “you’ve got a pretty keepsake there; let’s have a look at it.”

The other’s only reply was to take off the ring and offer it for inspection. As it was passed from hand to hand, various exclamations were uttered: “Eh, it’s a bonny stone!”—“I never seed the like in all my born days!”—“It’s fit for the Queen’s crown!”—“Where did you get it, Betsy?”—“Her young man gave it her, of course!”—“Nay, you’re wrong there,” said another; “he’s got more sense than to spend his brass on such things as that,—he’s saving it up for a new clock and a dresser!”—“Come, Betsy, where did you get it?”

“You’ll never guess, so it’s no use axing,” said Betsy, laughing. “It ain’t mine; but it’ll be mine till its proper owner comes and claims it.”

“Oh, you picked it up as you was coming to the mill!”

“Ah yes!” cried another; “like enough it’s been dropped by the vicar’s lady, or by some one as has been staying at the vicarage!”

“You’re wrong there,” replied Betsy; “I didn’t find it, and nobody’s lost it exactly.”

“Well, I never!” cried several, and then there was a general move towards their different homes.

Betsy continued wearing the ring for the next day or two, and always dexterously parried any attempt to find out how she came by it. Odd stories began to fly about on the subject, and work-people from other mills came to have a look at the ring, Betsy being always ready to gratify any respectable person with a sight of it. But still she persisted in refusing to tell how it had come into her possession. At last, one afternoon, just as the mills were loosing, one of the railway clerks came up to her, and said,—

“Are you looking out for an owner to that ring you’re wearing? I’ve been told something of the sort.”

“I ain’t been exactly looking out,” was the reply; “but I shall be quite ready to give it up when I’m sure it’s the right owner as wants it.”

“Well, I’ve a shrewd guess I know whose it is,” said the young man.

“Indeed! And who may that be?”

“Oh, never mind just now; but, please, let me look at the ring.”

She took it from her finger and handed it to him. He examined it carefully, and then nodding his head, with a smile on his lips, said, “I’ll be bound I’ve had this ring in my hands before.”

“It’s yours, then?”

“Nay, it’s not mine. But do you particularly want to know whose it is?”

“Yes, I do; or, rather, my father does, for the simple truth is, it’s father as has got me to wear it; and if you can find out the proper owner, he’ll be obliged to you.”

“Just so. If you don’t mind, then, lending me the ring, I’ll soon find out if I’m right; and I’ll bring it back to your father to-morrow night, and tell him all about it.”

To this Betsy immediately assented, and the clerk went away with the ring in his charge. The following evening he and Thomas Bradly were closeted together in the “Surgery.”

“So,” said Thomas, “you can tell me, I understand, who is the owner of this ring you’ve just returned to me.”

“I think I can,” replied the other; “indeed, I feel pretty sure that I can, though, strangely enough, the owner won’t own to it.”

“How’s that?”

“I can’t say, I’m sure, but so it is.”

“Well, be so good as to tell me what you know about it.”

“I will. You know the Green Dragon,—perhaps I ought to say, you know where it is. I wish I knew as little of the inside of it as you do; it would be better for me, though I’m no drunkard, as you are aware. But, however, I go now and then into the tap-room of the Green Dragon to get a glass of ale, as it’s near my lodgings. Mrs Philips, she’s the landlady, you know. Well, she’s a bit of a fine lady, and so is her daughter. Her mother had her sent to a boarding-school, and she has got rather high notions in consequence. But she and I are very good friends, and she often tells me about her school-days. Among other things, she has been very fond of talking about the way in which the other young ladies and herself used to be bosom friends; and one afternoon, when I was with her and her mother alone in the parlour, she took a ring off her finger, and asked me to look at it, and if I didn’t admire it. And she said that one of her schoolfellows, whose parents were very wealthy, had given it to her as a birthday present a short time before she left school. The ring was the very image of the one your daughter Betsy lent me.”—So saying, he took it up from the table, on which Thomas Bradly had placed it, and held it up to the light.—“I could almost swear to the ring,” he continued, “for I’ve had Miss Philips’s ring in my hands many a time. She’s very proud of her rings, and likes to talk about them; and I had noticed that she used to wear this ring with the ruby in it over one or two others, and that it slipped off and on very easily. And I used often to ask her to show it me, partly to please her, and partly for a bit of fun. Well, now, it’s curious enough, I’ve missed that ring off her finger for several weeks past. I couldn’t help noticing that it was gone, for she always took care that I should see it when she had it on. I asked her some time back what had become of it; but she looked confused, and made some sort of excuse which seemed odd to me at the time. But when I asked her again, which was very soon after, she said she had put it by in her jewel-case, for it was rather loose, and she was afraid of its getting lost. But somehow or other I didn’t quite believe what she said, so I asked her once more, and she snapped me up so sharply that I found it was best to ask no more questions about it. However, when I heard about your daughter wearing a ring with a red stone in it, and that it was looking out for an owner, it occurred to me at once that it might be Lydia Philips’s ring—that she had dropped it by accident, and didn’t like to own that she had lost it for some reason best known to herself, and that she’d be only too glad to get it back again. So when your daughter lent it me yesterday, I took it up in the evening; and getting her by herself in the parlour, I pulled it out, and said, ‘See, Miss Lyddy, what will you give me for findingthisfor you?’ I expected thanks at the least; but to my great surprise she turned first very pale, and then very red; and then, taking up the ring between her finger and thumb as cautiously as if she was afraid it would bite or burn her, she said—but I didn’t believe her—‘It ain’t mine, and I don’t want to have anything to do with it.’ I tried to make her change her opinion, and told her I knew her ring as well as she knew it herself, that she must have lost it, and that I was certain this was the very ring she had showed me so often; but she only got angry, and flung the ring at me, and told me to mind my own business. So I picked up the ring off the floor, and slunk off like a dog with his tail between his legs, and I’ve brought you back the ring. But it’s the most mysterious thing to me. I can’t make it out a bit. I’m as sure now as I can be sure of anything that it’s the same ring I’ve often handled, and that it belongs to her. Her own ring is gone from her finger, and that and this are as like as two peas; but, for some reason or other, she won’t have it to be hers, so I must just leave matters as I found them.”

“Thank you for your trouble,” said Bradly, “and I’ll keep the ring till the real owner turns up; and meanwhile, my friend, just take my advice, and keep as clear of the inside of the Green Dragon as you possibly can.”

When the railway clerk had left him, Thomas Bradly sat for some minutes in deep thought, and then sought his sister. “Dear Jane,” he said, “there’s just another step we’re being guided; ’tain’t a very broad one, but I believe it’s in the right direction.” He then gave her an account of what he had just heard from his visitor.

“And what do you make of his story, Thomas?” she asked. “Do you think that the ring really belongs to Lydia Philips, and that she knows anything about the bag?”

“Yes, Jane, I do; and I’ll tell you why. I believe that she was the person who dropped the Bible in at William Foster’s window. Why she did so, of course I can’t say. But I believe the ring slipped off while she was dropping the book, and now she’s afraid to acknowledge the ring for her own. You know the Bible and the bracelet were in the same bag; so, as she knew about the Bible, it seems pretty certain she must have known about the bracelet too. If she owns to the ring, of course it’s as good as owning as she was the person who dropped the Bible. She knows quite well, you may be sure, that the ring fell into Foster’s room, and that it can only be Foster or his wife that’s produced the ring, and she’s afraid of inquiries being set on foot which may trace the missing bag and bracelet to her. So she’s content to lose her ring, and persists in saying it ain’t hers; because if she owned to it, it would raise suspicions that she or some of her people was concerned with making away with or hiding away the bag and bracelet, and that might get the Green Dragon a bad name, and spoil their custom, or even get her and her family into worse trouble. That’s just my opinion; there’s foul play, somewhere, and she knows something about it. The bag’s in the place, hid away somewhere, and she knows where, or she knows them as has had to do with getting hold of it, and keeping it for their own purposes. So we must watch and be patient. I feel convinced we’re getting nearer and nearer to the light. So let us leave it now in the Lord’s hands, and be satisfied for him to guide us step by step, one at a time. I haven’t a doubt we’ve traced the ring to its right owner, so we’ll put it by for the present, and it can come out and give its evidence when it’s wanted.”

Chapter Fourteen.Wild Work at Crossbourne.It was now the beginning of April; a month had passed since the temperance meeting, and James Barnes and William Foster were keeping clear of the drink and of their old ungodly companions. But it was not to be supposed that the enemies were asleep, or willing to acquiesce patiently in such a desertion from their ranks. Nevertheless, little stir was made, and open opposition seemed nearly to have died out.“How quietly and peaceably matters are going on,” said the vicar to Thomas Bradly one morning; “I suppose the intemperate party feel they can do our cause no real harm, and so are constrained to let Foster and Barnes alone.”“I’m not so sure about that, sir,” was Bradly’s reply. “I’m rather looking out for a breeze, for things are too quiet to last; there’s been a queerish sort of grin on the faces of Foster’s old mates when they’ve passed me lately, as makes me pretty sure there’s something in the wind as mayn’t turn out very pleasant. But I’m not afraid: we’ve got the Lord and the right on our side, and we needn’t fear what man can do unto us.”“True, Thomas, we must leave it there; and we may be sure that all will work together for the furtherance of the good cause in the end.”“I’ve not a doubt of it, sir; but for all that, I mean to keep a bright look-out. I’m not afraid of their trying their games with me; it’s Barnes and Foster as they mean to pay off if they can.”That same evening James Barnes knocked at Bradly’s Surgery door, and closed it quickly after him. There was a scared look in his eyes; his dress was all disordered; and, worse still, he brought with him into the room an overpowering odour of spirits. Poor Thomas’s heart died within him. Alas! was it really so? Had the enemy gained so speedy a triumph?“So, Jim, you’ve broken, I see,” exclaimed Bradly sorrowfully. “The Lord pardon and help you!”“Nothing of the sort,” cried the other; “I’ve never touched a drop, Thomas, since I signed, though a good big drop has touched me.”“What do you mean, Jim?” asked Bradly, greatly relieved at the tone of his voice. “Are you sure it’s all right? Come, sit down, and tell me all about it.”“That I will, Thomas; it’s what I’ve come for. You’ll easily believe me when I tell you,” he continued, after taking a seat, “that they’ve been at me every road to try and get me back, badgering, chaffing, threatening, and coaxing: it’s strange what pains they’ll take as is working for the devil. But it wouldn’t act. Well, three or four nights ago, when I got home from my work, I found two bottles on my table. They was uncorked; one had got rum, and the other gin in it. Now, I won’t say as my mouth didn’t water a bit, and the evil one whispered ‘Just take a glass;’ but no, I wasn’t to be done that way, so I lifts up a prayer for strength, and just takes the bottles at once out into the road, and empties them straight into the gutter. There was some looking on as would let the enemy know. So to-night, as smooth ways wouldn’t act, they’ve been trying rough ’uns. Four of my old mates, Ned Taylor among ’em, watches when my missus went off to the shop, and slips into the kitchen where I was sitting. They’d brought a bottle of rum with them, and began to talk friendly fashion, and tried might and main to get me to drink. But I gave the same answer—I’d have none of it. Then one of them slipped behind my chair, and pinned me down into it, and Ned Taylor tried to force my mouth open, while another man held the bottle, ready to pour the rum down my throat. But just then our little Bob, seeing how roughly they were handling me, bolted out into the street, screaming, ‘They’re killing daddy! They’re killing daddy!’ So the cowardly chaps, seeing it was time to be off, took to their heels, all but Ned Taylor. He’d taken the bottle of rum from the man as held it, and he took and poured it all down my coat and waistcoat, and said, ‘If you won’t have it inside, you shall have it out;’ and then he burst out into a loud laugh, and went after the rest of them. If you examine my clothes, Thomas, you can see as I’m telling the truth. However, they’ve just been and cut their own throats, for they’ve only made me more determined than ever to stick to my tee-totalism.”“All right, Jim,” said the other cheerfully; “they’ve outwitted themselves. I’ve an old coat and waistcoat as I’ve nearly done with, but they’ve got a good bit of wear in them yet. They’ll just about fit you, I reckon. You shall go back in them, and keep them and welcome, and we’ll make these as they’ve spoilt a present to the dunghill. I only wish all other bad habits, and more particularly them as comes through rum, brandy, and such like, could be cast away on to the same place. You did quite right, Jim, to come straight to me.”“Ay, Thomas, I felt as it were best; for I were in a towering rage at first, and I think I should have half killed some of ’em, if I could only have got at them.”“Ah, well, Jim, you just let all that alone. ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.’ We’ll get our revenge in another way some day; we may heap coals of fire on some of their heads yet. But you leave matters now to me. I shall see Ned Taylor to-morrow myself, and give him a bit of my mind; and warn him and his mates that if they try anything of the kind on again, they’ll get themselves into trouble.”“Thank you, Thomas, with all my heart, for your kindness: ‘a friend in need’s a friend indeed.’ But there’s just another thing as I wants to talk to you about afore I go. I meant to come up to-night about it anyhow, even if this do hadn’t happened.”“Well, Jim, let’s hear it.”“Do you remember Levi Sharples, Thomas?”“What! That tall, red-haired chap, with a cast in his left eye, and a mouth as wide and ugly as an ogre’s?”“Yes, that’s the man. You’ll remember, Thomas, he was concerned in that housebreaking job four years ago, and the police have been after him ever since.”“To be sure, Jim, I remember him fast enough; he’s not a man one’s likely to forget. I suppose a more thorough scoundrel never set foot in Crossbourne. It was a wonderful thing how he managed to escape and keep out of prison after that burglary business. But what about him?”“Why, Thomas, I seed him in this town the day before yesterday.”“Surely, Jim, you must be mistaken. He durstn’t show his face in Crossbourne for the life of him.”“No, I know that; but he’s got himself made up to look like another man,—black hair, great black whiskers, and a thick black beard, and a foreign sort of cap on his head,—and he’s lodging at the Green Dragon, and pretends as he’s an agent for some foreign house to get orders for rings, and brooches, and watches, and things of that sort.”“But are you certain, Jim, you’re not mistaken?”“Mistaken! Not I. I used to know him too well in my drinking days. He’ll never disguise that look of that wicked eye of his from them as knows him well; and though he’s got summat in his mouth to make him talk different, I could tell the twang of his ugly voice anywheres.”“Well, Jim?”“Ah, but it ain’t well, Thomas, I’m sorry to say: there’s mischief, you may be sure, when the like of him’s about. You know he used to be a great man with Will Foster’s old set; and, would you believe it, I saw him yesterday evening, when it was getting dark, standing near Foster’s house talking with him. They didn’t see me, for I was in the shadow; I’d just stooped down to fasten my boot-lace as they came up together. I’d had a message to take to William’s wife, and was coming out the back way, when I heard footsteps, and I knew Levi in a moment, as the gas lamp shone on him. I didn’t want to play spy, but Ididwant to know what that chap was up to. So, while their backs was towards me, I crawled behind the water-butt without making any noise, and I could catch a few words now and then, as they were not far-off from me.”“Well, Jim, and what did you hear?”“Why, Levi said, ‘It won’t do for me to be seen here, so let us have a meeting in some safe place.’—‘Very well,’ says William, and then they spoke so low I could only catch the words, ‘Cricketty Hall;’ but just as Levi were moving off, he said in a loud whisper, ‘All right, then—Friday night;’ and I think he mentioned the hour, but he spoke so low I couldn’t clearly mate out any more. So I’ve come to tell you, Thomas Bradly, for there’s mischief of some sort up, I’ll be bound.”Bradly did not answer, but for a time a deep shade of anxiety settled on his features. But after a while the shadow passed away. “James,” he said earnestly, “I can’t believe as there’s anything wrong in this matter in William Foster. I can’t believe the Lord’s led him so far, in the right way, and has now left him to stray into wrong paths. I’ve watched him narrowly, and I’m certain he’s as true as steel. But I think with you as there’s mischief brewing. Though William has got a clever head, yet he’s got a soft heart along with it, and he’s not over wide-awake in some things; and I’ll be bound he’s no match for a villain like that Levi. I tell you what it is, Jim: it strikes me now, just as we’re speaking, as Levi’s being set on by some of William’s old mates to draw him out of the town to a place where they can play him some trick, or do him some harm, without being hindered or found out. I can’t explain how, of course, but that’s my thought. Now, if you’ll lend me a helping hand, I’m persuaded as we shall be able, if the Lord will, to turn the tables on these fellows in such a way as’ll effectually tie their hands and stop their tongues for many a long day to come.”“All right, Thomas,” cried Barnes, “I’m your man; I think you’re on the right scent.”“Very good, Jim; Cricketty Hall, and Friday night, that’s where and when the meeting’s to be. It means next Friday no doubt, for Levi Sharples won’t stay in this neighbourhood a moment longer than he can help. You may depend upon it, when these two meet at the old ruin, Levi’ll have some of their old mates not far-off, and there’ll be wild work with poor William when they’ve got the opportunity. But we’ll give ’em more company than they’ll reckon for. But now, Jim, we must be cautious how we act. Of course I could go and tell William privately what I think Levi’s up to, but I shall not do that; I want to catch that rascal in his own trap, and get him out of the country for good and all, and give the rest of them such a lesson as they’ll not soon forget. So it won’t do for you or me to be seen going out towards Cricketty Hall on Friday evening, for they are sure to set spies about, and we should spoil all. I’ll tell you how we’ll manage. I’ve been wanting a day at Foxleigh for some time, as I’ve some business of my own there. You get leave to meet me there, and I’ll pay your fare. Go by the eight a.m. train on Friday morning, and I’ll take the train that starts at dinner-time. No one’ll ever suspect us of going to Cricketty Hall that way. I shall tell the police at Foxleigh my business, and they’ll be glad enough to send some men with us when they know that Levi Sharples will be there, the man they’ve been wanting to catch. We can get round to the woods above Cricketty Hall from Foxleigh without being seen, when it begins to be dark, and can get down into the ruins without their noticing us, for they’ll never think of any one coming by that road, such a roundabout way. And mind, Jim, not a word to any one, not even to your missus. All you need tell her is, that I’ve wanted you to meet me about some business at Foxleigh, and you won’t be back till late.”“All right, Thomas,” said Barnes; “you may depend on it I shan’t say nothing to nobody. I shall just tell my missus afore I’m setting off on the Friday morning as I’ve got a job to do for you, and she mustn’t expect me home till she sees me; and no one’ll be surprised at my turning up at the station, as they all know as I used to be porter there.”Cricketty Hall was one of those decayed family mansions which are to be met with in many parts of England. Its original owners had been persons of importance many generations back, but their name and fame had passed away. The lands connected with the Hall had become absorbed into other properties; and the building itself had gradually crumbled down, many a neighbouring farm-house owing some of its most solid and ornamental portions to the massive ruins from which they had been borrowed or taken. Still, enough had been left to show that the place had once been a mansion of considerable pretensions. The old gateway, with its portcullis and drawbridge, was still standing, while the moat which surrounded the entire building indicated that it had been originally of very capacious dimensions. The roof and most of the walls had long since disappeared; trees grew in the centre, and spread out their branches over the space once occupied by the dormitories, while a profusion of ivy concealed many a curiously carved arch and window. From the gateway the ground sloped rapidly, affording a fine view of the neighbouring country. Behind the house was high ground, once thickly wooded, and still partially covered with trees and underwood. The Hall was about two miles distant from Crossbourne, and was well-known to most of its inhabitants, though but seldom visited, except occasionally by picnic parties in summer-time. Old tradition pronounced it to be haunted, but though such an idea was ridiculed now by everybody whenever the superstition was alluded to, yet very few persons would have liked to venture into the ruins alone after dark; and, indeed, the loneliness of the situation made it by no means a desirable place for solitary evening musings.The ordinary way to the Hall was by a footpath leading to it out of the highroad across fields for a distance of nearly a quarter of a mile. It could also be approached by a much less frequented track, which passed along sequestered lanes out of the main road from the town of Foxleigh, the nearest town to Crossbourne by rail, and brought the traveller to it, after a walk of six miles from Foxleigh, through the overhanging wooded ground which has been mentioned as rising up in the rear of the old ruins.The only exception to the dilapidated state of the premises was a large vaulted cellar or underground room. Its existence, however, had been well-nigh forgotten, except by a few who occasionally visited it, and kept the secret of the entrance to it to themselves.The Friday on which the appointment between Foster and Levi Sharples was to be kept at Cricketty Hall, was one of those dismal April days which make you forget that there is any prospect of a coming summer in the chilly misery of the present. Cold showers and raw breezes made the passers through the streets of Crossbourne fold themselves together, and expose as little surface as was possible to the inclemency of the weather; so that when James Barnes and Thomas Bradly left the station by the early and mid-day trains, there were but few idlers about to notice their departure.At length the mills loosed, and Foster hurried home, and, after a hasty tea, told his wife that an engagement would take him from home for a few hours, and that she must not be alarmed if he was a little late. Then, having put on a stout overcoat, he made his way through the higher part of the town, and past the vicarage, and was soon in the open country. It was past seven o’clock when he reached the place where the footpath leading to the old Hall met the highroad. It was still raining, though not heavily; but thick, leaden-coloured clouds brooded over the whole scene, and served to deepen the approaching darkness. It was certainly an evening not calculated to raise any one’s spirits; and the harsh wind, as it swept over the wide expanse of the treeless fields, with their stern-looking stone fences, added to the depressing influences of the hour. But Foster was a man not easily daunted by such things, and he had stridden on manfully, fully occupied by his own thoughts, till he reached the stile where the footpath to the ruins began. Here he paused, looked carefully in all directions, listened attentively without hearing sound of traveller or vehicle, and then whistled in a low tone twice. A tall figure immediately rose up from the other side of the hedge and joined him.“Well, Levi,” said Foster, “I have kept my appointment; and now what would you have with me?”“I’ll tell you, William,” replied his companion. “You know I’m a marked man. The police are looking out for me on account of that housebreaking job - more’s the pity I ever had anything to do with it. However, I’m a changed man now, I hope: I think I’ve given you some proof of that already, William, so you may trust me. A man wouldn’t come back and thrust his head into the lion’s mouth as I’ve done, to show his sincerity and sorrow for the past, if he hadn’t been in earnest. Now, what I want you to do is this:—You know how many Sunday afternoons you and I, and others of our old mates, have spent in card-playing in the cellar of that old Hall—the Lord forgive me for having wasted his holy day in such sin and folly! Now, I’ve a long story to tell, and I should like to tell it in that same place where you and I joined in what was sinful in our days of ignorance and darkness. I can tell you there how I was brought to see what a fool’s part I had been playing, and how I came to my right mind at last. You can give me some good advice; and I want to leave one or two little things with you to give or send to my poor old mother when I’m far away. And when we’ve had our talk out, we’ll part at the old ruin, and I shall make the best of my way out of the country, and begin a new and better life, I trust, where I’m not known. I’m sorry to have given you the trouble to come out all this way, specially on such a night as this; but I really don’t feel safe anywhere in or near Crossbourne, as the police might pop on me at any moment, and I felt sure, from what I heard of the change that has taken place in you, that you wouldn’t mind a little trouble to help an old companion out of the mire. You needn’t be afraid to come with me; I can have no possible motive to lead you into danger.”“I’m not afraid, Levi,” said Foster quietly. “I’m ready to go with you.”Nothing more was said by either of them till they had followed out the footpath and stood before the gateway of the old Hall. They were soon making their way cautiously amongst the fallen blocks of stone towards a turret which rose to a considerable height at the end of the ruins farthest from the gateway. “Go forward, William,” said Sharples, “while I light my lantern.” So saying, he paused to strike a match, while his companion threaded his way towards the turret. At this moment a figure, unobserved by Foster, emerged from behind a low wall, and, having exchanged a few whispered words with Levi, disappeared through an archway.The two companions, having now gained the turret, proceeded to descend a few broken steps concealed from ordinary observation by a mass of brushwood, and reached the entrance of a spacious vault. “Stay a moment,” said Sharples; “I’ll go first and show a light.” So saying, he pushed past the other, and the next instant Foster felt himself held fast by each arm, while a handkerchief was pressed over his mouth. He was at once painfully conscious that he had been completely entrapped, and that resistance was perfectly useless, for two strong men grasped him, one on either side. But his presence of mind did not desert him, and he now had learnt where to look, in secret prayer, for that “very present help in trouble” which never fails those who seek it aright. Thus fortified, he attempted no resistance, but patiently awaited the event.In a few minutes the handkerchief was withdrawn from his eyes, and he found himself in the presence of about a dozen men, all of whose faces were blackened. On a large stone in the centre of the vault was placed the bull’s-eye lantern which his companion had recently lighted, and which, by pouring its light fully on himself, prevented him from clearly seeing the movements of his captors. What was to come next? He was not long left in doubt.“Saint Foster,” said Levi Sharples, who stood just behind the lantern, and spoke in a sneering, snuffling voice, “we don’t wish you any harm; but we have brought your saintship before our right worshipful court, that you may answer to the charge brought against you, of having deserted your old principles and companions, and inflicted much inconvenience and discredit on the cause of free-thought and good fellowship in Crossbourne. What say you to this charge, Saint Foster?”Their poor victim had by this time thoroughly recovered his self-possession, and being now set at liberty—for his enemies knew that he could not escape them—answered quietly, and in a clear, unfaltering voice, “I must ask first by what authority this court is constituted; and by whose authority you are now questioning me?”“By the authority of ‘might,’ which on the present occasion makes ‘right,’ Saint Foster,” was the reply.“Be it so,” said Foster. “I can only reply that I have been following out my own honest convictions in the course I have lately taken. What right has any man to object to this?”“A good deal of right, Saint Foster, since your following out your present honest convictions is a great hindrance to those who used to agree with you in your former honest convictions.”“I am not responsible for that,” was Foster’s reply.“Perhaps not,” continued Sharples; “nevertheless, we are met on the present agreeable occasion to see if we cannot induce you to give up those present honest convictions of yours, and join your old friends again.”“That I neither can nor will,” said the other in a firm voice.“That’s a pity,” said Sharples; “because if you persist in your determination, the consequences to yourself may be unpleasant. However, the court wishes to deal very leniently with you, in consideration of past services, and therefore I am commissioned to offer you a choice between two things.—Officer! Bring forward the ‘peacemaker.’”Upon this, a man stepped forward, uncorked a bottle of spirits, and placed it on the stone in front of the lantern.“Saint Foster,” proceeded his pretended judge, “we earnestly exhort you to lift this bottle of spirits to your lips, and, having taken a hearty swig thereof, to say after me, ‘Long life and prosperity to free-thought and good fellowship.’ If you will do this we shall be fully satisfied, and shall all part good friends.”“And if I refuse?” asked the other.“Oh! There’ll be no compulsion—we are not going to force you to drink. This is ‘Liberty Hall;’ only, you must submit to the alternative.”“And what may that be?”“Oh! Just to carry home with you a little of our ointment, as a token of our kind regards.—Officer! Bring forward the ointment.”A general gruff titter ran round the vault as one of the men placed beside the bottle a jar with a brush in it and a bag.“My worthy friend,” proceeded the former speaker, “that jar is full of ointment, vulgarly called tar, and that little bag contains feathers. Now, if you positively refuse to drink the toast I have just named in spirits, we shall be constrained to anoint you all over from head to foot with our ointment, and then to sprinkle you with the feathers; in so doing, we shall be affording an amusing spectacle to the inhabitants of Crossbourne, and shall be doing yourself a real kindness, by furnishing you with abundant means of ‘feathering your own nest.’”A roar of discordant laughter followed this speech. Then there was a pause, and a deathlike silence, while all waited for Foster’s answer. For a few moments he attempted no reply; then he said, slowly and sadly: “I know it will be of no use for me to say what I think of the utter baseness of the man who has enticed me here, and now acts the part of my judge. You have me in your power, and must work your will on me, for I will never consent to drink the toast proposed to me. But I warn you that—”At this moment a shrill whistle was heard by every one in the vault, and then the sound of shouts outside, and the tramping of feet.—“The game’s up!” cried one of the men with the blackened faces; “every one for himself!” and a rush was made for the steps. But it was too late: a strong guard of police fully armed had taken their stand at the top of the stair, and escape was impossible, for there was no other outlet from the vault. As each man emerged he was seized and handcuffed—all except Foster, whose unblackened face told at once that he was not one of the guilty party, and who was grasped warmly by the hand by Thomas Bradly and James Barnes, who now came forward.When the vault had been searched by the constables, and they had ascertained that no one was still secreted there, the whole of the prisoners were marched into the open court and placed in a row. The sergeant, who had come with his men, then passed his lantern from face to face. There was no mistake about Sharples; his false hair and beard had become disarranged in the scuffle, and other marks of identification were immediately observed. “Levi Sharples,” said the sergeant, “you’re our prisoner—we’ve been looking out for you for a long time; you’ll have to come with us.—As for the rest of you, well, I think you won’t any of you forget this night; so you’d best get home as fast as you can and wash your faces.—Constables, take the handcuffs off ’em.”No sooner was this done than the whole body of the conspirators vanished in a moment, while the police proceeded to carry off their prisoner. But before the officers were clear of the ruins, a strange moaning sound startled all who remained behind. “Eh! What’s that? Surely it ain’t—a—a—” exclaimed Jim Barnes, in great terror. The sergeant, who was just leaving with his men, turned back. All stood silent, and then there was distinctly heard again a deep groaning, as of one in pain. “Lend a light here, Thomas,” cried the sergeant to one of his constables. All, except those who were guarding the prisoner, proceeded in the direction from which the unearthly sounds came. “Have a care,” cried Bradly; “there’s some ugly holes hereabouts.” Picking their way carefully, they came at last to the mouth of an old well: it had been long choked up to within a few feet of the top, but still it was an awkward place to fall into.There could now be no mistake; the groaning came from the old well, and it was a human cry of distress. “Who’s there?” cried the sergeant, throwing his light down upon a writhing figure. “It’s me—it’s Ned Taylor. Lord help me! I’ve done for myself. Oh, help me out for pity’s sake!” With great difficulty, and with terrible suffering to the poor wretch himself, they contrived at last to draw him up, and to place him with his back against a heap of fallen masonry.“What’s to be done now?” asked the sergeant. “Leave him to us,” replied Bradly; “we’ll get him home. I see how it is: he’s one of these chaps as has been taking part in this sad business, and in his hurry to get off he has tumbled into this old well and injured himself. We’ll look after him, poor fellow; he shall be properly cared for. Good-night, sergeant, and thank you for your timely help.”When the police had departed with their prisoner, Bradly went to the wounded man and asked him if he thought he could walk home with help; but the only reply was a groan. “He’s badly hurt, I can see,” said Thomas; “we must make a stretcher out of any suitable stuff we can find, and carry him home between us. The Lord’s been very gracious to us so far in this business, and I don’t doubt but he’ll bring good out of this evil.” So they made a litter of boughs and stray pieces of plank, and set out across the fields for Crossbourne.“Stay a bit, Jim,” whispered Bradly to James Barnes; “lend me your lantern. Go forward now, and I’ll join you in a minute.” He was soon back again, having brought the jar of tar from the vault, about which and its purpose he had heard from Foster while the police were searching the place. “I must keep this,” he said, “in my Surgery; it’ll do capitally to give an edge to a lesson.” And it may be here said that the jar was in due time placed on a bracket in Bradly’s private room, and labelled in large red letters, “Drunkards’ Ointment,”—giving Thomas many an opportunity of speaking a forcible word against evil companionship to those who sought his help and counsel.But to return to the party at the old Hall. Long and weary seemed that walk home, specially to the wounded man. At last they reached the town, and carried the sufferer to his miserable dwelling, with cheery words to his poor wife, and a promise from Bradly to send the doctor at once, and that he would call himself next day and see how he was going on.Then the three friends hastened at once to Foster’s house, that they might be the first to acquaint his wife with her husband’s peril and deliverance. Never was thanksgiving prayer uttered or joined in with more fervour than that which was offered by Thomas Bradly after he had given to Kate Foster a full account of the evening’s adventure. Then all sat down to a simple supper, at which Foster was asked by Thomas Bradly to tell him how he came to be taken in by such a man as Levi Sharples.“I don’t wonder,” began Foster, “that you should think it weak and strange in me; but you shall judge. Levi Sharples and myself used to be great friends—or rather, perhaps, I ought to say frequent companions, for I don’t think there was ever anything worth calling friendship between us. He used to profess a great respect for my opinion. He regularly attended the meetings of our club, and made smart speeches, and would come out with the vilest sentiments expressed in the vilest and foulest language, such as disgusted me even then, and makes me shudder now when I think of it. He had a ready way with him, and could trip a man up in an argument and get the laugh against him. Not that he had really read or studied much; but he had gathered a smattering on many subjects, and knew how to make a little knowledge go a great way. Most of the other members of the club were afraid of him, for he had no mercy when he chose to come down on a fellow; and if any one tried to make a stand against him for a bit, he would soon talk him down with his biting sarcasms and loud sneering voice.“I told you that he professed to have a high opinion of myself as a debater and free-thinker. He seldom crossed me in argument, and when he did he was sure to give in in the end. I was vain enough at the time to set this down to my own superior wit and knowledge; but I am now fully persuaded that he was only pretending to have this good opinion of me that he might make use of me for his own purposes. He knew that I was a skilful workman, and earned more than average wages, and so he would often borrow a few shillings from me, which he never remembered to pay back again. But he managed to get these loans very dexterously, always mixing up a little flattery when he came to borrow.“Often and often, I’m ashamed to say, I have wandered out with him and other members of our club in the summer, on Sunday afternoons, to Cricketty Hall; and there, down in the old vault, we have been playing cards and drinking till it was time to return. I could see plainly enough on these occasions that Levi would have been only too glad to win largely from me; but I had sense enough to keep out of his clutches, as I had noticed him managing the cards unfairly when playing with others.“I can’t say that I felt any particular regret when he had to take himself off out of the neighbourhood. There were no ties that could really bind us together; for, indeed, how can there be any real union where the closest bond is a common hatred of that gospel which is so truly, as I am thankful to say I have myself found it, the religion of love? I scarcely missed him, and seldom thought of him, and was rather startled when, a few days ago, he made himself known to me in the twilight.“We were alone, and I was going to pass on with a civil word; but he begged me to stop, and in such a tone of voice as rather touched me. He then reminded me that we had been companions in evil, and said that he had heard of the change that had taken place in me. He added that he was very unhappy, that he hated himself for his past wicked life, and that as I used to stand his friend formerly when he needed a helping hand, he hoped I would show that my change was a real one by my willingness to give an old mate a lift over the stile and into the same way of peace in which I professed to be walking myself. He had much to tell me and ask of me, he said; but he was afraid of being discovered by the police, spite of his disguise. Would I meet him at Cricketty Hall, he should feel safe there.“I did not know what to say. I could not get rid of my suspicions, notwithstanding his changed tone and manner. He saw it, and said: ‘You doubt my sincerity. Well, I suppose you’ll agree that when a man’s sincerity gets into his pocket it’s pretty sure to be genuine. Now, you’ve lent me money at different times, and I never paid any of it back. I’ve reckoned it up, and it comes altogether to three pounds ten shillings. Here it is; and many thanks to you for lending it me. I’m only sorry that I was not an honest man before.’“I hardly knew what to say; however, I took the money, for I knew that it was due to me. ‘Well, will you trust me now?’ he asked. ‘Meet me, Levi, to-morrow night just after dark outside my house,’ I said, ‘and I will tell you then.’ He hesitated a little, and then said, ‘Very well,’ and left me. I was sorely puzzled, and could not tell what to think. And then at last it occurred to me that perhaps it was wrong in me to hang back. Theremightbe a real change beginning even in such a man as Levi Sharples. The Lord had been merciful to me, and why not to him? There hadn’t been much to choose between us in badness in bygone days; and should I be right in repelling the poor man if I could be in any way the means of bringing him into the narrow way? Well, you know the rest. We met the next night; and, mercifully for me, Jim Barnes, as I find from him, overheard the appointment to meet at Cricketty Hall; and wonderfully and graciously has the Lord kept meinmy trouble, and delivered me out of it.”“But how do you suppose that Sharples got hold of that money?” asked Bradly.“Oh,” replied the other, “I can easily understand all about that. You may depend upon it the whole matter has gone on somewhat in this way:—My old mates have been scheming how to be revenged on me ever since I left them, and showed my colours on the side of Temperance and Religion. They’ve known Levi’s whereabouts, and were aware how thick we used to be; so they’ve set him upon drawing me into the snare. I don’t doubt that they subscribed that three pound ten between them, that Levi might be able to throw dust in my eyes with it, and throw me off my guard.”“Just so, just so; I see it all!” cried Bradly. “Eh! Haven’t they been nicely outwitted? Why, they’ve lost their money, they’ve lost the bird out of the cage, and they’ve clapped their own man in prison. Mark my words, William, we shan’t have much more trouble from them for many a long day; but if they attempt to give us any, I shall bring them out the little jar of ointment they left behind them, and bid them tell us what complaints it’s good for. Ah! Well, there’s just a few words out of the good old book as’ll crown it all. Here they are in the Twenty-seventh Psalm: ‘The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When the wicked, even mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell. Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear: though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident.’”

It was now the beginning of April; a month had passed since the temperance meeting, and James Barnes and William Foster were keeping clear of the drink and of their old ungodly companions. But it was not to be supposed that the enemies were asleep, or willing to acquiesce patiently in such a desertion from their ranks. Nevertheless, little stir was made, and open opposition seemed nearly to have died out.

“How quietly and peaceably matters are going on,” said the vicar to Thomas Bradly one morning; “I suppose the intemperate party feel they can do our cause no real harm, and so are constrained to let Foster and Barnes alone.”

“I’m not so sure about that, sir,” was Bradly’s reply. “I’m rather looking out for a breeze, for things are too quiet to last; there’s been a queerish sort of grin on the faces of Foster’s old mates when they’ve passed me lately, as makes me pretty sure there’s something in the wind as mayn’t turn out very pleasant. But I’m not afraid: we’ve got the Lord and the right on our side, and we needn’t fear what man can do unto us.”

“True, Thomas, we must leave it there; and we may be sure that all will work together for the furtherance of the good cause in the end.”

“I’ve not a doubt of it, sir; but for all that, I mean to keep a bright look-out. I’m not afraid of their trying their games with me; it’s Barnes and Foster as they mean to pay off if they can.”

That same evening James Barnes knocked at Bradly’s Surgery door, and closed it quickly after him. There was a scared look in his eyes; his dress was all disordered; and, worse still, he brought with him into the room an overpowering odour of spirits. Poor Thomas’s heart died within him. Alas! was it really so? Had the enemy gained so speedy a triumph?

“So, Jim, you’ve broken, I see,” exclaimed Bradly sorrowfully. “The Lord pardon and help you!”

“Nothing of the sort,” cried the other; “I’ve never touched a drop, Thomas, since I signed, though a good big drop has touched me.”

“What do you mean, Jim?” asked Bradly, greatly relieved at the tone of his voice. “Are you sure it’s all right? Come, sit down, and tell me all about it.”

“That I will, Thomas; it’s what I’ve come for. You’ll easily believe me when I tell you,” he continued, after taking a seat, “that they’ve been at me every road to try and get me back, badgering, chaffing, threatening, and coaxing: it’s strange what pains they’ll take as is working for the devil. But it wouldn’t act. Well, three or four nights ago, when I got home from my work, I found two bottles on my table. They was uncorked; one had got rum, and the other gin in it. Now, I won’t say as my mouth didn’t water a bit, and the evil one whispered ‘Just take a glass;’ but no, I wasn’t to be done that way, so I lifts up a prayer for strength, and just takes the bottles at once out into the road, and empties them straight into the gutter. There was some looking on as would let the enemy know. So to-night, as smooth ways wouldn’t act, they’ve been trying rough ’uns. Four of my old mates, Ned Taylor among ’em, watches when my missus went off to the shop, and slips into the kitchen where I was sitting. They’d brought a bottle of rum with them, and began to talk friendly fashion, and tried might and main to get me to drink. But I gave the same answer—I’d have none of it. Then one of them slipped behind my chair, and pinned me down into it, and Ned Taylor tried to force my mouth open, while another man held the bottle, ready to pour the rum down my throat. But just then our little Bob, seeing how roughly they were handling me, bolted out into the street, screaming, ‘They’re killing daddy! They’re killing daddy!’ So the cowardly chaps, seeing it was time to be off, took to their heels, all but Ned Taylor. He’d taken the bottle of rum from the man as held it, and he took and poured it all down my coat and waistcoat, and said, ‘If you won’t have it inside, you shall have it out;’ and then he burst out into a loud laugh, and went after the rest of them. If you examine my clothes, Thomas, you can see as I’m telling the truth. However, they’ve just been and cut their own throats, for they’ve only made me more determined than ever to stick to my tee-totalism.”

“All right, Jim,” said the other cheerfully; “they’ve outwitted themselves. I’ve an old coat and waistcoat as I’ve nearly done with, but they’ve got a good bit of wear in them yet. They’ll just about fit you, I reckon. You shall go back in them, and keep them and welcome, and we’ll make these as they’ve spoilt a present to the dunghill. I only wish all other bad habits, and more particularly them as comes through rum, brandy, and such like, could be cast away on to the same place. You did quite right, Jim, to come straight to me.”

“Ay, Thomas, I felt as it were best; for I were in a towering rage at first, and I think I should have half killed some of ’em, if I could only have got at them.”

“Ah, well, Jim, you just let all that alone. ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.’ We’ll get our revenge in another way some day; we may heap coals of fire on some of their heads yet. But you leave matters now to me. I shall see Ned Taylor to-morrow myself, and give him a bit of my mind; and warn him and his mates that if they try anything of the kind on again, they’ll get themselves into trouble.”

“Thank you, Thomas, with all my heart, for your kindness: ‘a friend in need’s a friend indeed.’ But there’s just another thing as I wants to talk to you about afore I go. I meant to come up to-night about it anyhow, even if this do hadn’t happened.”

“Well, Jim, let’s hear it.”

“Do you remember Levi Sharples, Thomas?”

“What! That tall, red-haired chap, with a cast in his left eye, and a mouth as wide and ugly as an ogre’s?”

“Yes, that’s the man. You’ll remember, Thomas, he was concerned in that housebreaking job four years ago, and the police have been after him ever since.”

“To be sure, Jim, I remember him fast enough; he’s not a man one’s likely to forget. I suppose a more thorough scoundrel never set foot in Crossbourne. It was a wonderful thing how he managed to escape and keep out of prison after that burglary business. But what about him?”

“Why, Thomas, I seed him in this town the day before yesterday.”

“Surely, Jim, you must be mistaken. He durstn’t show his face in Crossbourne for the life of him.”

“No, I know that; but he’s got himself made up to look like another man,—black hair, great black whiskers, and a thick black beard, and a foreign sort of cap on his head,—and he’s lodging at the Green Dragon, and pretends as he’s an agent for some foreign house to get orders for rings, and brooches, and watches, and things of that sort.”

“But are you certain, Jim, you’re not mistaken?”

“Mistaken! Not I. I used to know him too well in my drinking days. He’ll never disguise that look of that wicked eye of his from them as knows him well; and though he’s got summat in his mouth to make him talk different, I could tell the twang of his ugly voice anywheres.”

“Well, Jim?”

“Ah, but it ain’t well, Thomas, I’m sorry to say: there’s mischief, you may be sure, when the like of him’s about. You know he used to be a great man with Will Foster’s old set; and, would you believe it, I saw him yesterday evening, when it was getting dark, standing near Foster’s house talking with him. They didn’t see me, for I was in the shadow; I’d just stooped down to fasten my boot-lace as they came up together. I’d had a message to take to William’s wife, and was coming out the back way, when I heard footsteps, and I knew Levi in a moment, as the gas lamp shone on him. I didn’t want to play spy, but Ididwant to know what that chap was up to. So, while their backs was towards me, I crawled behind the water-butt without making any noise, and I could catch a few words now and then, as they were not far-off from me.”

“Well, Jim, and what did you hear?”

“Why, Levi said, ‘It won’t do for me to be seen here, so let us have a meeting in some safe place.’—‘Very well,’ says William, and then they spoke so low I could only catch the words, ‘Cricketty Hall;’ but just as Levi were moving off, he said in a loud whisper, ‘All right, then—Friday night;’ and I think he mentioned the hour, but he spoke so low I couldn’t clearly mate out any more. So I’ve come to tell you, Thomas Bradly, for there’s mischief of some sort up, I’ll be bound.”

Bradly did not answer, but for a time a deep shade of anxiety settled on his features. But after a while the shadow passed away. “James,” he said earnestly, “I can’t believe as there’s anything wrong in this matter in William Foster. I can’t believe the Lord’s led him so far, in the right way, and has now left him to stray into wrong paths. I’ve watched him narrowly, and I’m certain he’s as true as steel. But I think with you as there’s mischief brewing. Though William has got a clever head, yet he’s got a soft heart along with it, and he’s not over wide-awake in some things; and I’ll be bound he’s no match for a villain like that Levi. I tell you what it is, Jim: it strikes me now, just as we’re speaking, as Levi’s being set on by some of William’s old mates to draw him out of the town to a place where they can play him some trick, or do him some harm, without being hindered or found out. I can’t explain how, of course, but that’s my thought. Now, if you’ll lend me a helping hand, I’m persuaded as we shall be able, if the Lord will, to turn the tables on these fellows in such a way as’ll effectually tie their hands and stop their tongues for many a long day to come.”

“All right, Thomas,” cried Barnes, “I’m your man; I think you’re on the right scent.”

“Very good, Jim; Cricketty Hall, and Friday night, that’s where and when the meeting’s to be. It means next Friday no doubt, for Levi Sharples won’t stay in this neighbourhood a moment longer than he can help. You may depend upon it, when these two meet at the old ruin, Levi’ll have some of their old mates not far-off, and there’ll be wild work with poor William when they’ve got the opportunity. But we’ll give ’em more company than they’ll reckon for. But now, Jim, we must be cautious how we act. Of course I could go and tell William privately what I think Levi’s up to, but I shall not do that; I want to catch that rascal in his own trap, and get him out of the country for good and all, and give the rest of them such a lesson as they’ll not soon forget. So it won’t do for you or me to be seen going out towards Cricketty Hall on Friday evening, for they are sure to set spies about, and we should spoil all. I’ll tell you how we’ll manage. I’ve been wanting a day at Foxleigh for some time, as I’ve some business of my own there. You get leave to meet me there, and I’ll pay your fare. Go by the eight a.m. train on Friday morning, and I’ll take the train that starts at dinner-time. No one’ll ever suspect us of going to Cricketty Hall that way. I shall tell the police at Foxleigh my business, and they’ll be glad enough to send some men with us when they know that Levi Sharples will be there, the man they’ve been wanting to catch. We can get round to the woods above Cricketty Hall from Foxleigh without being seen, when it begins to be dark, and can get down into the ruins without their noticing us, for they’ll never think of any one coming by that road, such a roundabout way. And mind, Jim, not a word to any one, not even to your missus. All you need tell her is, that I’ve wanted you to meet me about some business at Foxleigh, and you won’t be back till late.”

“All right, Thomas,” said Barnes; “you may depend on it I shan’t say nothing to nobody. I shall just tell my missus afore I’m setting off on the Friday morning as I’ve got a job to do for you, and she mustn’t expect me home till she sees me; and no one’ll be surprised at my turning up at the station, as they all know as I used to be porter there.”

Cricketty Hall was one of those decayed family mansions which are to be met with in many parts of England. Its original owners had been persons of importance many generations back, but their name and fame had passed away. The lands connected with the Hall had become absorbed into other properties; and the building itself had gradually crumbled down, many a neighbouring farm-house owing some of its most solid and ornamental portions to the massive ruins from which they had been borrowed or taken. Still, enough had been left to show that the place had once been a mansion of considerable pretensions. The old gateway, with its portcullis and drawbridge, was still standing, while the moat which surrounded the entire building indicated that it had been originally of very capacious dimensions. The roof and most of the walls had long since disappeared; trees grew in the centre, and spread out their branches over the space once occupied by the dormitories, while a profusion of ivy concealed many a curiously carved arch and window. From the gateway the ground sloped rapidly, affording a fine view of the neighbouring country. Behind the house was high ground, once thickly wooded, and still partially covered with trees and underwood. The Hall was about two miles distant from Crossbourne, and was well-known to most of its inhabitants, though but seldom visited, except occasionally by picnic parties in summer-time. Old tradition pronounced it to be haunted, but though such an idea was ridiculed now by everybody whenever the superstition was alluded to, yet very few persons would have liked to venture into the ruins alone after dark; and, indeed, the loneliness of the situation made it by no means a desirable place for solitary evening musings.

The ordinary way to the Hall was by a footpath leading to it out of the highroad across fields for a distance of nearly a quarter of a mile. It could also be approached by a much less frequented track, which passed along sequestered lanes out of the main road from the town of Foxleigh, the nearest town to Crossbourne by rail, and brought the traveller to it, after a walk of six miles from Foxleigh, through the overhanging wooded ground which has been mentioned as rising up in the rear of the old ruins.

The only exception to the dilapidated state of the premises was a large vaulted cellar or underground room. Its existence, however, had been well-nigh forgotten, except by a few who occasionally visited it, and kept the secret of the entrance to it to themselves.

The Friday on which the appointment between Foster and Levi Sharples was to be kept at Cricketty Hall, was one of those dismal April days which make you forget that there is any prospect of a coming summer in the chilly misery of the present. Cold showers and raw breezes made the passers through the streets of Crossbourne fold themselves together, and expose as little surface as was possible to the inclemency of the weather; so that when James Barnes and Thomas Bradly left the station by the early and mid-day trains, there were but few idlers about to notice their departure.

At length the mills loosed, and Foster hurried home, and, after a hasty tea, told his wife that an engagement would take him from home for a few hours, and that she must not be alarmed if he was a little late. Then, having put on a stout overcoat, he made his way through the higher part of the town, and past the vicarage, and was soon in the open country. It was past seven o’clock when he reached the place where the footpath leading to the old Hall met the highroad. It was still raining, though not heavily; but thick, leaden-coloured clouds brooded over the whole scene, and served to deepen the approaching darkness. It was certainly an evening not calculated to raise any one’s spirits; and the harsh wind, as it swept over the wide expanse of the treeless fields, with their stern-looking stone fences, added to the depressing influences of the hour. But Foster was a man not easily daunted by such things, and he had stridden on manfully, fully occupied by his own thoughts, till he reached the stile where the footpath to the ruins began. Here he paused, looked carefully in all directions, listened attentively without hearing sound of traveller or vehicle, and then whistled in a low tone twice. A tall figure immediately rose up from the other side of the hedge and joined him.

“Well, Levi,” said Foster, “I have kept my appointment; and now what would you have with me?”

“I’ll tell you, William,” replied his companion. “You know I’m a marked man. The police are looking out for me on account of that housebreaking job - more’s the pity I ever had anything to do with it. However, I’m a changed man now, I hope: I think I’ve given you some proof of that already, William, so you may trust me. A man wouldn’t come back and thrust his head into the lion’s mouth as I’ve done, to show his sincerity and sorrow for the past, if he hadn’t been in earnest. Now, what I want you to do is this:—You know how many Sunday afternoons you and I, and others of our old mates, have spent in card-playing in the cellar of that old Hall—the Lord forgive me for having wasted his holy day in such sin and folly! Now, I’ve a long story to tell, and I should like to tell it in that same place where you and I joined in what was sinful in our days of ignorance and darkness. I can tell you there how I was brought to see what a fool’s part I had been playing, and how I came to my right mind at last. You can give me some good advice; and I want to leave one or two little things with you to give or send to my poor old mother when I’m far away. And when we’ve had our talk out, we’ll part at the old ruin, and I shall make the best of my way out of the country, and begin a new and better life, I trust, where I’m not known. I’m sorry to have given you the trouble to come out all this way, specially on such a night as this; but I really don’t feel safe anywhere in or near Crossbourne, as the police might pop on me at any moment, and I felt sure, from what I heard of the change that has taken place in you, that you wouldn’t mind a little trouble to help an old companion out of the mire. You needn’t be afraid to come with me; I can have no possible motive to lead you into danger.”

“I’m not afraid, Levi,” said Foster quietly. “I’m ready to go with you.”

Nothing more was said by either of them till they had followed out the footpath and stood before the gateway of the old Hall. They were soon making their way cautiously amongst the fallen blocks of stone towards a turret which rose to a considerable height at the end of the ruins farthest from the gateway. “Go forward, William,” said Sharples, “while I light my lantern.” So saying, he paused to strike a match, while his companion threaded his way towards the turret. At this moment a figure, unobserved by Foster, emerged from behind a low wall, and, having exchanged a few whispered words with Levi, disappeared through an archway.

The two companions, having now gained the turret, proceeded to descend a few broken steps concealed from ordinary observation by a mass of brushwood, and reached the entrance of a spacious vault. “Stay a moment,” said Sharples; “I’ll go first and show a light.” So saying, he pushed past the other, and the next instant Foster felt himself held fast by each arm, while a handkerchief was pressed over his mouth. He was at once painfully conscious that he had been completely entrapped, and that resistance was perfectly useless, for two strong men grasped him, one on either side. But his presence of mind did not desert him, and he now had learnt where to look, in secret prayer, for that “very present help in trouble” which never fails those who seek it aright. Thus fortified, he attempted no resistance, but patiently awaited the event.

In a few minutes the handkerchief was withdrawn from his eyes, and he found himself in the presence of about a dozen men, all of whose faces were blackened. On a large stone in the centre of the vault was placed the bull’s-eye lantern which his companion had recently lighted, and which, by pouring its light fully on himself, prevented him from clearly seeing the movements of his captors. What was to come next? He was not long left in doubt.

“Saint Foster,” said Levi Sharples, who stood just behind the lantern, and spoke in a sneering, snuffling voice, “we don’t wish you any harm; but we have brought your saintship before our right worshipful court, that you may answer to the charge brought against you, of having deserted your old principles and companions, and inflicted much inconvenience and discredit on the cause of free-thought and good fellowship in Crossbourne. What say you to this charge, Saint Foster?”

Their poor victim had by this time thoroughly recovered his self-possession, and being now set at liberty—for his enemies knew that he could not escape them—answered quietly, and in a clear, unfaltering voice, “I must ask first by what authority this court is constituted; and by whose authority you are now questioning me?”

“By the authority of ‘might,’ which on the present occasion makes ‘right,’ Saint Foster,” was the reply.

“Be it so,” said Foster. “I can only reply that I have been following out my own honest convictions in the course I have lately taken. What right has any man to object to this?”

“A good deal of right, Saint Foster, since your following out your present honest convictions is a great hindrance to those who used to agree with you in your former honest convictions.”

“I am not responsible for that,” was Foster’s reply.

“Perhaps not,” continued Sharples; “nevertheless, we are met on the present agreeable occasion to see if we cannot induce you to give up those present honest convictions of yours, and join your old friends again.”

“That I neither can nor will,” said the other in a firm voice.

“That’s a pity,” said Sharples; “because if you persist in your determination, the consequences to yourself may be unpleasant. However, the court wishes to deal very leniently with you, in consideration of past services, and therefore I am commissioned to offer you a choice between two things.—Officer! Bring forward the ‘peacemaker.’”

Upon this, a man stepped forward, uncorked a bottle of spirits, and placed it on the stone in front of the lantern.

“Saint Foster,” proceeded his pretended judge, “we earnestly exhort you to lift this bottle of spirits to your lips, and, having taken a hearty swig thereof, to say after me, ‘Long life and prosperity to free-thought and good fellowship.’ If you will do this we shall be fully satisfied, and shall all part good friends.”

“And if I refuse?” asked the other.

“Oh! There’ll be no compulsion—we are not going to force you to drink. This is ‘Liberty Hall;’ only, you must submit to the alternative.”

“And what may that be?”

“Oh! Just to carry home with you a little of our ointment, as a token of our kind regards.—Officer! Bring forward the ointment.”

A general gruff titter ran round the vault as one of the men placed beside the bottle a jar with a brush in it and a bag.

“My worthy friend,” proceeded the former speaker, “that jar is full of ointment, vulgarly called tar, and that little bag contains feathers. Now, if you positively refuse to drink the toast I have just named in spirits, we shall be constrained to anoint you all over from head to foot with our ointment, and then to sprinkle you with the feathers; in so doing, we shall be affording an amusing spectacle to the inhabitants of Crossbourne, and shall be doing yourself a real kindness, by furnishing you with abundant means of ‘feathering your own nest.’”

A roar of discordant laughter followed this speech. Then there was a pause, and a deathlike silence, while all waited for Foster’s answer. For a few moments he attempted no reply; then he said, slowly and sadly: “I know it will be of no use for me to say what I think of the utter baseness of the man who has enticed me here, and now acts the part of my judge. You have me in your power, and must work your will on me, for I will never consent to drink the toast proposed to me. But I warn you that—”

At this moment a shrill whistle was heard by every one in the vault, and then the sound of shouts outside, and the tramping of feet.—“The game’s up!” cried one of the men with the blackened faces; “every one for himself!” and a rush was made for the steps. But it was too late: a strong guard of police fully armed had taken their stand at the top of the stair, and escape was impossible, for there was no other outlet from the vault. As each man emerged he was seized and handcuffed—all except Foster, whose unblackened face told at once that he was not one of the guilty party, and who was grasped warmly by the hand by Thomas Bradly and James Barnes, who now came forward.

When the vault had been searched by the constables, and they had ascertained that no one was still secreted there, the whole of the prisoners were marched into the open court and placed in a row. The sergeant, who had come with his men, then passed his lantern from face to face. There was no mistake about Sharples; his false hair and beard had become disarranged in the scuffle, and other marks of identification were immediately observed. “Levi Sharples,” said the sergeant, “you’re our prisoner—we’ve been looking out for you for a long time; you’ll have to come with us.—As for the rest of you, well, I think you won’t any of you forget this night; so you’d best get home as fast as you can and wash your faces.—Constables, take the handcuffs off ’em.”

No sooner was this done than the whole body of the conspirators vanished in a moment, while the police proceeded to carry off their prisoner. But before the officers were clear of the ruins, a strange moaning sound startled all who remained behind. “Eh! What’s that? Surely it ain’t—a—a—” exclaimed Jim Barnes, in great terror. The sergeant, who was just leaving with his men, turned back. All stood silent, and then there was distinctly heard again a deep groaning, as of one in pain. “Lend a light here, Thomas,” cried the sergeant to one of his constables. All, except those who were guarding the prisoner, proceeded in the direction from which the unearthly sounds came. “Have a care,” cried Bradly; “there’s some ugly holes hereabouts.” Picking their way carefully, they came at last to the mouth of an old well: it had been long choked up to within a few feet of the top, but still it was an awkward place to fall into.

There could now be no mistake; the groaning came from the old well, and it was a human cry of distress. “Who’s there?” cried the sergeant, throwing his light down upon a writhing figure. “It’s me—it’s Ned Taylor. Lord help me! I’ve done for myself. Oh, help me out for pity’s sake!” With great difficulty, and with terrible suffering to the poor wretch himself, they contrived at last to draw him up, and to place him with his back against a heap of fallen masonry.

“What’s to be done now?” asked the sergeant. “Leave him to us,” replied Bradly; “we’ll get him home. I see how it is: he’s one of these chaps as has been taking part in this sad business, and in his hurry to get off he has tumbled into this old well and injured himself. We’ll look after him, poor fellow; he shall be properly cared for. Good-night, sergeant, and thank you for your timely help.”

When the police had departed with their prisoner, Bradly went to the wounded man and asked him if he thought he could walk home with help; but the only reply was a groan. “He’s badly hurt, I can see,” said Thomas; “we must make a stretcher out of any suitable stuff we can find, and carry him home between us. The Lord’s been very gracious to us so far in this business, and I don’t doubt but he’ll bring good out of this evil.” So they made a litter of boughs and stray pieces of plank, and set out across the fields for Crossbourne.

“Stay a bit, Jim,” whispered Bradly to James Barnes; “lend me your lantern. Go forward now, and I’ll join you in a minute.” He was soon back again, having brought the jar of tar from the vault, about which and its purpose he had heard from Foster while the police were searching the place. “I must keep this,” he said, “in my Surgery; it’ll do capitally to give an edge to a lesson.” And it may be here said that the jar was in due time placed on a bracket in Bradly’s private room, and labelled in large red letters, “Drunkards’ Ointment,”—giving Thomas many an opportunity of speaking a forcible word against evil companionship to those who sought his help and counsel.

But to return to the party at the old Hall. Long and weary seemed that walk home, specially to the wounded man. At last they reached the town, and carried the sufferer to his miserable dwelling, with cheery words to his poor wife, and a promise from Bradly to send the doctor at once, and that he would call himself next day and see how he was going on.

Then the three friends hastened at once to Foster’s house, that they might be the first to acquaint his wife with her husband’s peril and deliverance. Never was thanksgiving prayer uttered or joined in with more fervour than that which was offered by Thomas Bradly after he had given to Kate Foster a full account of the evening’s adventure. Then all sat down to a simple supper, at which Foster was asked by Thomas Bradly to tell him how he came to be taken in by such a man as Levi Sharples.

“I don’t wonder,” began Foster, “that you should think it weak and strange in me; but you shall judge. Levi Sharples and myself used to be great friends—or rather, perhaps, I ought to say frequent companions, for I don’t think there was ever anything worth calling friendship between us. He used to profess a great respect for my opinion. He regularly attended the meetings of our club, and made smart speeches, and would come out with the vilest sentiments expressed in the vilest and foulest language, such as disgusted me even then, and makes me shudder now when I think of it. He had a ready way with him, and could trip a man up in an argument and get the laugh against him. Not that he had really read or studied much; but he had gathered a smattering on many subjects, and knew how to make a little knowledge go a great way. Most of the other members of the club were afraid of him, for he had no mercy when he chose to come down on a fellow; and if any one tried to make a stand against him for a bit, he would soon talk him down with his biting sarcasms and loud sneering voice.

“I told you that he professed to have a high opinion of myself as a debater and free-thinker. He seldom crossed me in argument, and when he did he was sure to give in in the end. I was vain enough at the time to set this down to my own superior wit and knowledge; but I am now fully persuaded that he was only pretending to have this good opinion of me that he might make use of me for his own purposes. He knew that I was a skilful workman, and earned more than average wages, and so he would often borrow a few shillings from me, which he never remembered to pay back again. But he managed to get these loans very dexterously, always mixing up a little flattery when he came to borrow.

“Often and often, I’m ashamed to say, I have wandered out with him and other members of our club in the summer, on Sunday afternoons, to Cricketty Hall; and there, down in the old vault, we have been playing cards and drinking till it was time to return. I could see plainly enough on these occasions that Levi would have been only too glad to win largely from me; but I had sense enough to keep out of his clutches, as I had noticed him managing the cards unfairly when playing with others.

“I can’t say that I felt any particular regret when he had to take himself off out of the neighbourhood. There were no ties that could really bind us together; for, indeed, how can there be any real union where the closest bond is a common hatred of that gospel which is so truly, as I am thankful to say I have myself found it, the religion of love? I scarcely missed him, and seldom thought of him, and was rather startled when, a few days ago, he made himself known to me in the twilight.

“We were alone, and I was going to pass on with a civil word; but he begged me to stop, and in such a tone of voice as rather touched me. He then reminded me that we had been companions in evil, and said that he had heard of the change that had taken place in me. He added that he was very unhappy, that he hated himself for his past wicked life, and that as I used to stand his friend formerly when he needed a helping hand, he hoped I would show that my change was a real one by my willingness to give an old mate a lift over the stile and into the same way of peace in which I professed to be walking myself. He had much to tell me and ask of me, he said; but he was afraid of being discovered by the police, spite of his disguise. Would I meet him at Cricketty Hall, he should feel safe there.

“I did not know what to say. I could not get rid of my suspicions, notwithstanding his changed tone and manner. He saw it, and said: ‘You doubt my sincerity. Well, I suppose you’ll agree that when a man’s sincerity gets into his pocket it’s pretty sure to be genuine. Now, you’ve lent me money at different times, and I never paid any of it back. I’ve reckoned it up, and it comes altogether to three pounds ten shillings. Here it is; and many thanks to you for lending it me. I’m only sorry that I was not an honest man before.’

“I hardly knew what to say; however, I took the money, for I knew that it was due to me. ‘Well, will you trust me now?’ he asked. ‘Meet me, Levi, to-morrow night just after dark outside my house,’ I said, ‘and I will tell you then.’ He hesitated a little, and then said, ‘Very well,’ and left me. I was sorely puzzled, and could not tell what to think. And then at last it occurred to me that perhaps it was wrong in me to hang back. Theremightbe a real change beginning even in such a man as Levi Sharples. The Lord had been merciful to me, and why not to him? There hadn’t been much to choose between us in badness in bygone days; and should I be right in repelling the poor man if I could be in any way the means of bringing him into the narrow way? Well, you know the rest. We met the next night; and, mercifully for me, Jim Barnes, as I find from him, overheard the appointment to meet at Cricketty Hall; and wonderfully and graciously has the Lord kept meinmy trouble, and delivered me out of it.”

“But how do you suppose that Sharples got hold of that money?” asked Bradly.

“Oh,” replied the other, “I can easily understand all about that. You may depend upon it the whole matter has gone on somewhat in this way:—My old mates have been scheming how to be revenged on me ever since I left them, and showed my colours on the side of Temperance and Religion. They’ve known Levi’s whereabouts, and were aware how thick we used to be; so they’ve set him upon drawing me into the snare. I don’t doubt that they subscribed that three pound ten between them, that Levi might be able to throw dust in my eyes with it, and throw me off my guard.”

“Just so, just so; I see it all!” cried Bradly. “Eh! Haven’t they been nicely outwitted? Why, they’ve lost their money, they’ve lost the bird out of the cage, and they’ve clapped their own man in prison. Mark my words, William, we shan’t have much more trouble from them for many a long day; but if they attempt to give us any, I shall bring them out the little jar of ointment they left behind them, and bid them tell us what complaints it’s good for. Ah! Well, there’s just a few words out of the good old book as’ll crown it all. Here they are in the Twenty-seventh Psalm: ‘The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When the wicked, even mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell. Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear: though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident.’”

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